WHY THE CHIMES RANG
(Adapted from Raymond M. Alden- Re-written by BoSt)
All acts of
kindness however minuscule do not escape the notice of Heaven, even though they
may go unnoticed here on Earth.
Once upon a
time in a far off land there was a magnificent church set on a hilltop. Tall
stained glass windows, placed specifically to catch best angles of the sun’s
rays, depicted brilliantly executed religious scenes praising God Almighty’s
power and extolling the virtues of the saints. Pious carpenters had
painstakingly carved magnificent wooden reliefs above and to the sides of the
main entrance. The Church’s most prominent feature however was the gray stone
tower with ivy growing over it as far up as the eye can see. In the steeple an
array of Christmas chimes was housed.
Every
Christmas Eve all the inhabitants of the city, re-enacting an old tradition,
flocked to this church bringing with them many offerings to the Christ
Child. Legends told of a time when,
after the greatest and best offering was laid on the altar, there arose above
the voices of the choir a beautiful sound, emanating from the top of the tower the
most divine music of the Christmas Chimes.
Some claimed
it had to be the wind that rang them, while other more pious ones believed in
their heart of hearts, and exclaimed loudly so,
that it had to be the angels that set the bells swinging to produce that heavenly sound.
Then came a
time when, however great the offerings were, the chimes never again created
blissful melody. As a result people were saddened, feeling there must be
something amiss. Yet many Christmases came and went and no chimes were heard.
It so
happened that there was an old man living modestly with his wife Madonna, in a
ramshackle hut not far from the notable church. This kind old man recalled a
time when his mother had spoken to him of hearing the chimes when she was but a
little girl. In her waning years she
mourned the fact that people had grown less generous in their hearts with their
gifts for the Christ Child. Love and
compassion for their fellow man had diminished; pomp and ceremony, hand in hand
with greed and ambition taking root instead.
As a result, when an offering was made without the purest heart and
intentions and it became only a show, it did not move the angels and justly did
not merit the music of the chimes. If
the old man voiced this mournful insight it unfortunately fell on deaf ears. Everyone
dismissed him as a senile old man. When he died some years later his poor old
widow Madonna was left to fend for herself in a cruel, cruel world.
In a remote
country village a number of miles from the city there lived a boy named Pedro
and his little brother Pepito. Their parents had been dead for more than a year
and Pedro as the sole provider had done his best to support them. Pepito had overheard so much about the city’s
Christmas celebrations that he pleaded and pleaded with his elder brother to
take him to the church. Not having the
heart to say no, Pedro bundled some dry rations, mainly hard bread, a clump of
hard, moldy cheese and some grain, in a cloth then tied its ends and slung it
over his shoulder. They set out at dawn, both dressed in several layers to
escape the bitter, bone chilling cold and skins of water hung at their waists. The
day before Christmas was bitterly cold with frigid temperatures plunging below zero
and made worse by thrashing winds that whipped and punished any wayward soul
who dared venture outside.
For untold
hours the boys trudged to cover the great distance to the city. Huddled
together, they walked hand in hand bending their backs to brace themselves
against the strong winds. The icy drizzle mercilessly chilled them to the very
marrow of their bones. By dusk they were
tired, famished and exhausted, almost unable to take another step, yet the
lights of the big city now visible just ahead, egged them to soldier on.
Panting,
they at long last approached the gates of the city. Fortunately the gates were
still wide open, expecting more visitors. As they were about to enter, Pedro
spotted something dark on the snow off to the side of the road, and so veered off
to take a closer look. It was a poor
beggar woman who had obviously suffered a mishap and fallen into the shallow
ditch. Stranded, she lay there half-dead,
too sick and shivering with cold to rise up or call for help. Rushing over,
Pedro helped her to sit up and draped his threadbare coat over her shoulders to
bring her some warmth. She looked so pale and had difficulty speaking. He helped
her take some tentative sips from his water skin. Then, looking up, he
addressed his little brother, “It’s no use, Pepito. I can’t leave her in this
condition. You go on ahead to the church.”
“Alone?”
cried Pepito in a fearful voice. “No, I
can’t. I can’t let you will miss the
Christmas Festival.”
“You are
brave, just go on by yourself. I’ll be here when you come back. I can’t leave her.” Pedro answered sternly.
He looked at her face and smiled encouragingly. “Poor old lady, her face looks
like the Madonna in the chapel window.”
“Madonna”
the old woman opened her tear stained eyes slightly and smiled at Pedro.
“Go on. I
can’t leave her in this state; she will surely freeze to death if nobody stays
with her.” Then Pedro reached deep into
to his inner pocket and withdrew a treasured object for his little brother to
take. Then with the choking sound of disappointment he added: “If you get a
chance, little brother, to slip up to the altar without getting in anyone's
way, please take this little copper piece of mine and lay it down as our
offering when no one is looking. That way it will be the same as me going
there. "
Pepito
reluctantly left Pedro with a heavy heart.
The great church was truly a magnificent place that night. The
decorations, lights and glitter, all the displays, riches he’d never seen the
like of before simply took his little breath away. A small urchin like himself
was virtually invisible amidst the procession as they took their gifts for the
Christ Child to the altar.
Some worshipers laid down wonderful jewels; some gave baskets with massive amounts
of gold so heavy they could scarcely carry them down the aisle. A famed author laid down his prized work, a
book he had, after many years, just completed.
Then the
King appeared in all his majesty hoping, like the least petitioner, to win for
himself the music of the Christmas chimes. A great murmur rippled through the
church as the people witnessed the King taking his priceless golden crown, set
with diamonds and rare precious gems, from his head and laying it to gleam on the alter as his offering to the Christ
Child.
“Surely, “They
intoned in unison, “Surely we shall hear the bells now.” But the chimes did not
ring. Not even a whimper was heard. When
the gifts were all on the altar, the choir began the closing hymn.
The
disappointed crowd grumbling under their breath slowly began to disperse. Suddenly
the organist stopped playing, and everyone looked aghast at the old Priest, who
was holding up his hand for silence.
“What’s
this?”
When the
people strained their ears there came resonating through the air, softly but
distinctly, the heavenly music of the chimes in the tower!
The divine music
seemed so far away and yet so clear. The
notes were so much sweeter than any sound they had ever heard. Melody rising and falling in the sky was so
entrancing that the people in the church held their breath and stood perfectly
still.
Then they
all stood up together and stared at the altar, wanting to see what great gift
had awakened these long-silent chimes. But all the nearest of them saw was the
figure of Pepito, who had crept softly down the aisle, perfectly unseen and
placed Pedro’s little piece of copper on the altar.
The End
Merry Christmas Everyone
