“A Love Letter to the Altar Bells”
by Kendall Buechler
RING!! RING!!! RING!!!
Now that I have your attention, I would love to tell you about one of my favorite parts of the Mass: the tiny altar bells. I know that sounds a little silly, but in two stories I will explain why I’ve found the simple ringing of the altar bells to be one of the most beautiful parts of our tradition. This year, I went to two Masses that differed vastly from the ones I usually experience. These experiences have given me a new and beautiful insight into how and why we celebrate the Mass the way we do.
In January, I attended the March for Life with our Marian campus pro-life group. After rising at 4:00 in the morning and being on a bus all day, our group of around fifty students, staff, and seminarians hurried into the packed National Basilica. This is one of the largest Catholic churches in North America, and there was no room at the inn. My small group of 4 girls had to split up to find a spot to kneel in a corridor alongside hundreds of other pilgrims. I distinctly recall the hard marble on my knees, but most of all, I remember how upset I was that I could not even glimpse the sanctuary. Of course, I could crane my neck behind me to peek at the television set up in the “Our Lady of Czestochowa chapel,” which showed the live EWTN broadcast of the Mass, but that wasn’t the same as the experience. I desperately wanted to see that altar, and even more, I wanted to see Jesus elevated by the priest.
As these worries jumbled around my head, I couldn’t ignore how beautiful was this Mass. The prowess of the organist gave me a good dose of humility, the number of human souls in the space brought me hope, and the sight of our Religious brothers and sisters gave me great joy (for greater immersion into this beauty, check out EWTN’s broadcast). Still, I longed to see a sliver of what was happening on that altar. This anxiety lasted until one moment at the tail end of the Eucharistic prayer. RING! RING! RING! The sound of those tiny bells rang out through the entire basilica. Though I could not see the hands that rang the bells or the hands that elevated the host, I knew the hands of Christ were as close to me as my knees were to the marble of the National Basilica. At that moment, I felt like the woman who believed that touching just a thread of Jesus’ garment would heal her. I realized Jesus is not limited, and those bells reminded me of that. No, I could not see the body of Christ lifted high, but I knew He was there.
A month later, I went with a group of friends to a church on the south side of Indianapolis for a Mass in celebration of the Vietnamese New Year. I was once again stunned by the beauty of this Mass, except this day, I was not in a sprawling basilica but in a small parish church. At first, I worried I would not understand what was happening or get lost in the Eucharistic prayer. In the end, I got lost trying to follow along with a Mass in a language so foreign to me, but it was okay! Although I did not understand the beautiful words of the Eucharistic prayer, I knew what was coming. Once again, the bells rang, and I bowed my head, understanding that even though the language in which He came amongst us was foreign to me, Jesus was truly and physically present in our midst.
You don’t have to travel far away or attend a foreign language mass to experience the importance of the altar bells. At home, I can distract myself with the piano, turning my attention away from the Mass. But then, there come the bells, snapping me out of my inattention and reminding me that something amazing is happening. If you’ve ever been the mom or dad wrestling a kid to get out from under the pew, the cantor caught up in the task at hand, or simply the parishioner who is too tired, too hungry, or too bored to realize what is happening, those little bells are for you. Those bells are a reality call.
If Jesus thinks we’ll always be able to pay attention and give our entire focus, then why is His coming to us in the Eucharist accompanied by a literal wake-up call? The Mass is truly universal, reaching everyone regardless of age, language, or physical limitations, allowing all to experience the true presence of Jesus within themselves, embraced by His love.
Something will be different in the next few weeks; after the Gloria on Holy Thursday, no bells will ring. Instead, the sound of wood hitting wood will echo through the church. What is this telling you? Perhaps, when Holy Thursday arrives, and someone strikes the wood clapper, we can look up with a sense of urgency, distress, and fear, mirroring our reaction to the arrest of Jesus by the Romans. CLICK-CLACK! CLICK-CLACK! CLICK-CLACK! The clapper replaces the bells because of the harsh nature of their sound. People know bells for their joyous, harmonious sound; the Triduum is serious business.
Easter Sunday is on the other side of the Triduum. Listen for the bells, look to Him, for He is calling you. The sound of the bells is calling you home.
RING!! RING!!! RING!!!
