The Nativity of the Lord - Christmas
At
St. Helen’s Church
up in Chasm Falls,
there’s
a full wrap-around gallery—
much
as there is here at Notre Dame,
except
on a much smaller scale
in that tiny country church.
I
have several “little friends”—
ages five and under, I’d guess—
who
regularly sit upstairs with their families…
…and
who regularly
make not-so-whispered comments
for
the rest of us to enjoy.
Just
over a year ago,
at
the same time as the new Roman Missal was implemented,
we
reintroduced the custom of ringing bells [RING]
at
the moment of the consecration in the Mass.
In
a tradition going all the way back to the thirteenth century,
bells
have been rung to elicit both joy and attention
as
bread and wine—in a very real yet hidden way—
become
the Body and Blood of Christ.
It’s
at the very heart of the Mass,
and
at the very heart of our Catholic faith.
Needless
to say, it’s an especially solemn moment.
So
you can imagine the reaction in the pews
when,
on that first Sunday of Advent
that the bells were back,
as
I was elevating the Sacred Host above the altar,
and
a server was ringing the bells
from his kneeler [RING] —
just
as we’d practiced—
a
high-pitched voice from the loft intones,
“Ding-a-ling-a-ling-a-ling-a-ling!”
So
much for solemn!
And
then, not two weeks ago:
same
church, same moment in the Mass, same bells,
and—I
presume—my same little friend upstairs,
gleefully
declaring [RING] : “Jingle bells!”
Bells
are not nearly as much a part of daily life
as
they once were here in the Western world.
Nowadays,
out telephones have MP3 ringtones,
our
alarm clocks buzz,
and
schools send out an electronic signal over the intercom
when
it’s time for classes to change…
but
they don’t have actual bells anymore.
Bells
are pretty much left for just two things that I can think of:
churches
and Christmas.
At
Christmas, there’s a lot of talk of bells.
There
are Jingle Bells and Silver Bells.
There
are Salvation Army bells at the doors of the stores.
And
there’s that memorable line
from the end of, It’s
a Wonderful Life:
“Every
time a bell rings [RING] an angel
gets his wings.”
The
famed American author
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
once
wrote a poem called, “Christmas Bells.”
(It’s
been turned into a Christmas song,
but
they usually leave out a couple of the verses.)
Longfellow
wrote this poem on Christmas Day 1864.
In
the summer of 1861,
Longfellow’s wife, Fanny, had burned to death,
and
he himself was injured and permanently scarred
while
trying to save her.
That
same year,
the first shots of the American Civil War were fired,
leaving
the entire country in turmoil and fear.
Tragedy
struck again when Longfellow’s son, Charles,
a
lieutenant in the Union army,
was
shot on the battlefield in November 1863
and left crippled for life.
In
the face of both national unrest and great personal loss,
Longfellow
didn’t feel much like celebrating Christmas.
He
wrote in his journal, “‘A merry Christmas’ say the children,
but
that is no more for me.” (December
25, 1862)
But
then, on that particular Christmas Day,
in
the depths of grief and gloom,
Longfellow
heard church bells ringing—
and
he was inspired to write these hope-filled words:
I heard the bells on
Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,
and mild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will
to men!
And thought how, as the day
had come,
The belfries of all
Christendom
Had rolled along
The unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good-will
to men!
Till ringing, singing on its
way,
The world revolved from
night to day,
A voice, a chime,
A chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good-will
to men!
Then from each black,
accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,
The cannon thundered in the South,
And with the sound
The carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will
to men!
It was as if an earthquake
rent
The hearth-stones of a
continent,
And made forlorn
The households born
Of peace on earth, good-will
to men!
And in despair I bowed my
head;
“There is no peace on
earth,” I said;
“For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will
to men!”
Then pealed the bells more
loud and deep:
“God is not dead, nor doth
He sleep;
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on earth,
good-will to men.”
When
bells first rang at the heart of the Mass
more
than eight-hundred years ago,
it
wasn’t a small set tinkling in the hand of an altar server [RING] —
no,
it was the great bells pealing up in the church tower.
Those
bells weren’t ringing to wake up a sleepy congregation,
refocusing
their attention at the highpoint of the Eucharist
(although
that’s a pretty handy side effect);
they
were sending a message far and wide,
to
those who could not or would not get to the church—
to
the homebound sick and the poor bound to their labors,
to those
locked in prison and those guarding the city gates.
Like
the angels who appeared to Bethlehem’s shepherds,
they
announced good news of great joy for all the people:
heaven
was again being born on the earth;
the
Son of God, according to his promise,
was
once more appearing in human flesh and blood—
not
laid in a manger where cattle feed,
but
laid upon the altar to feed his own flock.
We
need church bells—we need Christmas bells—
now
as much a Longfellow did, don’t we?
2012 has been a difficult year for so many people.
We’ve
all had our disappointments.
Many
of us have suffered the loss of loved ones.
As
a nation, just in these last months,
we’ve
continued to bring home the dead and the wounded
from
conflicts in foreign lands;
we’ve
weathered a violent “superstorm”;
we’ve
wept at the brutal death of innocent school children;
and
we’ve braced ourselves for continued fiscal woes.
Yet
in our darkness, a light has shone;
and
right here—where we laugh and cry,
where
we rejoice and grieve,
where
we despair and hope—
the
grace and glory of our great God and savior continues
to appear,
just
as he did before the eyes of Joseph and Mary.
So
we need to ring our bells!
We
need to ring them not just near our altars, [RING]
and
not just in our church towers,
and
not just at Christmas, either.
We
need to ring out the good news of God-with-us
in
our lives each and every day.
It’s
not exactly a compliment to tell somebody
that
they have “a face that could ring a bell”…
…but
each one of us gathered here tonight
needs
to have a living faith that rings a bell:
eliciting
in those around us both attention and joy
that
Jesus Christ, the Word made flesh—
in
a real though hidden way—
continues
to dwell among us.
My little friend upstairs at St. Helen’s
knew that “jingle bells”
announce the coming
of
a certain jolly man
in a bright red suit.
in a bright red suit.
May
the bells of our churches [RING] —
both inside and out—
both inside and out—
always
announce the coming of him
who
is both the Son of God
and Son of Mary:
and Son of Mary:
once
wrapped in swaddling clothes
and adored by shepherds;
and adored by shepherds;
later
wrapped in a shroud
and laid in a tomb;
and laid in a tomb;
now
wrapped in glory
and reigning forever.
and reigning forever.
Then pealed the bells more
loud and deep:
“God is not dead, nor doth
He sleep;
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on earth,
good-will to men.”
[RING]
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