We all sat wondering why the choir had not returned from the break until the sound of their voices rose from behind the tall white walls. “Silent night. Holy night,” they sang, and the thick walls swallowed the sound of the ninety-person choir. From outside we heard only their muffled whispers. “Round yon Virgin mother and child.” And we all sat silent.
I wondered who had conceived that great illustration of the Silent Night. The power of the choir was not in their volume, but in their very understated position behind the wall—isolated, hidden, and yet still with us.