One of the most popular Christmas carols of all time is "Hark! The Herald Angels Sing." The original words of Charles Wesley, though, were "Hark, how all the welkin rings! Glory to the King of Kings!" "Welkin" is an archaic English word for "heavens" or "the universe." Charles Wesley never wrote that the angels sang, perhaps because he didn't overlook what other hymn writers (such as those who wrote the French carol we just sang, "Angels We Have Heard On High") overlook: The Scripture does not say the angels sang at Jesus' birth. If you were paying close attention to the reading from Luke just now, you'll note that when the angels appeared to the shepherds with their message of "Glory to God in the highest, etc.", they were speaking, not singing. In fact, (and I could be wrong about this) there are only two times recorded in all of Scripture, two biblical references, about angels singing. The first is Job 38:7, where God tells Job about the angels' singing at creation. That took place before the Fall, before Adam and Eve sinned. The next reference to angels singing is a prophetic passage all the way in the back of the Bible, in Revelation 5. John saw many angels, "...numbering thousands upon thousands, and ten thousand times ten thousand. They encircled the throne and the living creatures and the elders. In a loud voice they sang: "Worthy is the Lamb, etc. Then I heard every creature in heaven and on earth and under the earth and on the sea, and all that is in them, singing..." John sees in this divine vision that one day, after the Lamb completes His work, everybody and every thing is breaking out in exultant singing! This is a grand, celestial cantata, a wonderful chorus that has been in preparation for millennia, and John sees all redeemed creation joined in this mighty chorus! And, as mentioned in the sermon this morning, probably the biggest baritone bellowing out over them all is God Himself, whom the prophet Zephaniah foretold is going to sing with exultant joy when redemption is complete.

So angels sang before the Fall of man, before the grand harmony of Creation was shattered by sin. And they will sing again, after God's redemption and restoration through Christ is complete. And all the redeemed will be singing with them! In the meantime, though, it seems the angels don't sing. Perhaps they will not sing while things are still so "broken," perhaps they will not sing until all is finally and fully restored, until all is made right. However, they minister all the while with the utter confidence and hope that all will be made right. In a nutshell, this is what the whole biblical drama of redemption is all about: A grand, majestic, mighty production that is being re-assembled over the millennia, a chorus that is being put together again and gathered and prepared and trained even as we sit here this evening, a grand pageant of praise and joy and celebration is in the works which will include ALL of us in Christ ... it isn't here yet, but it sure is coming! It is coming because "... unto us a Child has been born, unto us a Son has been given." In the meantime, we still live in the fallen-ness of this world. But we live knowing that "... of the increase of His government and peace there will be no end."

There is another carol that I believe captures the hope of the angel's message. It was not written originally as a carol; it was a poem that was slightly revised and set to music in 1872. The poem, "Christmas Bells," was written by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow on December 25, 1864. To give some background: Twenty one years and six months earlier, Longfellow had married his wife, Fanny. After a somewhat roller coaster, on again off again courtship of seven years, they were wed July 13, 1843 in Cambridge. He was 36, she 26.

Soon the Longfellows had a family of five children: two boys, Charles and Ernest, then three girls, Alice, Edith and Allegra. By all accounts, they were a wonderfully happy family. In 1859, a contented Longfellow, sitting in his study next to the home library, penned his well-known poem, "The Children's Hour," which contained the stanza: "From my study I see in the lamplight, Descending the broad hall stair, Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra, and Edith with golden hair." He concisely captured and immortalized the three girls in these words; the utterly serious, grave oldest sister; the carefree, giggling middle sister, the long-haired, serene and beautiful youngest. He was a contented father, a successful writer, a happy husband ... the life of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was just right.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was to see both the tranquility of his family and the tranquility of his country shattered in a three month period, between April 12 and July 10, 1861. April 12: The attack on Fort Sumter, plunging the nation into civil war. Then July 10. The day before July 10 was a very hot and humid day in Cambridge. In her July 9 journal entry Fanny Longfellow wrote: "We are all sighing for the good sea breeze instead of this stifling land one filled with dust. Poor Allegra is very droopy with the heat, and Edie has to get her hair in a net to free her neck from its weight." The day after she wrote that, in the late afternoon, Henry was at work in his study next to the library. Fanny, wearing a light summer dress, sat before an open window in the library. Edith, seven, and Allegra, five, stood at their mother's side. Earlier, Fanny had trimmed some of Edith's long hair to help relieve her from the heat; as this was the first major haircut of Edith's beautiful curls, Mom decided to preserve the clippings in sealing wax. She lit a candle, and began melting a bar of sealing wax ... and drops of burning wax fell unnoticed on her dress. Through the open window gusted the good sea breeze for which she had been longing. The light material of her dress suddenly caught fire; in an instant, she was wrapped in a sheet of flame. Trying to protect the girls, she ran with a piercing cry to the study next door where her husband sat. He sprang up, grabbed a throw-rug off the floor, and threw it around her. Too small, too small. He embraced her in an attempt to smother the flames; his face, arms and hands were severely burned. Fanny Longfellow died the next morning. The burns on Henry Longfellow's face made it impossible to shave, so he eventually grew the trademark full beard some people today thought he always wore.

Like all American citizens at the time, Longfellow experienced the loss of national peace; he also experienced the loss of personal peace. December 25, 1861 (the first Christmas after Fanny's death), an excerpt from his journal: "How inexpressibly sad are the holidays!" A year later, December 25, 1862: "A Merry Christmas say the children, but there is no more for me." And during the third Christmas season, the tragedy of the Civil War hit home: Charles, his oldest son and a lieutenant in the Army of the Potomac, had been severely wounded. A bullet had entered under the left shoulder-blade and passed directly through the back, taking off one of the spinal processes, and exited out under the right shoulder blade. Longfellow made no journal entries on Christmas Day that year. It was if he couldn't write, he couldn't "sing," while his world was so broken.

But one year later, now the fourth Christmas after his beloved wife's death, the year after his son's crippling injury, and the fourth year of the Civil War, on December 25, 1864, Longfellow sat at his desk in his study and listened to the church bells ringing and ringing. It was then that he wrote:

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.'

I thought how as that day had come

The belfries of all Christendom

Had rolled along th' unbroken song

Of 'peace on earth, good will to men.'

And in despair I bowed my head:

"There is no peace on earth," l 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.

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.

Originally, there were seven stanzas; the two that were omitted contained many references to the Civil War. The third stanza is intensely personal, reflecting the despair he had felt for three years. For three years he found it hard to write. Perhaps like the angels, he could not sing in his broken world. But this year, through the ringing of the bells, he grasped the message, he heard the hope, the very real hope, of the angels. The next stanza is a statement of grace and hope, a divine gift of optimism, perhaps a personal revelation from God that, indeed, the Right will prevail. Longfellow found, as many of us have found, that our broken places can actually become our best altars for encountering God. The grace of God came to Longfellow on the broken altar of his interrupted life. It should also be noted that when he wrote this stanza the war was not yet over, his son Charley still suffered excruciating and crippling pain, his wife was still gone ... but the Christmas message of Hope rang loud and clear through the storms, and this year, he grasped hold of that message. All will be made well. The "story" isn't over yet; the future is still on the way. A Child has been born. A Son has been given. And the increase of His government will see no end. The zeal of the Lord of Hosts will accomplish this.