I woke up this morning with a headache and because of it I ended up wondering about a certain bit of Christian architecture.
You see, I went for a walk because I once lived with a rabid straight-edger and so painkillers are an absolute last resort. In fairness, I do find that a bit of fresh air does me a power of good when I've got a headache. Anyway, I end up walking through the graveyard by the Minster (yes, we have a Minster, yet another reason Reading was cheated out of that city charter). It was lovely and peaceful and relaxing but I forgot that it was 11 o'clock on a Sunday morning.
Can you guess why, dear reader?
“Bells, my dear, bells!” as old Sixie once said, grabbing Peri by the shoulders (probably the only bit of her the BBC would let him touch for fear of complaints). It's a wonderful sort of sound when you're in the mood for it, rising crescendos and peals and different bells running through at different speeds, but when you already have a force ten headache it loses its beauty rather.
Anyway, the long and the short of it is I'm now wondering what the bells are actually about. Are they a doctrinal thing? Is there some religious significance to bells? Or is it simply a relic of a time when there were no digital watches and just an extension of the hourly bongs, an extra special sort of bonging to declare “Put the primitive farming equipment down, lads, it's time for God now!”.
My family were Sunday Christians when they weren't too busy being bitter agnostics (my father went to a Catholic school, institutions which I swear are God's gift to the atheists to prove He still loves them) so I don't know nearly enough about the actual workings of churches. This is a pity because the art and architecture of them is beautiful, there's a Polish Catholic church by the King's Road that has spectacular stained glass windows.
You see, I went for a walk because I once lived with a rabid straight-edger and so painkillers are an absolute last resort. In fairness, I do find that a bit of fresh air does me a power of good when I've got a headache. Anyway, I end up walking through the graveyard by the Minster (yes, we have a Minster, yet another reason Reading was cheated out of that city charter). It was lovely and peaceful and relaxing but I forgot that it was 11 o'clock on a Sunday morning.
Can you guess why, dear reader?
“Bells, my dear, bells!” as old Sixie once said, grabbing Peri by the shoulders (probably the only bit of her the BBC would let him touch for fear of complaints). It's a wonderful sort of sound when you're in the mood for it, rising crescendos and peals and different bells running through at different speeds, but when you already have a force ten headache it loses its beauty rather.
Anyway, the long and the short of it is I'm now wondering what the bells are actually about. Are they a doctrinal thing? Is there some religious significance to bells? Or is it simply a relic of a time when there were no digital watches and just an extension of the hourly bongs, an extra special sort of bonging to declare “Put the primitive farming equipment down, lads, it's time for God now!”.
My family were Sunday Christians when they weren't too busy being bitter agnostics (my father went to a Catholic school, institutions which I swear are God's gift to the atheists to prove He still loves them) so I don't know nearly enough about the actual workings of churches. This is a pity because the art and architecture of them is beautiful, there's a Polish Catholic church by the King's Road that has spectacular stained glass windows.
2 comments:
I believe it's a call to Church - the hourly bongs, but also the announcement before a significant event, like Sunday services, Weddings, etc, where the entire community would be expected to attend.
I thought it might be something like that, thanks Debi.
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