December 24, 2008
Grace Church
Rev. Robert E. Hensley

       Once upon a time in a faraway country where few people have ever travelled, there stood a magnificent cathedral. It stood on a high hill in the middle of a great city; and every Sunday, as well as on sacred days like Christmas, thousands of people climbed the hill to enter through its great archways, looking like lines of ants all moving in the same direction.

       When you came to the cathedral itself, you found stone columns and dark passages, and a grand entrance leading into the main room of the church. This room was so long that if you were standing at the doorway, you could scarcely see to the other end, where the choir stood by a magnificent marble altar. Way back in the farthest corner of the sanctuary was the organ; and this organ was so loud, that sometimes when it played, the people for miles around would close their windows and shutters, thinking that a great thunderstorm was approaching. Altogether, no such church as this was ever seen before, especially when it was lighted up for some festival, and crowded with people, young and old. But the strangest thing about the whole building was the wonderful chime of bells.

       At one corner of the church was a great gray tower, with ivy growing over it as far up as you could see. I say as far as you could see, because the tower was quite great enough to fit the great church, and it rose so far into the sky that it was only in very fair weather with very clear skies that any one claimed to be able to see the top. Even then one could not be certain that it was in sight. Up, and up, and up climbed the stones and the ivy; and as the men who built the cathedral had been dead for hundreds of years, every one 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 said to be 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 clearest and purest; however that might be no one denied that the chimes had the sweetest, most beautiful sound in the world. Some described them as sounding like angels singing up in the sky; others as sounding like strange winds blowing 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 remembered that his mother had spoken of hearing them when she was a little girl, and he was the only one alive who was sure of as much as that. They were Christmas chimes, you see, and were not meant to be played by ordinary people like you or me or on any regular days.

       It was the custom on Christmas Eve for all the people to bring to the church their offerings for the Christ-Child; and in the past 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 would set them swinging. But for many, many long years they had never been heard. It was said that people had been growing less careful of their gifts for the Christ-Child, and that no offering was great enough to deserve the music of the chimes.

       In spite of this, every Christmas Eve the rich people crowded to the altar, each one trying to bring some better gift than any other, without giving anything that they wanted for themself, and the church was crowded with those who thought that perhaps the wonderful bells just might be heard again. But although the service was splendid, and the offerings plentiful, the roar of the wind was all that would ever 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 great church but glimpses 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 made a secret plan which they had often talked over when they were alone, 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 himeslef 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, icy, white crust on the ground. Sure enough Pedro and Little Brother were able to slip quietly away early in the afternoon; and although the walking 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. In fact 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 their path, and stepped aside to look at it.

       It turned out to be a poor, old woman, who had fallen down just outside the city, too sick and tired to get in where she might have found shelter. A soft drift of snow made a sort of pillow for her, and she would soon be so sound asleep, in the wintry air, that she would never, ever wake up again. All of 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 on it, and when he had looked at her silently a moment he stood up and said:

       "It's no use, 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 a choking sound in his throat. "You see this poor woman? Her face looks like the Madonna in the chapel window, and she will freeze to death if nobody stays here and cares for her. Every one has gone to the church now, but when you come back you can bring some one to help her. I will rub her to keep her from freezing, and perhaps get her to eat the bit of bread that is left in my pocket."

       "But I don’t want to leave you, and go on alone," sobbed Little Brother.

       "Both of us need not miss the service," said Pedro. "and it had better be me than you. You can easily find your way to 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 go up to the altar without getting in any one's way, take this little silver piece of mine, and lay it down for my offering when no one is looking. Do not forget where you have left me, and forgive me for not going with you."

       So Pedro 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 give up the music and splendour of the Christmas celebration that he had been planning for so long, and spend the time instead watching over the old woman in that lonely place in the snow.

       The great church was a wonderful place that night. Every one 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 Pedro, away outside the city wall, felt the earth tremble around them.

       At the end of the service came the procession with the offerings to be laid on the altar. Rich and great men and women marched proudly up to lay down their gifts to the Christ-Child by the altar. 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 writing for years and years. And a famous artist brought a portrait  that he had just completed. 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, covered with precious stones, and lay it gleaming on the altar, as his offering to the Holy Child. "Surely," every one 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; and every one looked at the old minister, who was standing by the altar, holding up his hand for silence. Not a sound could be heard from any one in the church, but as all the people strained their ears to listen, there came softly, but distinctly, floating 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 ever been heard by anyone before, rising and falling away up there in the sky.  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 bells that had been silent for so very long.

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