by Michael Winters
Kris Martin, Bells II, 2014, bronze, 160 x 320 cm
Installation view Sculpture In The City, London Photo Nick Turpin
At the moment, I can’t think of a visual artwork more tragic than Kris Martin’s Bells II. Two monumental bells are joined in such a way that neither can fulfill its purpose. Like much good art, this metaphor is a sign pointing to a wide range of potential meanings. Among other things, it could definitely serve to symbolize all the bells that have not been rung during covid—concerts and plays and exhibits and worship services that have not happened, or at least not happened with their full freedom ringing. However, the image isn’t only about bells that can’t ring. It’s about the joining of two bells, a terrible co-dependency that keeps each bell from ringing. And what is a bell if it does not ring?
It’s like Judas joined to his greed, or like Peter joined to his fear and denial.
In the marvelous book Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, Annie Dillard experiences an episode not unlike Moses at the burning bush. To describe the inner experience of that external vision, Dillard writes, “I had been my whole life a bell, and never knew it until at that moment I was lifted and struck.”
It makes me wonder if God has made us all bells. Sin has kept us from ringing—by co-dependencies, or ignorance, or wounds like cracks in the liberty bell—but in our joining with Jesus, as he is lifted, we are lifted and ring true.
The resurrection of Christ makes me hopeful that we’ll all be lifted and we’ll all ring true and clear, like Mary Magdalene when she recognizes the risen Jesus and hears his voice. Ronald Rolheiser retells the story from John 20 in his book Sacred Fire. Picking up where Mary is outside the tomb weeping:
“Jesus meets her, alive and in no need of embalming, but she does not recognize him. Bewildered but sincere, she asks Jesus where she might find Jesus. Jesus, for his part, repeats for her essentially the question with which he had opened the gospel: ‘What are you looking for?’ Then he answers it: With deep affection, he pronounces her name: ‘Mary.’ In doing that, he tells her what she and everyone else is forever looking for—God’s voice, one-to-one, speaking unconditional love, gently saying your name. In the end, that is what we are all looking for and most need.”
Hearing Jesus’ voice saying our name is what will lift us up and make us sing like a bell.