The ancient story of ‘Silent Night’

Editor’s note: The following origin story of the beloved Christmas carol “Silent Night” was sent out over the wires of the United Press International on Dec. 21, 1983. 
In a little Austrian village, long ago, a priest sat staring out into the darkness. The flame of a thick tallow candle on the desk flickered wildly. 
It was Christmastime in the year 1818... and the sun had long since dipped behind the frosted peaks of the mountains rimming the town of Oberndorf. Weariness... almost despondency... embraced the Reverend Josef Mohr, a serious problem tormented him.
The village priest and organist, Franz Gruber of the tiny church of St. Nikolaus, had spent many days working out plans for a festive Christmas observance. But now it was out of the question. The church organ was broken... silent. Mice had destroyed the bellows.
Only six hours remained to prepare a sermon for midnight mass... to pack the meaning of Christmas into a few words.
But the words would not come.
Father Mohr was filled with despair about the broken organ and the Christmas service plans that were ruined, and now he couldn’t think of a meaningful sermon.
Suddenly... there came a sharp pounding at the door. It burst open and a man stood in the doorway, snow mantling his shoulders. A mile up the mountain, a young parishioner had given birth... and she wanted the child to be baptized at once.
Would Father Mohr come quickly, please?
The priest reached wearily for his hat and coat. He knew it would take hours to make the trip. The narrow streets were choked with drifts and more snow was falling. As Father Mohr stepped out into the night, he breathed a silent prayer that his flock might find the message of Christmas in their own hearts.
The journey seemed to take an eternity, but strangely enough, the sight of the proud, radiant mother and her new baby brought a curious peace to Father Mohr.
As he tramped home through the drifting snow his thoughts turned again and again to the serenity of the mother and child he had seen.
In Father Mohr’s mind, the words to a poem began to form. He considered arranging them into a sermon weighty with meaning... sturdy with rules and sound precepts.
He could not, but the poem kept recurring in his mind. It was all but finished when he finally kicked the snow from his boots and sat down before the fire in his study.
His friend, Franz Gruber, was waiting for him. Father Mohr scribbled the words to the poem on a sheet of paper and showed them to Franz.
Gruber gripped Father Mohr’s arm and said, “That would make a fine Christmas card.”
At midnight mass that evening, Father Mohr forced his mind to follow the ritual... but again and again, it turned to the distress he felt at failing the simple people of his parish.
The priest had all but finished saying the mass when the first thin sound of a guitar floated over the gathering of stilled bowed figures... moving toward the altar. It was a 12-stringed peasant guitar... Franz Gruber’s own.
With the sound came the faltering voices of children... the children in the tiny church’s choir. The voices wavered, and the young heads were lighted by one candle’s flame.
They sang the carol shyly at first... then with gathering confidence.
As Father Mohr listened, his burdened lifted, his spirit soared. Gruber had set his poem to music and the children were singing it! The song would be his sermon!
Father Mohr didn’t know that his simple song was destined for the ages.
But it did seem right to him... and as his hand rose in benediction over the heads of the children, the words echoed sweetly, clearly through the little church.
“Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright, round yon virgin, mother and child, sleep in heavenly peace...”