NRPLUS MEMBER ARTICLE W hen I was about seven, my family took a trip to Canada. Homeward bound, we stopped at an old church for Sunday Mass, and to the delight of us children, the kind parishioners allowed us to try our strength tolling the bells. Long ropes hung down into the vestibule, and we clung tightly to them, tugging hard. “Thrilling” hardly describes it.

Mulling over that experience recently, I became acutely aware of the presence of bells all around me. Church, literature, movies — it was almost inescapable, and rather moving. Bells feature, sometimes prominently, in the masterful tales of Brian Jacques, and one of his books — Mariel of Redwall — includes a meaningful poem on the subject:

I will ring for wedding times, when two hearts unite.
I will toll the hours out, all daytime and through the night.
I will wake good creatures up, from their beds each morning,
Or toll when they’re in danger, a clear and brazen warning.
For all the family, son and daughter, husband and goodwife,
I will boom a sad farewell, when they must leave this life.
For many great occasions, for many different reasons,
Listen and my voice you’ll hear, throughout the changing seasons.
Though I may boom, clang, peal or toll, command and use me well.
But hark, beware the evil ones who would misuse this bell.

Though we may rely on watches, phones, and national-security alerts now, the history, power, and sound of bells is worthy of our attention.

I will ring for wedding times, when two hearts unite.

If you’ve ever watched the wedding scene from The Sound of Music, you know how exhilarating tolling bells can feel. Their majestic pealing gives this scene an exultant and solemn tone as we see Maria prepare for her walk down the aisle. The continued ringing then announces the happy couple’s finalized vows, and we are treated to a glorious shot of a youth pulling the bell ropes for all he is worth.

Closer to home, for my sister’s upcoming wedding, we’re planning to set up a bell at the reception. Instead of clinking glasses to make the couple kiss, we’ll ask guests to pay a bit to ring the bell instead. Given our family’s history of antics, hilarity will most definitely ensue (and we’ll give the couple a boost on their honeymoon fund).

I will toll the hours out, all daytime and through the night.
I will wake good creatures up, from their beds each morning,
Or toll when they’re in danger, a clear and brazen warning.

For centuries, bells were used to alert people to invaders and other threats. At my home parish, however, it was a bell’s silence that raised an alarm. A few years ago, a very alert parishioner noticed that the bells didn’t chime at all one morning, and, upon investigation, it was discovered that the tower had been struck by lightning the previous evening. This had shorted out the bells’ electrical system and started a smoldering fire. Gone unchecked, the fire would’ve spread to the church’s main wooden support beam, causing terrible destruction. Saved by the bell indeed.

For all the family, son and daughter, husband and goodwife,
I will boom a sad farewell, when they must leave this life.

In the Catholic tradition, bells are named and blessed. The oldest bell foundry in Italy, the Marinelli foundry, brings in a priest to say these blessings each time a bell is cast:

The Marinellis refer to bells as “sacred bronzes” and describe them not as formed but “born,” with the initial wooden and brick structure that gives shape to the inside called the “anima,” or soul. To this day, a priest is called to the foundry to bless the bell, emitting a flurry of Hail Marys at the moment of fusion, when the bronze liquid is poured into the mould.

“Bells contained parts of the community they tolled above,” said older Marinelli brother Armando. “As an act of faith, people would throw their gold bands or necklaces into the bronze as it began setting. So, in a very material way, many bells contain bits of our past. And when bells ring, people hear the older generations ringing in them.”

 A blessed bell is a sacramental, an “extension of the sacraments.” As Aleteia says:

When a new church bell is installed it is traditionally “baptized” or “consecrated” by the bishop or local priest. Former ceremonies mirrored that of baptism and the current ceremony still requires the use of holy water. The bells are also given a name in honor of a particular patron saint, though many are named after the Blessed Virgin Mary.

Simply read the words of the bell blessing from the Roman Ritual to understand what emphasis is put on these bells:

God, who decreed through blessed Moses, your servant and lawgiver, that silver trumpets should be made and be sounded at the time of sacrifice, in order to remind the people by their clear tones to prepare for your worship and to assemble for its celebration. Grant, we pray, that this bell, destined for your holy Church, may be hallowed by the Holy Spirit through our lowly ministry, so that when it is tolled and rung the faithful may be invited to the house of God and to the everlasting recompense. Let the people’s faith and piety wax stronger whenever they hear its melodious peals. At its sound let all evil spirits be driven afar; let thunder and lightning, hail and storm be banished; let the power of your hand put down the evil powers of the air, causing them to tremble at the sound of this bell, and to flee at the sight of the holy cross engraved thereon. May our Lord Himself grant this, who overcame death on the gibbet of the cross, and who now reigns in the glory of God the Father, in the unity of the Father and the Holy Spirit, forever and ever.

For many great occasions, for many different reasons

Again, in the Catholic tradition (are we sensing a theme here?), bells are rung to mark the praying of various devotions throughout the day, particularly at 6 a.m., noon, and 6 p.m., when the Angelus is said. They ring to announce births, victories, defeats, visitors — small and important events alike have been declared in a brazen voice that both keeps ritual and breaks it.

But ringing a bell is not so simple as it may appear. Only look up the term “change ringing” and you will learn that this “traditional English art of ringing a set of tower bells” used to be “a gentleman’s recreation”; that a “peal” is not one ring but, “On five, six, or seven bells, a peal is the maximum number of permutations (orderings) possible (120, 720, and 5,040, respectively)”; that change ringing is highly mathematical in nature; and that bells used in change ringing require full circle ringing and start out mouth-upward. And this doesn’t even begin to touch the technical side of the art form, which, though rarer now, is still practiced in various parts of the world.

Listen and my voice you’ll hear, throughout the changing seasons.

After the tragic fire at Notre Dame Cathedral in April 2019, numerous stories began appearing, highlighting structurally, architecturally, and liturgically unique aspects of the historical site. The fire also kickstarted plenty of preservation efforts, among them one focused on the church’s massive bells. Bill Fontana didn’t just want to preserve the bells (which, thankfully, survived the devastation), he wanted to record their sound when they were seemingly at rest:

Even when the bells are not ringing, their vibrations change constantly based on what’s happening around them. For hundreds of years, these vibrations have been quietly reflecting the city.

“It’s a physical fact that these bells are actually vibrating all the time; it’s like a spirit that’s living inside of Notre-Dame,” Fontana tells the Art Newspaper. “It’s the voice, soul, the breath of the bell.”

Though I may boom, clang, peal or toll, command and use me well.
But hark, beware the evil ones who would misuse this bell.

These lines put me in mind of the old Italian tale The Bell of Atri, which has had many retellings over the years. At its heart, it is the story of a caring king who uses a bell to better the lives of his citizens. Even the poor beasts deserve justice, and whether it is a child, an adult, a horse, or a donkey, all may ring the town bell and call for justice to be given them.

Before they can be used, though, bells must be cast, a process requiring great care and attention. Not only must the proper metals be used, the temperature and timing of pouring and cooling must be precisely controlled. Per the Marinellis:

“We haven’t introduced machines. We’ve stayed in the same traditional workshop instead of moving into a bigger factory. We refuse to work with soulless, mass-produced moulds.”

Indeed, the materials scattered throughout the workshop — clay, wood, wax, bricks and bronze — are the very same as those the medieval artisans used. The Marinellis also employ the same techniques to design and cast the bells, including a geometric formula involving the height, diameter of the base and distance from the base to the top of the bell, with the thickest part of the bell always a 14th of the diameter.

Alas for bells, their metal composition and significance often make them the target of short-supplied commanders during war, as outlined in Legion Magazine:

The practice of confiscating and transforming church bells into tools of war is not new. It was a longstanding tradition of European warfare that artillery commanders had rights over the bells of conquered villages, towns and cities.

Napoleon, in particular, relished claiming this right, and added to his war coffers by requiring vanquished cities to buy back their bells. If they could not, the commanding general was entitled to dispose of them as he saw fit. Half the revenue would be his, the other half went to the central treasury. The practice was called “Rachat des cloches,” or “redemption of the bells.”

And it wasn’t just Napoleon. That Legion Magazine article also details the destruction of hundreds of German bells in World War I, and then the ruinous havoc wreaked upon the Netherlands’ bells by the Nazis during World War II. Plundered and silenced, even bells can become victims.

* * *

There is almost no end to what can be said about bells. They come in all manner of shapes and sizes; carry musical, mathematical, and liturgical significance; and have been used for countless purposes in numerous cultures for thousands of years.

But on this most glorious of days, here is my favorite use of bells:

I wish I were the little bell
That tinkles for the Host,
When God comes down each day to dwell
With hearts He loves the most.

This second stanza of Fr. Abram J. Ryan’s poem “A Child’s Wish” comes back to me each time I’m at Mass. In both the traditional Latin Mass and Novus Ordo liturgies, bells are used to mark that most holy moment of elevation during the consecration, calling our wandering minds back and singing out, “Look! Adore Him!” One church I know even times the ringing of its tower bells to signal this elevation (a continuation of an older tradition), and if you sit in just the right spot, you can hear the mighty whooshing and the distant chimes.

Christians the world over rejoice on this day, celebrating our Lord’s resurrection with majestic songs, solemn prayers, and the rolling peal of silver-tongued bells. Their sound reaches us, calling us to heed and to praise.