Plympton Bells

I was in the park with the dogs the other day and I heard bells chiming the hour. The wind was blowing from the northeast and brought the sound of a church or clock tower chiming Westminster. There is something very calming to me about hearing bells in the distance.

When I was a child, my family went to the small white church in the center of our town. The church was established in 1695 with the current building being constructed sometime in the early 1900’s. The church sits amidst 30 acres of land within which are the cemetery, the library, ball fields, the fire and police departments, town hall, and the town commons. The church bore a similar smell to the other older buildings in Plympton. This smell is hard to describe but unique to this area. Relatives of the Pilgrims and those who immediately followed early English settlers built this area. These are my people.

Our church has a steeple within which is a bell. I remember each morning that a few minutes prior to and at the conclusion of the service someone would ring the bell. At the conclusion of the Christmas Eve service the bell would be rung with great enthusiasm to celebrate that the birth of our lord was near (which as child meant that I needed to get to bed so I could awake to new sets of Legos in the morning).

By age 12 or 13, I was tapped to be the bell ringer for the Sunday morning services. I was excited and remember my mom driving us there early so that I could start ringing the bell as a welcome for the first parishioners who were arriving (usually the older married couples). As I rung the bell I felt like the most powerful person in the whole church… I was able to make loud beautiful ringing sounds that all would hear. I had the power. I pulled the rope that would determine how loudly the bell would ring. I watched the pastor for the subtle cue that the service was about to end and stood poised ready to do my duty. When it was time, I rang it with enthusiam and vigor. I was a god.

I sometimes make it back to Massachusetts for Christmas. A few years back my sister, her 2 kids, my dad and I made the Christmas Eve service in the old church. The church is as I remember it except for vinyl siding instead of the old painted and repainted decaying clapboards. The old smell comforted me and made me feel some forgotten sense of home and belonging. Seeing old faces, though a little older, was warming. At some point during the service I felt tingly and tears came to my eyes. I felt a connection to something greater than myself. I never felt this as a kid. I guess most kids don't. I guess I never much cared for church until I was tapped with my mighty position.
Snow fell and the bell rang as we left that night. As snow falls, it seems to make the world quiet. I had forgotten that as it doesn't snow where I live now. I felt peaceful and happy as the bells faded off in the distance as we drove away.

It seems that most churches in Florida don’t have bells. A church just doesn’t seem quite like a church to me without a bell (and a steeple for that matter). A lot of churches in Florida have rock bands. A lot of times, these churches have rock bands AND are in strip malls. Near my home, there’s a church in a 5 unit strip mall next to a Carvel ice cream shop and a pizza place... not sure about the band but I wouldn't be surprised. I don’t know that I could concentrate on a sermon much with bastardized rock and rool, the thoughts of cookie puss ice cream cakes, and the smell of pizza wafting in.
People find God in the strangest of places.
   

JS