Sacredness in Ordinary Moments: The Ringing of the Church Bells - The first in a series of Porchlight Reflections

The church bells rang the moment I pressed “send.”

I had just emailed the resignation letter that would end a 45-year career with the only company I had ever known. For a few seconds, I simply sat there, looking out toward the church in the distance, feeling the weight of what I had just done.

And then the 6 PM bells began to ring.

Not in my imagination. Not as a poetic idea. The actual church bells rang across the evening air at the exact moment I had finally chosen to leave one life behind and step into another.

I remember smiling through tears and thinking, Well…I think the Holy Spirit just answered me.

But the truth is, those bells had been ringing for months. I just had not recognized them yet.

During COVID, when so many of us were working from home, I began ending my workday in a way that became almost a ritual. At 4 PM, I would close my computer, get in my car, and drive to church to water the flowers I had planted in front of the building. I pulled hoses through the grass, stood in the quiet of the campus, and often found myself looking across the parking lot toward the pastoral offices.

I wondered what happened inside those walls. I wondered what it would be like to work for the Church. I had carried that thought quietly for years, imagining that perhaps someday, after retirement, there might be a place for me there.

Looking back now, I think that was the first quiet ringing of the bells.

Then my mother died.

Because she had spent her final months in a nursing facility, she did not belong to my parish. Still, I asked Father Pat if her funeral could be celebrated at our church. Of course, he said yes.

When I sat with him and the pastoral associate to plan the funeral, I remember feeling something I could not quite name. Neither of them had known my mother, yet they cared for her story — and for me — with a gentleness that stayed with me. At the end of the meeting, I dropped my pen. Father Pat and I both bent down to pick it up, and I whispered, half joking, that someday I would have the pastoral associate’s job.

At the time, I did not yet understand what that work truly involved. I only knew something about it felt strangely familiar to my heart, and ultimately the Holy Spirit would show me the way.  Another bell.

Over the next several months, one small moment after another kept drawing me closer to the life I had wondered about while watering flowers outside the church. A possible parish council opportunity disappeared, but the desire to serve did not. A simple offer to volunteer led to conversations about my HR background and where my gifts might fit. Then, almost unexpectedly, I was asked to consider something I had never seriously imagined: leaving behind a secure, successful career to work full-time for the Church. Another bell.

It sounds simple when written in one sentence.

It was not simple at all.

I had spent my entire adult life with one company. I had stability, benefits, income, history, and a future that made sense on paper. Walking away from all of that felt almost irresponsible. I talked with my financial advisor. I prayed. I thought. I worried. I tried to decide whether this was truly God calling me or simply my own heart wanting something new.

Eventually, I emailed Father Pat and asked him to pray that I would make the right decision.

Later that evening, I drove to church and sat in the quiet, asking the Holy Spirit for guidance. While I was there, Father Pat’s response arrived. One sentence settled deeply into my heart:

“You can’t make a wrong decision.”

Those words gave me room to breathe. They reminded me that God was not waiting to punish me for choosing incorrectly. If I stayed, I could still serve Him. If I left, He would take care of me. Either path could belong to the Kingdom of God.  Another bell.

Soon after, I knew what I needed to do. I would leave the company where I had spent 45 years and begin again, this time working for the Church. Before I could do that, though, I had to tell the people who had known me for decades. I called the Vice President, who was also a personal friend, and told him I planned to resign. He was shocked, of course. But after the shock settled, he said something I have never forgotten:

“I wish I had the courage to do what you are doing.”  That sentence stayed with me too. Another bell.

Before formally leaving my company, I spent several months volunteering at the parish while continuing to work my full-time job. I wanted to be certain this new path was truly the right fit — both for me and for the Church.

Then one evening, I sat near the window looking toward the rectory and the church beyond it. My resignation email was ready. I stared at it for what felt like forever, knowing that once I pressed “send,” there would be no quiet way to go backward.

Finally, I clicked.

And then the church bells rang.

As God is my witness, they rang at that exact moment.

Only then did I understand that the sacredness had not arrived suddenly with the sound of the church bells — it had been there all along — in the flower beds, in the funeral planning meeting, in disappointment, in unexpected conversations, in prayer, in fear, in discernment, and finally in surrender.

To this day, I have never doubted that the Holy Spirit was present in that sacred but ordinary moment.

Five years later, I can still remember each of those moments as clearly as if they happened yesterday.  The bells rang only for a moment. The calling — and the echoes of those quiet bells — have remained ever since through those I work with, those I love, and through the Holy Spirit who continues to watch over me today.