Have You Heard the Bells?
By: Shafer Parker
On the first Sunday afternoon of December, my wife Jeanne and I joined some friends at the Cineplex Odeon Theatre at Eau Claire Market in Calgary to watch a feature length movie entitled, I Heard the Bells, and subtitled The Inspiring True Story (emphasis in the original) Behind the Beloved Christmas Carol. You may already know this, but the words to the hymn by that title were written by the famous American poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, and once you’ve seen the movie you will know why they pierce the heart. Figuratively speaking, they were written in blood. But more about that in a minute.
Writing this piece is a classic case of I-wish-I-knew-then-what-I-know-now syndrome. If I had known in, say, September or October, what I only learned this past Sunday, I would have written this article back then and urged/begged/pleaded that you make plans to attend anywhere a local theatre was prepared to host the movie’s short, early December, run.
Produced by Sight & Sound Films, I Heard the Bells is one of the few Christian movies that presents an emotionally gripping true story about the loss and renewal of faith without preaching. If there were such a thing as Christian Oscars, it should win best picture for that reason alone. That it tells a gripping story that feels true (it is true, but in movie making that is of second importance), and that the acting is uniformly excellent is just icing on the cake. Unless you were some of the few who attended one of those early December showings, I doubt that you will be able to view it this Christmas. But Sight & Sound has an online store, so check there, and watch it when it becomes available. You’ll be glad you did, and I get no remuneration for saying so. Note: It appears that Sight & Sound Director Josh Enck has announced that showings in some theatres are being extended, so check your local listings, and go see it if you can.
Now let me tell you what, to my mind, makes the movie, not just good, but important. It reveals the spiritual struggle and triumph that underlies the composition of Longfellow’s great carol. And hopefully, once you’ve seen it, you will be inspired and encouraged every time you sing this song for the rest of your life.
Here’s what happened. In mid-life Longfellow was something of a poet rock star. His books of poetry were best sellers on two continents. One book sold 10,000 copies in London on the day of its release, a feat never to be repeated until this day. Moreover, he was beloved as a social reformer, having published a book of anti-slavery poetry that moved many people to take up the abolitionist cause in pre-Civil War America. Everywhere he looked, his life was good. Respected in public life, he was passionately in love with wife Fanny and deeply affectionate toward their children. But unknown to most, his faith was dying, and it was becoming increasingly difficult for him to be thankful in a world where, outside his personal sphere, evil seemed to run rampant.
Then came a series of shocks. His wife’s hoop skirt knocked a lighted candle off a table, and she burned to death. In attempting to extinguish the flame Longfellow was himself burned badly enough that he could not attend her funeral service. Due to facial scarring, he would wear a full beard for the rest of his life. But it was the scar on his heart that left him devastated. For years he wrote no more poetry. Always shy, he became something of a recluse, earning income by translating European works into English (He had a genius for language that first manifested itself when he was a boy). But the worst was yet to come.
In 1863 the Civil war was in full swing. Although known for his support of the abolitionist cause, Longfellow refused to allow his 17-year-old son Charles to join the Union Army (until he turned 18, he could not legally go to war without his father’s signature), and the grieving poet could not stand the thought of another death in his immediate circle. But the son went to war anyway, only to be shot and injured badly enough that it was feared he might never walk again. Longfellow brought Charles home and personally began to care for him, his grief and despair growing all the while.
Finally, on Christmas Eve, Longfellow sought solace in his beloved’s wife’s diary. There he learned of her spiritual experiences of the love of God through Christ, and how she linked that love to the sound of church bells, especially at Christmas. As he read, bells began to ring, and he was suddenly aware that it was Christmas Eve, and that now at midnight the church bells were welcoming the birth of the Saviour. Somehow, the story of his wife’s coming to faith brought hope to him, and inspiration. He grabbed a sheet of paper and dashed off, “I heard the bells on Christmas day/their old familiar carols play.” After that he had to work at it, but the words kept coming. “And wild and sweet the words repeat/of peace on earth, good will to men.”
As he laboured to add more verses the poem became autobiographical. “I thought how, as the day had come/the belfries of all Christendom/had rolled along th’unbroken song/of peace on earth, good will to men.” But the faith espoused by the bells was a faith that, for the time being, at least, had died in him, and the next verse reflected his dark mood. “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 something changed in Longfellow, perhaps inspired by the rereading of his wife’s vibrant faith as recorded in her journal. And as faith was born, or reborn in his heart, so the next verse recorded the change. “Yet 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.’”
Morning was beginning to break as he wrote that fourth verse and began the last. And now his heart was in a completely different place. As dawn came, he penned these words: “Then 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.” He had come back to something lost long ago, out of the darkness and back to the light, out of despair and back to hope, out of a bitter, judgmental attitude, and back to the arms of his heavenly Father.
Longfellow’s song never mentions Jesus by name, nor Mary and Joseph, nor a manger, nor many of the other familiar tropes of the season. Yet, in simple verse he nails the central message of Christmas. To begin where Longfellow began, it’s worth noting Christmas proves that although hate is strong, love is stronger, that where darkness is strong, light is stronger, that where time makes victims of us all, through Jesus we can look forward to an eternity of life and joy, that although sin has brought its curse, the Saviour born that first Christmas lifts that curse and brings an even greater blessing, and that death is swallowed up in the victory of an endless life! Merry Christmas! “Let all the world in ev’ry corner sing, “My God and King!”
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