Looking Back : Bells are not just for ringing
Ambeth Ocampo aocampo@ateneo.edu
Inquirer News Service
LAST Sunday, in his homily during a Mass on the feast of St. Ignatius, Jesuit Provincial Superior Fr. Danny Huang mentioned that the saint would often sit on a small balcony in the Jesuit curia in Rome and gaze at the stars. This would move St. Ignatius to see and feel how small he was in the context of the universe, so he would fall on his knees and praise God.
That was centuries ago. But if the saint were alive today, would it be possible to see stars from the same balcony? In Metro Manila, the glare of the city lights has made star gazing very difficult. Often one needs to go out of town to see stars and constellations clearly set in a dark sky.
Most people in the city have other diversions, like malls, cable TV and the Internet, that make them forget simpler things like nature. City dwellers thus make do with small pocket Zen gardens or perhaps spend a quiet time having a massage in a day spa.
I am grateful for simple pleasures available in my corner of the universe that make life worth living like: birds chirping in the morning, squirrels running along electric wires, and even the sound of a church bell from the Anglican church that gives us the time of services on Sunday mornings. I've always wondered why the bells in the nearby Catholic church can't be heard as clearly. Bells are so antiquated that some parishes install loud speakers on rooftops and, instead of real bells, taped pealing is played. Who needs bells in the age of text messaging and e-mail?
In colonial times, church bells did not only provide time or warn of danger, they also signified the service being held in church as they tolled differently for a funeral or a marriage, for example. The area covered by a parish or Spanish control was measured by the sound of bells within earshot, thus literally "bajo de las campanas" [under the bells]. Since most churches built these days have no provision for church bells, the ancient ritual of "baptizing" church bells is rarely performed.
According to Regalado Trota Jose, the authority on colonial churches and ecclesiastical art in the Philippines, the bell is not only blessed but also washed inside out with holy water and salt. Then, seven crosses are drawn on the outside of the bell with the Oil of Cathechumens (used for baptism) and four crosses are drawn on the inside of the bell with Holy Chrism (the oil used for anointing the sick and dying). After being so anointed, a name of a saint is given to the bell, and incense is made to smoke it into holiness. After a reading from the Scriptures and closing prayers, the presiding priest makes the Sign of the Cross over it and the deed is done.
Bells were believed to purify the air of evil and to be unbearable to evil creatures and hopefully evil people, as well. Bells were rung during storms in the belief that holy sound could quell any tempest.
Years ago, following Ricky Jose's example, I would visit colonial churches in and around Manila, taking notes and pictures. Once I climbed up one of the spires of San Sebastian Church in Manila to look at its bells. Perhaps I was so occupied with keeping my balance that I didn't notice that one of the bells was inscribed "Circuncision del Señor" and was cast in 1861.
This name may be too much for the Movie and Television Rating and Classification Board or those raised on the post-Vatican II Catholic Church calendar. But Jan. 1 used to be the Feast of the Circumcision, although this was changed in 1969 to the Solemnity of Mary Mother of God.
The earlier feast explains why one of the little old women who came to the wake of my grandfather was named Circumcision Garcia; her parents obviously took her name straight from the Church calendar. To add insult to injury, her nickname was "Tuli" and in later life she was known as "Apung Tuli." For those who think I'm inventing a new urban legend, I will try and find the Mass card she left at my grandfather's wake in San Fernando, Pampanga.
There is a lot of history we can learn from church bells, and researchers will forever be grateful to Ricky Jose for compiling all the data on bells he could get his hands on. A small picture book on bells in the Philippines will be quite interesting. The only problem is that most of the bells listed by Jose were cast in the 19th century. Over the centuries of war and want, church bells were often melted down and the metal made into more utilitarian objects like plows and cannons.
Data from churches in many provinces from north to south have been compiled and classified alphabetically and thematically. The results were published in "The Philippine Quarterly of Culture and Society" subsidized by the University of San Carlos Cebu.
Of course, many bells are named in honor of the Virgin Mary, who is known under so many titles, including N[uestra] S[eñora] de Guia, Antipolo, Guadalupe, Loreto, etc. San Jose was the most popular, at least compared to the bells named after the Son of God. And there were some that were named after really obscure saints like Caralampio in Bacoor, Cavite, that was commissioned by none other than Fr. Mariano Gomes (one of the three martyr priests known as Gomburza).
One will not find a listing of bells and names interesting, but seen in the context of art history, church architecture, legend and iconography, they generate many interesting stories and connections indeed.