Snatches of history
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"The bells in our church are wretched things," said the old man. "Don't ask me to get up early in the morning, though I'm forced to - we all are. But still, it's hard. What's more, even after we get up, we'd still have to move around and work and, not to be rude, but priests would have to make a request to the Lord at the top of voice. I will never understand it. And as for the bells. My, they're just awful. Those chimes? Don't they make you want to just die? It's not all right. You don't want to experience it. These are the issues that plague our dear parish."
The old man was talking to a young novice in the Church of Saint George. He was saying that the bells were not to be mentioned again.
The apprentice poured out his full heart of insight to the old priest. "Yes, sir, I understand. I know those bells of Saint George that ring and sound quite seldom, but when they do ring, it's like … like a gunshot. This is how the echo lasts. It's awful. And then they ring again. It's not right. It's not nice. It's like they're mocking us. Like they are laughing at us. And then they ring again."
The old priest said nothing. He was silent. He knew that when he brought up the bells, the young novice would not mention them again. To mention them again was to commit a sin. He was a priest, after all, and every priest knew this. This was all his Orthodox heart told him.
The bells rang once. It was on a very, very late summer morning. And, as if God had intervened, as if it was willing to end the old man's torment, after thirty-three long years, the bells rang. It was an echo. It was an echo that lasted for three full rings.
The bells rang again and again and again. They rang three times.
Seeing this, the old priest ventured to ask something, a question whose urgency was hardly in doubt. It was the same question that kept him up at night, every single night he was awake. The question was a question of love. He stood up, looking up directly at the bell tower from which the bells had fallen into disuse. It was tall. It was made of stone. The bells were not hanged on the bell tower. In fact, there was no bell tower. There were no bells. So, what were they doing ringing? Why were they ringing?
Again, he looked up. Again, he looked. "Dear Lord, answer me. With these bells, is there happiness? Or is there pridefulness?"
The answer came back: "I will have my bells for you."
The bell rang. The echo lasted. The echo was a blessing. It was a blessing given by God himself.
The bells rang again and again and again. They rang three times.
The bells rang again. The echo lasted. The echo was a blessing. The bells rang three times. Always, the answer was "Yes, I will have them."
The bells rang again. The echo lasted. The echo was a blessing. The bells rang three times.
The bells rang again. The echo lasted. The echo was a blessing. The bells rang three times.
The bells rang again. The echo lasted. The echo was a blessing. The bells rang three times.
The bells rang again. The echo lasted. The echo was a blessing. The bells rang three times.
The bells rang again. The echo lasted. The echo was a blessing. The bells rang three times.
The bells rang again. The echo lasted. The echo was a blessing. The bells rang three times.
The bells rang again. The echo lasted. The echo was a blessing. The bells rang three times.
The bells rang again. The echo lasted. The echo was a blessing. The bells rang three times.
The bells rang again. The echo lasted. The echo was a blessing. The bells rang three times.
The bells rang again. The echo lasted. The echo was a blessing. The bells rang three times.
The bells rang again. The echo lasted. The echo was a blessing. The bells rang three times.
The bells rang again. The echo lasted. The echo was a blessing. The bells rang three times.
The bells rang again. The echo lasted. The echo was a blessing. The bells rang three times.
The bells rang again. The echo lasted. The echo was a blessing. The bells rang three times.
The bells rang again. The echo lasted.