I first heard one of the many
variations on this story in a Christmas Eve sermon sometime back in
the 1970's. Since the event related took place exactly 100 years
ago—and it is a true story and worth being repeated—I offer it
again as a Christmas meditation.
By Christmas Eve of 1914 the First
World War had been savaging Europe for over four months. What began
as a great patriotic adventure quickly disintegrated into a horror
movie. Marching riflemen and charging cavalry, the staples of 19th
century warfare, were no match for 20th century automatic
weapon fire. As winter descended upon the continent, nearly one
million soldiers had been killed. The German army, driven from France
into Belgium, dug in with a series of fortified trenches. The French
and British did the same, and these entrenchments cut a scar into the
face of Europe from Switzerland to the North Sea. Enemies faced each
other from filthy ditches, some no more than sixty yards apart.
Attempts by each army to go “over the top” resulted in massive
casualties on both sides. Men fled the slaughter back into their own
trenches—trenches filled with mud, vermin, and disease. The dead
and wounded were left in “No Man's Land” where their corpses
decayed and rotted within the sight of their comrades.
So brutal and tragic was this war that
on December 7, 1914 Pope Benedict XV wrote an open letter to the
heads of empires begging them to end the fighting or, at the very
least, declare a cease-fire for Christmas. The pontiff's missive was
publicly and soundly rejected. This was war, declared the leaders of
the combating nations, and war does not take a holiday.
On the night of December 24th,
near St. Yves in Belgium, the temperature had already dropped below
freezing. British sentries peered eastward across “No Man's Land”
and reported an unusual sight. Tiny, flickering lights began to glow
from the German trenches. The lights grew brighter and brighter, and
one British soldier described them as looking like the footlights on
a stage. British officers, fearing that the lights were the
preparation for a night assault, ordered their troops to stand ready.
Yet no assault would come.
Across the frozen graveyard, a strange
sound wafted towards them:
“Stille
Nacht! Heil'ge Nacht!
Alles schlaft;
einsam wacht...”
The Germans, the
enemy, the hated Bosche, the Hun, were singing to celebrate the birth
of the baby Jesus. The flickering lights were small bits of candles
used to decorate tiny Christmas trees sent to the soldiers from
well-meaning women back home who had wanted to cheer up the boys in
the trenches.
In spite of the
orders forbidding a Christmas truce, it is believed that a
spontaneous cease-fire was observed over two-thirds of the Western
Front that night. In some places, British forces sang back to their
German counterparts.
As dawn rose at St.
Yves, sentries reported to a young baronet, Lt. Edward Hulse, that
German soldiers were advancing from their trench. Hulse observed a
small band of Germans in filthy, mud-soaked uniforms, crossing “No
Man's Land” with their arms raised. The men were unarmed. Knowing
that shooting unarmed men constituted a war crime, Hulse ordered his
troops to hold their fire but shouted to the Germans and ordered them
to retreat. They kept coming all the same.
A young, haggered,
German officer approached Hulse's position and saluted smartly. Hulse
returned the salute and demanded to know what the Germans wanted. In
a perfect and almost unaccented English, the young officer told Hulse
that they had come to wish the British a Merry Christmas and to ask
leave to bury their dead. The two young officers struck up a
conversation, and Hulse learned that his counterpart had lived in
England. The German asked Hulse to write to his girlfriend in Sussex
who was protecting the German's most prized possession, his
motorcycle. Hulse ordered the cease-fire and proceeded to inspect the
British trenches and arrange for burial of his own dead.
He was soon met by
an astounding sight: the trenches were empty of men. The troops had
not deserted, rather, they were climbing into “No Man's Land” and
greeting their German counterparts. In some areas, soldiers from both
armies were singing Christmas carols. It is said that such unofficial
celebrations between the two armies were occurring over the entire
front, creating the greatest impromptu international Christmas party
in history.
Because both armies
had received Christmas care packages from home, a lively gift
exchange began. British tobacco was exchanged for German sausage.
German schnapps were given for British tinned beef. The men also
exchanged souvenirs such as buttons, belt buckles, and helmets. It is
said that a soldier from a Scottish regiment miraculously produced a
soccer ball, and a lively football game ensued. Some reports claim
that improvised matches using a large beef tin or a bundle of
discarded clothing in place of a ball were played up and down the
front (The Germans are said to have won all of these games).
Of course, the
grizzly duty of retrieving and burying the dead was also carried out.
In some parts of the front the men agreed that, as all who had died
were soldiers, they should be buried together in one mass, military
grave as brothers side-by-side. The burials concluded with readings
from scripture, the most popular being the Twenty-Third Psalm.
“Thou
preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies...”
Many of the
soldiers who participated in the Christmas truce of 1914 wrote home
about the event, claiming they would never forget the brief moment of
peace on earth and goodwill towards men they had experienced in the
midst of the insanity of war. Some had even secreted cameras into the
trenches, and photographs of the truce would later appear in
newspapers on both sides of the conflict.
News of this brief
moment of fraternity infuriated the high commands of both empires.
Orders were given that troops should be regularly rotated along the
front so no chance of familiarity with the enemy could be
established. Fraternization at any level was declared a court-martial
offense. Newspapers and letters home were censored, and a ferocious
campaign of propaganda ensued with the goal of dehumanizing and
demonizing the enemy. Finally, with the introduction of aerial
bombardment and the insidious use of poison gas, the powers succeeded
in fanning the flames of hatred. The war would stretch on for another
four years and, in spite of a few attempts at “live and let live,”
there would never be another break in the fighting similar to that of
Christmas 1914.
By Christmas of
1915, Edward Hulse would be dead, along with another million
soldiers. The trenches near St. Yves would not have moved a single
inch.
The legacy of that
one day of forgiveness and peace has never been entirely forgotten,
however. British and German soccer teams are scheduled to play a
re-match on Christmas Day 2014. Monuments to the truce have been
erected all along the line of the former Western Front. The monument
at St. Yves is topped by a simple white cross—the symbol of the
little baby whose birth was celebrated that night, who came to bring
peace and forgiveness to the earth.
That little baby—a
homeless child, born in a barn to an unwed teenaged girl—whose
birth the angels announced to dirty, desperate men who were just
trying to get by. Men just like the ones who would climb out of the
filthy ditches nineteen centuries later. Men just like the rest of us
trapped on this violent planet who still dream of hope and love and
peace.
There will be no
truce this Christmas. The warriors of ISIS and Al Queda will not
suddenly love Americans or even their fellow Muslims. The citizens of
Ferguson, Missouri will still be suspicious of their police
department, and there will still be crime in the streets of
Philadelphia. But perhaps we, people of faith, can make a truce with
the anger, the prejudice, and the bitterness within our own hearts
long enough to let God love us as God has intended to do. Let
ourselves be loved as through the eyes of that infant in the manger.
The baby doesn't care what you've done or who you think you are. He
asks only that you hold onto him and receive the peace he has to
give. The world will never change unless we change. It's Christmas.
Be still. Embrace the peace and forgiveness Christ has to offer.
“And you,
beneath life's crushing load, whose forms are bending low,
who toil along
the climbing way with painful steps and slow:
look now, for
glad and golden hours come swiftly on the wing;
oh, rest beside
the weary road and hear the angels sing.”
PS-The Centennial re-match score was UK-4, Germany-1. OG 12/31/14
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