When we pause to listen, the season is replete with bells, jingle bells, door bells,  silver bells, sleigh bells, and church bells. One of my British friends sends me her annual Christmas letter that always includes a reference to bell ringing. Sue has been an avid bell ringer since I met her when we were eleven. I realized this year that I rarely hear a peal of bells as I did growing up. The local churches toll out the hour either with an automatic bell or via a recording, but it’s not the same. I miss the cascade of sound that resounds from a tower where a team of bell ringers is unravelling the changes.  High in the tower, a set of cast iron bells is mounted on wheels and connected to the bell loft via a long rope, of course, that has a furry tail followed by a skinny tail.  Ringers pull on the furry tail and then let go, maintaining control of the bell via the skinny tail. The bells are rung in sequence, and then the sequence subtly changes. The bell ringers need to memorize the sequences, watch their companions closely to determine the precise moment to pull on their rope, and, of course, account for the time delay as the bell swings. Some of the sequences are fiendishly difficult, but the result is a magnificent tsunami of rippling, echoing sound.  It pulls at your heartstrings and simultaneously fills you with joy.

As I wondered if this kind of bell ringing is prevalent near me, I remembered the Christmas song, based on the poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,  “I heard the bells on Christmas Day”.  It’s evident Longfellow is referring to church bells here.  When I first heard it, I was arrested by the courage of the second verse.

“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, goodwill to men.”

Surely the antithesis to our often anodyne and falsely chirpy Christmas hits. It turns out there are other, bleak verses that are rarely sung since they depress the Christmas spirit. Longfellow was writing from a broken heart, in the midst of a civil war that was tearing the country apart.  His first wife had died of a miscarriage, and his second in horrific circumstances.  Longfellow awoke to find her on fire.  She had been working with wax, and her clothing had caught alight.  In spite of all his efforts to smother the flames, including injuring himself, she died.  At the same time, he learned that his son, who had been fighting for the unionist cause, was grievously injured. How could he claim that there was a season of inbreaking light, peace, and goodwill in the face of so much torment?  Our world, too, is riven with wars and atrocious inequity.  So, should we dispense of the seasonal cheer along with the wilting Christmas tree?  Fortunately, I think not.  Longfellow’s son did not succumb to his grievous injuries and, instead, made a full recovery. The Civil War ended, justice prevailed 

While there are still people who work toward genuine peace, who defend democracy, who straddle the abyss between peoples, who ring the Salvation Army kettles, may the  bells ring out, 

“Peace and Goodwill, Peace and Goodwill” to all.”

News Flash!

End Notes

Reading

Listening

Glory to God from Handel’s Messiah
Too Hot to Handel 

Viewing

Race to Survive: New Zealand

Poetry

This is a Photograph of Me
Margaret Atwood