For when the thundering sounds of this sin-cursed earth are heard around us, be they in the form of the darkness of war, personal tragedy, or other suffering, we should ring the gospel bell all the louder in our own hearts and the ears of those around us. The believer should proclaim to himself and to all who will listen of God’s presence and ultimate victory on this earth, first announced by angels at Christ’s birth and brought to fruition through his death and resurrection.

While in Cambridge on a trip to visit churches in Massachusetts and Rhode Island this past weekend, my host, Tom Fisher, took me on a walking tour of Harvard. Tom is a walking encyclopedia himself, and I immensely enjoyed hearing the history of the people, buildings, and sites on this sunny but brisk New England day. When he took me to look at the great nineteenth century poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s home, we thought we would only be able to look on from the outside as indoor tours seasonally halt in October.

Yet surprisingly, a friendly park ranger named Garrett told us the home was open for tours that day. Turns out an open house had been held the night before for special dignitaries, having been decorated for Christmas, and the staff had decided to give some tours to the public on Saturday. With an opportunity to both see inside this well preserved home and escape the cold for a bit, we eagerly accepted his invitation for a tour.

Incredibly, the home is like a small museum, as it is filled with all the period furnishings, paintings, and other possessions of the Longfellow’s. At times you do feel as you have stepped back in time as you walk through the rooms. With the emphasis on Christmas, the staff had brought out other items telling the story of this family. They had a Great Republic wooden sled displayed that Henry had given to his son Charley in 1854, with excerpts from his diary describing the fun the children had in the snow. A doll set of clothes from France the girls had received were set out on a table. Letters the kids had written to Santa were shown, one with the boys requesting soldier equipment. A reply was posted next to it, clearly written by guiding parents, telling them they could have toy soldiers but Santa did not want them pretending to be soldiers themselves.

As we paused in Longfellow’s book-lined study, Garrett told us the story behind one of his poems. In 1863, Longfellow was at a low point. His beloved wife Fanny, mother of their six children, had tragically perished two years earlier when the dress she was wearing caught on fire in the next room from his study. His attempts to put it out came too late, as she died of severe burns the next day.

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