For whom the bell tolls. . .

I lifetime ago a member of my first parish had died and the family was looking for a fitting memorial.  They had a connection to an electronic carillon company and so it was settled that we were getting a carillon.  Well, it was not really a carillon but a player that played tapes of bells over a loudspeaker set up on the steeple of the church.  We were thrilled, however.  At first we had it playing every hour with a hymn and then we toned it down to a bell on the quarter hours and an extended bell on the hour with a full hymn at 9 am, 12 Noon, and 6 pm.  We thought it was great.  Apparently a neighbor did not.  Although you could not hear it everywhere, it did carry through the very small town and even out in the country.  It carried too well for some ears.  They complained.  To their credit, the town officials did not bother with the complaint.  We were hurt, however, that anyone would have the audacity to complain about a church bell.

Forward about 30 years and my last parish got two real bells on a bell tower with ropes that had to be pulled and with the sound not of a loudspeaker amplifying something but an authentic sound piercing the neighborhood.  We rang it only for worship and funerals.  It did not ring hourly nor did it sound out a familiar pattern.  Just a couple of bells at different pitches, sounding better or worse according to the guy who was pulling the ropes.  I do not know if anyone has complained.  The neighborhood is already loud with the sound of a five lane highway in front of the Church, motorcycles speeding down the asphalt, ambulance, firetruck, and police sirens, and the occasional truck using the engine to brake.  The bell probably gets lost in all that noise.  I am sure that somewhere somebody is thinking I wish they would stop ringing that dang bell.  Oh, well.

We do not hear bells much anymore.  The noises of a busy life and crowded roads have taken over and bells have fallen out of favor—even in churches.  It is secular noise without the intrusion of the sacred.  I am sad about that.  I think back to the small city of Hudson, NY, across the river by the same name from where I served.  At one point, it had 8 different Lutheran congregations (from Estonian and Latvian to German to groups that broke off for one reason or another).  Now but one Lutheran remains and it was a break off group that managed to survive.  The others do not even have buildings to remind us of their past anymore.  Once, however, they had steeples and bells along with the other Christian churches in that small but very old city.  Even the Roman Catholic parishes were divided—Italian, German, Polish, Irish, etc... Now those steeples are quiet and with that silence comes another sadness as we remember what was and is no more.  The once thriving ethnic congregations and those who broke off for real theological reasons and not simply because they could not get along with the pastor all had bells to sing out their presence.  Now there is the awkward silence of mergers, consolidations, closures, and demolished buildings. 

The sound of Christianity has exited America with the buildings and communities that once thrived in them.  We are too enlightened to let ethnicity or language or culture or even doctrine divide us anymore.  Strangely enough, the forced marriages of need or aspiration inevitably led to decline and not to success.  That is certainly the track record of Lutherans.  With all our grand plans has come the tragic reality that the bell tolls no more in most places—except in memory.  Kingdom building did not lead to victory but to defeat and Christians are struggling to remain orthodox and to remain a presence anymore.  The greater sadness is that too many who once appreciate churches and what they did are relieved by the silence and the faded echos of their presence on the streets, roads, and boulevards of America.  I wonder if it would have been different if we were not so apologetic about presence, about the sound of that presence in bells and in conviction, and about passing on that legacy more proudly to those who followed us.  I would like to think so.

There are communities still flourishing—and not simply the ones who have turned their churches into living rooms filled with people seeking entertainment along with their inspiration.  I was privileged to be a part of two of those.  They each grew during the time I was there (though I am not taking credit for that).  They were intentional communities of faith, keeping their conviction vibrant and their confession of doctrine full, along with a faithful practice of our liturgical maximums.  At this point they remain strong, filled with the sounds of people, babies crying, instruments playing, kneelers dropping, choirs singing, hymns sung with gusto, chant and, yes, with bells.  We do what we can to make sure that we are not too quiet.  I hope we are all doing that.