I miss the bells.
I remember, when Martha was still alive, we’d usually be about half a block away from the cathedral, when they would start ringing the bells. Our hearts would lift, our steps would quicken, and our minds would immediately shift to the glory of our Lord. Different bells sending out different frequencies, harmoniously played, beckoning our hearts to make haste to come closer, and our minds to slow down and listen.
We could feel the lowest tones vibrate through our bodies, linking our bodies to the invisible energy of the bells. The highest tones sent our love upward, beckoning us ever higher. The middle tones, brought it all together in a glorious melody of the impossible made possible by love and care of many:
The love and care of the miner who dug up the ore;
The love and care of the driver who took the ore for processing;
The love and care of the people who own the plant that converted the ore to metal;
The love and care of the metalsmith who formed the metal into the bell at just the right size, weight, and consistency to make the exact required tone;
The love and care of the shipper who took the bell to the cathedral with no damage;
The love and care of the crane master who got the bell up, up, up into that tall steeple;
The love and care of the priests who pull the ropes to get the bells to ring so sweetly;
And the love and care of the people who paid out of their limited funds so all of the above could happen.
I miss the bells.
Noise pollution, they said. Woke people up, they said. What about the atheists or the people of other faiths, they said? You shouldn’t be disturbing them, they said. It disturbs the wildlife, they said.
What about me and what I want, I said. But they didn’t listen to me. Apparently, my opinion of wanting something beautiful, is less important than those who want to take things apart, to destroy, to scatter, to silence. They said they didn’t think it was beautiful. I said that I didn’t think the sculptures they put in front of their buildings were beautiful, so would they please take them down. They didn’t. They are selective in their destruction.
The silence on my walks to the cathedral, now, is deadening. The energy of the bells is gone, replaced by nothing. When there is no energy, there is death. Death of the imagination, death of the heart, death of the legs as they walk slower and slower. My mind is no longer lifted to heaven by the bells, but is left to wallow in the muck of the world around me as I walk to the cathedral. I think that’s what they want: my mind in the muck of the world.
I miss the bells.
The bells are still there, apparently. I asked the bishop. He said they are still there, but they can’t be used. I asked him what would be the consequences if we did use them? He said he didn’t know for sure, but as it is against the local bylaws, he knew it would be bad. Bad for whom, I asked, and walked away. Not my finest moment, I’ll admit. The bishop is a good guy, but I think he worries too much about what might happen, and not enough about what should be. If we just let them shut things down so easily, what’s to stop them from shutting down everything?
Shouldn’t there be a good fight about this? Shouldn’t it mean something when a cathedral has rung the bells for 87 years? Why do the people who have lived nearby for 2 years or 10 years have a bigger say? Why is the beautiful so ugly to them? Why is the ugly so beautiful to them?
I think I now understand what they mean when they say that Satan rules the world. I used to think that was just talk, but I can now see that when it’s easy for the ugly to win over the beautiful, earth is far away from heaven.
I miss the bells.
Martha would have said I’m just being a grumpy old man. Yup, I am. The Lord has seen to it that I be humble, but I’ve earned every grump I grumble. I’ve had to work hard at everything I do. I’ve been blessed with strength of body and will, but that has worn down over the years of sweat, strain, and struggle. We scrimped, we saved, and we did well enough to have food on the table for us and the kids, and a roof over our heads. We didn’t have any extra, but we were blessed. And one of the blessings was the bells. They were a luxury that God gave us to make us forget about life on earth, if only for a little while, and remind us about heaven up there. They were a luxury that drew us closer to heaven. They were a luxury that sang the songs of the angels in our hearts, and led us to the glory of God.
Thank you, God, for all the blessings that you have given me, but I miss the bells.
Peace be with you.
Steve.
Note – I wrote this as a work of fiction, but then wondered if there were places where the bells had been stopped. I quickly found a few related pieces. There are probably more.
https://www.catholicnewsagency.com/news/17039/arizona-catholic-church-sues-to-ring-its-bells
https://abcnews.go.com/WN/freedom-religion-questioned-ringing-church-bells-case/story?id=8978147
Peace Be With You 