“‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, Not a creature was stirring; not even a mouse.” Well, that’s not your typical night before Christmas for anyone I know, especially people with kids. Like my brother-in-law who tried to assemble a trampoline on Christmas eve, in the dark, only to find that he had installed the mat upside down. I can only imagine that many interesting words disturbed the quiet of that Christmas eve.

So in Bethlehem, on the night before the first Christmas, I doubt that it was a silent night. The town was abuzz with visitors for the Census, and not a room was to be found for any late-comers. The shops must have been noisy with feeding people and animals. And in a house, a man and his wife were doing their best to settle into their rough accommodation. And that was only on earth.

Heaven had nine months to prepare for the big day, ever since Gabriel delivered the big news to Mary. On the night before Christmas the choirs of angels would have been doing their final dress rehearsal over Bethlehem’s fields. While others were running their final test on a special star. And still others were heading east to prompt wise men to look west. And so in heaven and on earth, everything was alive with noise; except in latter days for one poor house in England, the house of Clement Clarke Moore, where even the poor mice were quietly snoring.