A CHRISTMAS STORY: Why the Bells Chimed

By the Very Rev. Sherry Crompton
December 30, 2007 (Christmas Eve)
Read: Why The Bells Chimed by Raymond MacDonald Alden
(This story is found all over the Internet and apparently comes originally from Alden’s Why the Chimes Rang and Other Stories, (The Bobbs-Merrill Co., Inc.))

Christmas Day is past, but it is still the season of Christmas and today I want to share a wonderful Christmas tale written by Raymond MacDonald Alden many years ago. It is a story that is delightful and warm and I pray that you may be blessed by it as have many others. It is called “Why the Bells Chimed”.

There was once, in a far-away country where few people have ever travelled, a wonderful church. It stood on a high hill in the centre of a great city; and every Sunday, as well as on sacred days like Christmas, thousands of people climbed the hill to its great archways, looking like lines of ants all moving in the same direction.

When you came to the building itself, you found stone columns and dark passageways, and a grand entrance leading to the main room of the church. This room was so long that one standing at the door-way could scarcely see to the other end, where the choir stood by the large altar. In the farthest corner was the organ, and this organ was so loud that sometimes when it played, the people for miles around would close their shutters and prepare for a great thunderstorm. Altogether, no such church as this was ever seen before, especially when it was lit up for some festival, and crowded with people, young and old.

But the strangest thing about the old building was the wonderful chime of bells. At one corner of the church was a great, grey tower, with ivy growing over it as far up as one can see. I say as far as one can see because the tower was quite grand enough to fit the grand church, and it rose so far into the sky that it was only in fair weather that anyone claimed to be able to see the top. Even then one could not be certain that it was in sight. Up and up climbed the stones and the ivy, and, as the men who built the church had been dead for hundreds of years, everyone had forgotten how high the tower was supposed to be.

Now, all the people knew that at the top of the tower was a chime of Christmas bells. They had hung there ever since the church had been built, and were the most beautiful bells in the world. Some thought it was because a great musician had cast them and arranged them in their place; others said it was because of the great height, which reached up where the air was cleanest and purest. However that might be, no one who had ever heard the chimes denied that they were the sweetest in the world. Some described them as sounding like angels far up in the sky; others, as sounding like strange winds singing through the trees.

But the fact was that no one had heard them for years and years. There was an old man living not far from the church who said that his mother had spoken of hearing them when she was a little girl, and he was the only one who was sure of as much as that. They were Christmas chimes, you see, and were not meant to be played by men or on common days. It was the custom on Christmas Eve for all the people to bring to the church their offerings to the Christ- child; and when the greatest and best offering was laid on the altar, there used to come sounding through the music of the choir the Christmas chimes far up in the tower. Some said that the wind rang them, and others that they were so high that the angels could start them swinging. But for many years they had never been heard.

It was said that people were growing less careful of their gifts for the Christ-child, and that no offering was brought great enough to deserve the music of the chimes. Every Christmas Eve the rich people still crowded to the altar, each one trying to bring some gift better than any other, without giving anything he wanted for himself, and the church was crowded with those who thought that perhaps the wonderful bells might be heard again. But although the services were splendid and the offerings plenty, only the roar of the wind could be heard, far up in the stone tower.

Now, a number of miles from the city, in a little country village where nothing could be seen of the tower when the weather was fine, lived a boy named Pedro, and his little brother. They knew very little about the Christmas chimes, but they had heard of the service in the church on Christmas Eve, and had a secret plan, which they had often talked over when by themselves, to go and see the beautiful celebration.

“Nobody can guess, Little Brother,” Pedro would say, “all the fine things there are to see and hear; and I have even heard it said that the Christ-child sometimes comes down to bless the service. What if we could see Him!”

The day before Christmas was bitterly cold, with a few lonely snowflakes flying in the air, and a hard white crust on the ground. Sure enough, Pedro and Little Brother were able to slip quietly away, early in the afternoon; and although the walk was hard in the frosty air, before nightfall they had trudged so far, hand in hand, that they saw the lights of the big city just ahead of them. Indeed, they were about to enter one of the great gates in the wall that surrounded it when they saw something dark on the snow near the path, and stepped aside to look at it.

It was a poor woman who had fallen just outside the city, too sick and tired to get in where she might have found shelter. The soft snow made of a drift a sort of pillow for her, and she would soon be so sound asleep in the wintry air that no one could ever waken her again. All this Pedro saw in a moment, and he knelt down beside her and tried to rouse her, even tugging at her arm a little as though he would have tried to carry her away. He turned her face toward him so that he could rub some of the snow off it, and when he had looked at her silently a moment, he stood up again and said:

“It’s no good, Little Brother. You will have to go on alone.”

“Alone?” cried Little Brother, “And you not see the Christmas Festival?”

“No,” said Pedro, and he could not keep back a bit of the choking sound in his throat. “See this poor woman. She will freeze to death if nobody cares for her. Everyone has gone to the church now, but when you come back you can bring someone to help her. I will rub her to keep her from freezing, and perhaps get her to eat the bun that is left in my pocket.”

“But I cannot bear to leave you, and go on alone,” said Little Brother.

“Both of us need not miss the service,” said Pedro, “and it had better be I than you. You can easily find your way to the church; and you must see and hear everything twice, Little Brother, — once for you and once for me. I am sure the Christ-child must know how I should love to come with you and worship Him; and oh! if you get a chance Little Brother to slip up to the altar without getting in anyone’s way, take this little silver piece of mine, and lay it down for my offering when no one is looking. Don’t forget where you have left me, and forgive me for not going with you.”

In this way he hurried Little Brother off to the city, and winked hard to keep back the tears as he heard the crunching footsteps sounding farther and farther away in the twilight. It was pretty hard to lose the music and splendor of the Christmas celebration that he had been planning for so long, and spend the time instead in that lonely place in the snow.

The great church was a wonderful place that night. Everyone said that it had never looked so bright and beautiful before. When the organ played and the thousands of people sang, the walls shook with the sound and little Pedro, outside the city wall, felt the earth tremble around him, for the sound was so great.

At the close of the service came the procession with offerings to be laid on the altar. Rich men and great men marched proudly up to lay down their gifts to the Christ-child. Some brought wonderful jewels, some baskets of gold so heavy that they could scarcely carry them down the aisle. A great writer laid down a book that he had been making for years and years.

And last of all walked the king of the country, hoping with all the rest to win for himself the chime of the Christmas bells. There went a great murmur through the church as the people saw the king take from his head the royal crown, all set with precious stones, and lay it gleaming on the altar as his offering to the holy Child. “Surely.” everyone said, “we shall hear the bells now, for nothing like this has ever happened before.”

But still only the cold old wind was heard in the tower, and the people shook their heads, and some of them said, as they had before, that they never really believed the story of the chimes, and doubted if they ever rang at all.

The procession was over, and the choir began the closing hymn. Suddenly the organist stopped playing as though he had been shot, and everyone looked at the old minister who was standing by the altar holding up his hand for silence. Not a sound could be heard from anyone in the church, but as all the people strained their ears to listen there came softly, but distinctly swinging through the air, the sound of the chimes in the tower.

So far away and yet so clear the music seemed — so much sweeter were the notes than anything that had been heard before, rising and falling away up there in the sky, that the people in the church sat for a moment as still as though something held each of them by the shoulders. Then they all stood up together and stared straight at the altar to see what great gift had awakened the long-silent bells.

But all that the nearest of them saw was the childish figure of Little Brother, who had crept softly down the aisle when no one was looking, and had laid Pedro’s little piece of silver on the altar……