Ringing

Matthew 11:28-30

This sermon was given on the occasion of Blue Christmas, also known as Longest Night, an observance intended to name and offer comfort for the pain and grief that the holidays bring for many. In the context in which this sermon was given, the congregation were given the opportunity to receive the laying on of hands and anointing with oil, followed by the Eucharist.

As I was preparing for this sermon, a friend of our community wrote to me to share the story of a carol that had touched her soul. The carol, known as “I heard the Bells on Christmas Day,” is based on a poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, which you’ll find printed on the back of your bulletin. The verses of the hymn are striking, but the full poem is even more so. Longfellow composed this hymn during the American Civil War, when divisions in our country manifested in violence and devastation on a scale we can barely fathom today. Grief, fear, and pain were daily realities for many, and families and communities were torn apart. At the same time that the country was being rent in two, Longfellow’s own heart was shattered. His beloved wife had died tragically in a traumatic accident two years prior, and his son was severely wounded in battle after running away to enlist in the Union army. Longfellow learned of his son’s injuries just before Christmas in 1863. Longfellow was deeply grieved and depressed following the loss of his wife, and his son’s disappearance followed by news of his dire condition moved the poet to despair. As the church bells tolled to welcome Christmas, and worshippers gathered to sing joyful hymns about peace, Longfellow sat down to write.

“Christmas Bells” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, 1863

I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,
And wild 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,
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.”

Peace and war, carols and cannon fire, hope and despair. Those of us for whom the holidays are difficult know the deep dissonance of attending celebrations while our worlds fall apart. Navigating the new custody schedule, waking up on Christmas morning without our children, sitting in church with an empty space in the pew beside us. Reading the Christmas cards trumpeting joy and throwing them atop piles of condolence cards. Composing the Christmas letter with careful precision, picking and choosing what news is okay to share and how to sound like everything is fine when in fact nothing is fine at all. Wrapping presents we can’t really afford, putting on our best face so the recipient won’t know the real cost of our giving. Reckoning with the reality that we may not be able to make it through an entire Christmas eve service, either because the tears are already pressing at our eyelids or because our bodies are no longer able to stand and sit and kneel and sing like they used to. Going home to someone who may not remember us this time, or welcoming familiar faces we no longer recognize at first glance. Walking through a season all about babies and birth and miraculous wombs while our arms are empty. Missing someone, missing everyone, feeling lonely at a time when every story and card and carol and ad is about family and togetherness. It is impossible to live a life and not eventually know what it is to grieve at Christmas.

What struck me about this poem of Longfellow’s was how truthful it is, both about the pain of the world and about the stubborn hope of the Christian faith. There are some who insist that to be faithful Christians, we must always be happy, always positive, always finding the bright side. There are others who insist that the Christian hope is folly, that the world is doomed and humanity is universally terrible and nothing will ever get better. But Longfellow’s faith is deeper than that. Longfellow’s faith is honest about the hard things, admits to despair, grieves openly and offers even that grief to God. Longfellow confesses his readiness to give up, to give in, to bow his head and submit to the strength of hatred and the overwhelming nature of violence. Every griever knows this moment. The moment when the hole in our chest threatens to swallow us whole, the moment when it seems better to never love at all than to have loved and lost. It is the pit, the valley of the shadow of death, rock bottom, and from there it seems impossible that light could ever reach us.

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.

Even in the darkness, a light shines, and the darkness does not overcome it. Even over the deafening sound of cannon fire, the church bells toll ever louder. Even when the individual loses faith in the good, even when all hope seems lost, the stones cry out that God is not dead and Right shall prevail over Wrong. This is the kind of healing we seek here today. Not an erasure of our grief. Not a denial of our struggles. Not an empty optimism that invalidates our heartbreak. We are here to hear the tolling of the bells. We are here to hear the words of Jesus and to know that they are true even when we struggle to believe them. We are here because God sees us in our pain and grief and doubt and promises us peace, and here we can catch a glimpse of it. We are the weary world, and here for a moment we don’t have to go through the motions of rejoicing. The heavens and the church bells will do it for us, until we have the strength to join the familiar carols. May we lay down our heavy burdens here, and find rest for our souls.