No More Trenches

On Christmas Eve, 1914, something astonishing happened on the battlefields of World War I. The war had already claimed thousands of lives, and the soldiers—British, French, German—were locked in brutal trench warfare. They had spent weeks entrenched, both physically and mentally, told that the men in the opposite trench were their enemies, their targets, the ones responsible for their suffering.

And yet, on that night, something broke through the fog of war.

It started with a song—Stille Nacht, Heilige Nacht. A German voice carried “Silent Night” into the cold night air. And then, from the other side, a response—the same melody, sung in English. Slowly, cautiously, soldiers began stepping out of their trenches. They laid down their rifles and extended their hands to the men they had been shooting at the day before. They exchanged small gifts—chocolates, cigarettes, buttons from their uniforms. Some even played soccer in no-man’s-land, the space between the trenches where death had ruled only hours earlier.

For one day, their orders and national loyalties did not define them. The war was still raging, but for that brief moment, they saw each other as human again.

And yet, the next day, they picked up their weapons. The war resumed, the trenches deepened, and the peace they had tasted faded into memory.

What If We Didn’t Go Back to the Trenches?

The Christmas Truce is a remarkable story of peace breaking through the madness of war. But what if the soldiers had refused to return to the trenches? What if, instead of obeying the forces that demanded they see each other as enemies, they had laid down their weapons permanently?

This is exactly what happened in the early Church.

For centuries, the Jewish people had been waiting for a Messiah—a King who would overthrow their oppressors and restore their kingdom. Rome had occupied their land, taxed them heavily, and even desecrated their Temple. The hatred was real, the war was ongoing, and the trenches between Jews and Gentiles ran deep.

But then Jesus happened.

And everything changed.

Jesus, the true King, did not come to lead a violent revolution. Instead, he let himself be crucified on a Roman cross. He took all the hate, the division, the death, and the sin of the world upon himself—and then, in his resurrection, he established a new humanity.

After his resurrection, people from every background—Jews, Romans, Ethiopians, Egyptians—sat at the same table, breaking bread together. A Roman centurion, once an enforcer of oppression, sat shoulder to shoulder with a Jewish fisherman, calling him “brother.” Because in Christ, their old identities no longer defined them. They had left their trenches behind.

The Breaking of Bread: A New Identity

When the early church gathered for what we now call communion, they weren’t just remembering an event. They were declaring their new reality.

At the Last Supper, Jesus took the bread and broke it, saying,
"This is my body, given for you. Do this in remembrance of me."

Then he took the cup, saying,
"This cup is the new covenant in my blood, poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins."

To share in that meal was to step out of the trench. It was to declare, “I am no longer defined by the world’s divisions. I am crucified with Christ. I belong to him—and so do my brothers and sisters at this table.”

It wasn’t just about personal salvation. It was about the creation of a new kind of community, one that refused to take up the world’s weapons of pride, power, and exclusion.

What About Us?

The world still tells us to stay in our trenches. We are constantly pressured to define ourselves by nationality, politics, race, status, ideology. We are told who our enemies are, who we should oppose, who we should distrust.

But the table of Jesus tells a different story.

When we take the bread and the cup, we are stepping out of no-man’s-land and into true fellowship. We are declaring that our true identity is not found in anything the world offers—it is found in Christ alone.

And if that is true, then we have to ask ourselves: Where are the trenches in our own hearts?

Where are we holding onto bitterness, resentment, and division? Where are we clinging to old identities that separate us from others? Where are we still picking up weapons, fighting battles that Jesus has already won?

The early church didn’t just talk about unity—they practiced it. They broke bread together, they shared their lives, they forgave each other. They refused to go back to the trenches.

And so must we.

Because in Christ, there is no Jew or Gentile, no slave or free, no insider or outsider. There is only one body, one Spirit, one Lord who has called us to himself.

So today, let’s leave the trenches behind. Let’s lay down our arms, step out of our fortresses, and come to the table. Because here, in Christ, we are truly home.

Here is a great depiction of the Christmas Truce