In 1973, The Rev. Joseph Doron and his wife, Marion, donated and installed what would come to be called the large church bell that has sat atop the nave of St. Columba’s Episcopal Church ever since. Made of iron and weighing some 35 lbs., the bell is pocked and weather-worn, scarred by nearly a half-century of wind and salt and seasons. In its prior life, it served as a farm bell, about which historian Jack Mason observed rather poetically in his “Summer Town”: “Once used to call farmhands to supper, it now summons Inverness to the Table of the Lord.” 

When I arrived as vicar of St. Columba’s in January 2017, I was immediately smitten by the dull clang of the large bell, which seemed to extend the rustic charm of the church far beyond its walls. Every Sunday just before 10 a.m. an acolyte would toll the bell, controlled by a thin rope that dangled from a hole in the roof above the sanctuary. From inside the church, the cranky pulley system could almost drown out the sound of the bell itself. Rustic charm, indeed.

With the onset of Covid, I took up the charge of ringing the bell every night at 8 p.m. in solidarity with the local howlers cheering on all who worked on the front lines of the pandemic. This somber tribute would be the last purpose the bell would serve before being reestablished as a retreat bell outside our church doors. In July 2020, we dismantled the bell as part of a larger project to replace our failing roof during the closure of the retreat house. At the same time, the bell’s removal opened the way for the germination of a seed that was planted in my mind when I lost my beloved father in November 2019. 

The pandemic, with its attendant financial austerity, was no time to begin a fundraising campaign. But after mentioning my dream of building a new memorial bell tower, a number of parishioners rallied behind the idea in memory of their loved ones, and with their gracious generosity, we were off.

The preliminary design called for a tower of Celtic knotwork, evocative of roots extending deep into the roof of the church just over the altar. Atop would sit a magnificent Celtic cross—known as the Tree of Life—all housing a new cast bronze bell powered not by rope and pulley, but by a state-of-the-art electronic system.

I asked my friend Joseph Weber, a Woodacre resident and lover of all things Celtic Christian, to take the design concept to completion. His input, innovations and project development have been invaluable. Using four large copper panels to cover what was formerly an open-air frame, he patinaed each one with an interweaving knotwork scheme. At the peak sits a golden crown from which will extend the towering Celtic cross designed as an exact replica of the ancient cross that still stands at St. Columba’s famous abbey on Iona, Scotland.

The new bell, cast by Verdin Bell Company out of Chicago, is melodic and deeply resonant. Weighing some 650 pounds, it will be secured by a custom-made steel frame perched across two elongated stanchions spanning six rafters. In addition to Mr. Weber, we are grateful to parishioner Tim Curtin, who offered his services as a structural engineer to ensure the integrity of the tower and to bring our project through the permitting process without a hitch.

A companion project to our long-anticipated memorial tower is also underway: a large, hand-crafted, thousand-page book we will call “The Book of Life.” In its pages will be inscribed the history and theology of the bell tower and the names of the deceased in whose memory it has been raised. These names, along with others added in the future, will be read at an evening candlelight ceremony we celebrate every Oct. 31 on the Feast of All Saints.

After many fits and starts, the bell, cross and tower stand ready for installation, rather providentially, on June 9—the Feast of St. Columba. For the occasion, St. Columba’s will host an open house that day from 11 a.m. to 4 p.m. for anyone who would like to witness the raising of the tower. I will offer a brief 15-minute history and theology of the project every hour on the hour. As the crane operations will block the use of our parking lot, we invite our neighbors instead to enter the property on foot from the driveway off Bruce Street, which will lead directly to the viewing area. There is limited street parking there and signage will be posted.

We look forward with grateful anticipation to a time when the bells of St. Columba’s will echo again across the Inverness countryside. Indeed, since the summer of 2020, many of our neighbors have lamented its absence. “Why don’t you ring the bell anymore?” they have asked with nostalgic longing. “Just you wait!” I have told them with a smile, “Have we got a bell for you!”

Fr. Vincent Pizzuto, Ph.D., is a professor at the University of San Francisco and vicar of St. Columba’s Episcopal Church in Inverness, where he lives and serves his beloved congregation with his spouse, Fernando, and their pup,
Forrest.