Golden Bells

Two thousand years ago someone—very likely a priest—was walking along a thoroughfare in Jerusalem.  Adorning his rich, embroidered robes were small golden bells that tinkled softly as he moved through the market stalls.  Perhaps he rubbed against a wooden or stone outcrop.  Perhaps someone jostled him in the crowded streets.  Perhaps it was just frayed thread from wear and tear.   Somehow, one of the exquisite, golden bells fell to the ground.  It bounced and rolled along the pathway and ended up in the main drainage channel taking rainwater from various parts of the city to a central pool.   There the tiny bell was covered with literally two millennia of waste and debris.  But gold is a noble metal.  Chemically that means it is inert, it doesn’t rust or deteriorate over time.  And the bell survived. 

Fast forward to the present and we have this amazingly beautiful bell excavated and brought to the light by archaeologists in the Holy Land.  We can see it now, clean and whole, looking just as it did when it was so casually lost from someone’s garment.  It is a solid link to a person whose face, heart, mind, body and soul we can only guess at.  But this person did exist.  He has sent us this gift as proof of his being. 

            Do you know the name of your great, great grandparents?  Do you know how they made a living?  Do you know what they looked like?  It is amazing how quickly we all become historical nonentities.  Our DNA becomes part of a genetic bouillabaisse and the best anyone can say is, “Lot’s of people in the family had that dimple in their chin.”   Yet this one person, 2000 years ago, passed on physical proof of his existence, taste and decision making.  What would you want to pass on for people 2000 years from now to find and say, yes, someone owned this?  It is not as easy as you might think.  Some might say, “a Bible.”  But a book will deteriorate.  So will a picture of you and your family.  It will virtually have to be glass or a precious metal.  What would it be?  If I had my choice, it would be a Norwegian silver brooch that was passed to me by my maternal grandmother on her Confirmation in the Lutheran church.  It is wiry but strong, understated and elegant, just like her.  That brooch would both last and intrigue the finder.  They could make up a good story about that piece of jewelry. 

            The story of this golden bell was the only ray of sunshine in an otherwise bleak week of news.  We seem to be surrounded by people who have given no thought to what they will leave behind them.  Andres Breivik wants to leave behind a rambling, plagiarized 1500 page stream of venom and hatred.   Our Congress seems to want to leave behind nothing but intransigent skid marks.  [Pity the char woman who has to clean up those remains!]  I wonder what our human discourse would look like if every time you or your interlocutor made a valid, but civil, point a golden bell fell to the ground in front of you.  What would happen if every time a rude, mean spirited comment was made a piece of filth landed on the ground, just like it lands on our ears?   Immanuel Kant once said we should act as if our every action became a law for all mankind.  That idea bears some thought.   

Just as noble as gold, we need to keep the faith. 

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