Phew! I made it.

What church bells mean to me

I was late to church today, and here’s how it happened. I forgot we had a special combined service this week, a charismatic jazz service at the cathedral, so I pulled into Trinity’s lot like it was any other Sunday. It was empty. I white-knuckled the drive into the heart of downtown, and that’s how “late” started. Once I got there, though, it was worth it: I looked up at the beautifully carved stone and stained glass with a bit of awe. All those hymns set to upbeat jazz had me swaying and clapping alongside sisters and brothers I don’t normally worship with. But I missed the church bells. They probably rang while I was still pulling out of Trinity’s empty lot.

I’ve always loved the scene in The Sound of Music where the bells tell Maria, and everyone watching, whether she made it on time. My twins know this about me and even put their shoes on a little faster when I remind them of my little quirk. They know I love hearing those bells for two reasons: the sound itself, and that it confirms: Phew! I made it on time.

I meant to give you a same-day reflection on how good it felt to break from our usual Sunday routine, something written while the jazz was still ringing in my ears. Instead, you’re getting a little window into the chaos that got me there late in the first place, and maybe that’s the more honest reflection anyway.

Believe it or not, the rush of the week, even the rush to be on time for church, drops the second I cross the threshold of those big wooden doors. Then I’m just there, in the music, the readings, the prayers, the sermon, and in communion. That’s part of why I have such a deep appreciation for actually going to church, not just tuning in from home.

Late or not, once I set foot in the sanctuary, I exhaled in relief and left my hurry at the door. I missed the bells. I missed my self-imposed 6 pm deadline. Late or not, going to church matters to me. Late or not, so does writing this article.