To all my dear friends who have known me for years and to those who have recently joined my Substack, I want to express my deep appreciation for your support.
December 24th has always been a magical day for me.
Growing up, this day marked a time of warmth and generosity of spirit. A day where I felt the power of community; where the essentials of the heart emerged, petty grievances were set aside and our shared humanity was remembered.
And by moment, only wonder…
Silent Night
The origin of this classic carol is not far from my hometown, and even closer to the farmhouse of my maternal grandparents.
On a cold Christmas Eve in 1818, Joseph Mohr walked the three kilometres from his home in Oberndorf near Salzburg to visit his friend Franz Xaver Gruber in the neighbouring town of Arnsdorf near Laufen. Mohr brought with him a poem he had written some two years earlier. He needed a carol for the Christmas Eve midnight Mass that was only a few hours away, and hoped his friend, a school teacher who also served as the church's choir master and organist, could set his poem to music. Gruber composed the melody for Mohr's "Stille Nacht" in just a few hours. - Wikipedia
It’s hard for me today to imagine the circumstances that inspired Father Mohr. A town torn apart by the Napoleonic Wars, plagued by failed harvests, grief, despair, and misery. As the legend goes, Mohr found himself with neither a school nor a cemetery when he wrote his now-famous poem.
Out of such darkness stepped two men to try and soothe the broken-hearted. And if their life circumstances are hard for me to imagine, it is even more difficult to fathom the kind of resilience and faith needed for that night to unfold. At this, I can only wonder.
Decades later, the same carol echoed through the trenches of the Western Front. On Christmas Eve of 1914, amidst one of the most brutal and merciless conflicts in recorded history of war, over one hundred thousand men laid down their arms to sing this song to each other.
Such is the power that flowed through the hearts of Priester Mohr and Franz Xaver.
Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht,
Alles schläft; einsam wacht
Nur das traute hochheilige Paar.
Holder Knabe im lockigen Haar,
Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh!
Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh!
Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht,
Hirten erst kundgemacht
Durch der Engel Halleluja,
Tönt es laut von fern und nah:
Christ, der Retter ist da!
Christ, der Retter ist da!
Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht,
Gottes Sohn, o wie lacht
Lieb' aus deinem göttlichen Mund,
Da uns schlägt die rettende Stund'.
Christ, in deiner Geburt!
Christ, in deiner Geburt!
Echoes in the valley
Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, This bird of dawning singeth all night long; And then, they say, no spirit dare stir abroad, The nights are wholesome, then no planets strike, No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm, So hallow'd and so gracious is the time. – Hamlet
The Holy Night, Christmas Eve, has always been my favorite celebration. Candles glowing warmly inside, the chill of winter lingering outside; the choir at our church and my mother’s eyes, shining. A freshly cut fir tree, brought home by my grandfather, breathing the crisp scent of the forest into our living room.
My grandfather nurtured his Christmas trees all year long. His field, just above the main house at the forest's edge, was a wonderland of evergreen trees. Tall and short, some with deep green needles, others shimmering in blue or silver. I liked the trees with softer needles; they seemed gentler, more welcoming to a child's touch. Opa was meticulous in his care. To ensure the trees grew perfectly, he would collect stones of just the right size and weight, and hang them from uneven branches to correct and guide their shape. It was a delicate science, a labor of love, his form of devotion.
Opa with my mother on his farm.
He was a strong man, a commanding figure with a voice that could fill the valley. He was deeply respected in the community and church, where he was an active member. On his walks through the forest, he sang hymns to Jesus with such gusto that I can still hear his voice echoing through the hills, carrying his spirit far and wide.
My younger brother and I couldn’t help but giggle at his enthusiasm. At bedtime, his songs became softer, old German lullabies and gospel hymns, laced with humor as he replaced certain words to make us laugh.
In the farmhouse kitchen, my grandmother prepared for Christmas with equal dedication. She filled large aluminium tins with an assortment of cookies she baked each year for all her grandchildren. My favorites were the jam-filled red currant cookies and the orange rounds drizzled with dark chocolate. The hallway, always cool, smelled faintly of butter and spices. Whenever I smell Christmas cookies, I’m transported back into the Christmas of my childhood.
My grandparents were Protestant Christians. It was my grandfather who taught me how to pray. Each night in bed after the lights have been switched off, I would close my eyes, fold my hands and talk to Jesus, sharing the joys and worries of my little world with him.
December 24th was a day like no other in our family. Anticipation filled the air. That morning, the Christmas tree was brought inside. My brother and I would decorate it with ornaments that carried years of memories. Small red apples, delicate straw stars, glass balls, wooden angels, sweets wrapped in foil, and real red candles, all of it transformed the tree into something magical. My mother’s touch made it even more special; she used the same decorations year after year, as if each ornament held a fragment of our family's story.
By late afternoon, the busyness of the day quieted. We dressed in our finest clothes and set out for the church. Outside, the world was cloaked in darkness, but the houses along the way glowed with warm lights. Inside the church, wooden benches creaked softly as families gathered and filled the rows. The story of Bethlehem unfolded, retold year by year with reverence and wonder. The pipe organ's deep, resonant tones filled the air, and the congregation's voices rose together in prayer and gratitude.
In those moments, the burdens and grievances of the year were forgotten, forgiven, or just set aside for a night.
Together, we celebrated the birth of Jesus, the promise of hope, kindness and community. It was a night of reconnecting; with each other, with faith, and with something greater than ourselves.
After the mass, we lingered outside under a sky filled with stars, and sometimes a blanket of clouds. Families huddled together, exchanging wishes of Frohe Weihnachten. Froh is an old German word for happy but a happiness that is caused by an inner wave of serene delight.
“I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” - John 16:33
This Christmas, this 24th of December, 2024, will be a particularly special night for me. After spending several months in the desert of Dubai, I will be coming home. It will be a time of reconnection and renewal.
I will give thanks on this Holy Night as I sit next to my mother in her favorite church, listening to the story of Bethlehem retold with reverence and wonder. I will give thanks as I eat Christmas cookies with my niece and nephew. I will give thanks as I step into my mother’s garden at night, inhaling the crisp air and perhaps hearing the faint sounds of nature. I will give thanks to my friends, old and new. I will give thanks when eyes meet in silent acknowledgment of the preciousness of being together, of sharing a moment, sharing the breath, holding each other, and simply being alive.
I will give thanks to you, dear reader, for following me on this adventure into the heart of love and life. My words come alive only because you read them and this means so much to me. From the depths of my being, thank you.
May this night be filled with light and magic for you and your families; and with the warmth of the heart reaching those who need it.
With so much Love to you and yours,
Frohe Weihnachten!
Sundari Ma
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Image of thumbnail: church in ‘Berchtesgadener Land,’ bounded by the district of Traunstein and by the state of Austria. Captured by my mother.
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If you’d like to experience my work or join one of my upcoming events, feel free to reach out for more information at: info@thisistantra.com
Jan 3 - Community Meditation Gathering in Freiburg, Germany.
Jan 18-19 - THE PATH OF LOVE - Weekend Immersion in Freiburg, Germany.
March 21-24 - STORM OF GRACE - A 5-Day Desert Immersion in Dubai.
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