Tolling Bell

 

   Three days ago Washington National Cathedral tolled the Bourdon Bell. It is their largest bell, weighing in at 12 tons. It is typically tolled at funerals held at the Cathedral. On Tuesday the bell was tolled 300 times, once for every 1,000 lives lost to coronavirus. There was a video on YouTube. It showed a single candle, its flame wavering from the vibrations of the large bell. Behind the candle, slightly blurred, were cards that contained the names of people who died of the virus. The names were sent in by friends and families for remembrance during the weekly memorial service that the Cathedral holds.

  I watched and listened to the video. Sometimes I sat sipping my tea. Sometimes I did some small tasks in my kitchen. It was hard to experience even second hand. Part of me wondered why I was doing this. Why was I listening to a bell toll for 30 minutes. Why not just shut it off and do something else? I felt compelled to keep listening to the steady tolling of the bell. 

  Part of it is because I had made a covenant to mourn with those who mourn. This felt like a part of mourning with those who mourn even if I don't know them. Even if no one knows what I'm doing. Each toll represented 1,000 lives lost. Eleven of those tolls would be the population of the town where my Dad lives. Two tolls is greater than the population of the town where my grandparents lived. The least I could do for the loved ones of these 300,000 people is to show respect and stay to the end. 

  Two thoughts occurred to me as I listened. The first is how little our culture seems to care about life. I'm not just talking about violence and killing. I'm talking about how we treat each other. How careless we can be with each other. An athlete performs poorly at a game and has his life threatened. Politicians talk about throwing their opponents in jail. The caustic comments towards people who don't look like us, act like us or believe like us. The hatred expressed by too many too often.

   I felt a wash of gratitude come over me. I'm alive. C is alive. None of those 300,000 are people I know. My family and friends are healthy and safe. I'm in my nice warm house, drinking a hot cup of tea. I have enough food, clothing and money. I have a job. There are many people, some of them living not too far away from me, that don't have that. 

   Whatever problems I have seem pretty small. I'm not spending my Christmas in a hospital fighting to live. I'm not spending my Christmas wondering if someone I care about will see New Years. I'm not an exhausted hospital worker scared of getting sick or getting my family sick. I'm not lonely and isolated, anxiety ridden or swallowed up in deep depression. 

  I'm all right. I can keep listening. I can keep praying. I can keep doing what I can to help others during this time...….