When I was an art student, I wanted to ring the cathedral bell, just once. The desire had something pure and childlike about it. I wanted to feel how a rope could set in motion a call that would travel over rooftops, over streets, over people's thoughts.
I was allowed to.
The large bell started slowly, like an old man with dignity, then found its voice and filled the square with a quiet power. I loved it most at Vespers. In the evening, its sound seemed to gather the city scattered throughout the day and remind it, for a few moments, that even haste needs a blessing.
During those summers, concerts were organized in the square in front of the cathedral. The city enjoyed itself in its own way, with large speakers, powerful bass, and resolute percussion. One evening, Vespers was drowned out by this outpouring of sound.
I left the service disturbed. I was too young to realize how easily zeal can take the form of agitation. A close friend was beside me.
We exchanged a quick glance. We went up to the bells.
The rope was there, as if it had been waiting precisely for our inexperience. I grabbed it with the haste of wanting to set the world straight before examining my own heart.
An unannounced recital poured over the square.
We rang the bells for more than ten minutes. We wanted those in the square to also feel what it's like to have someone else's noise imposed upon you. In our clumsiness, we thought we were teaching a lesson. Looking back now, I see how much ineptitude there was: two students trying to defend silence by ringing bells.
When we came down, we were tired and satisfied. We could still feel the weight of the bronze in our arms, and in our souls, the murky joy that follows a questionable deed performed with a sincere heart.
Afterward, I heard that our Bishop, who lived in the palace overlooking the square, had received the bell recital with indulgence. The news comforted me. It pleased me initially, in the measure of my youth. Only later did I understand that received indulgence must be borne with care, lest it turn into entitlement.
Now, years later, I look at this incident with affection and a slight shame. I wanted to defend Vespers. I did it with hurried arms and a heart that was just learning peace.
I believe that God accepts even such clumsy gestures, cleanses them of pride, and leaves them within us like small bells that ring from time to time to call us to understanding.
Fr. Ioan Gînscă
Painting by Alexander Evgenievici Kosnicev