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Bells, we had sanctus bells at church today, rung as is historic at the elevations during the words of institution in the eucharistic prayer: blessing the bread and showing it to the people, blessing the wine and showing it to the people, showing the consecrated elements to the people at the prayer's conclusion. 

At a parish I served decades ago, the first Time the rector had the bells rung, a staunch protestant low churchman parishioner protested to the rector: "There is no place for bells in this parish." But the bells are always appropriate and celebratory. There is nothing magical about ringing the bells (although their sound is magical to me); the bells' purpose is entirely practical: to call the people's attention to the elevations that are happening at the altar.

In the olden days of the Latin Mass, ordinary people didn't understand what was being said, and (often standing through the entire service, seating, if available at all, might be benches around the perimeters of the room for the elderly and perhaps nursing mothers) they could be visiting amongst themselves as all the mysterious Latin hocus hocus went on up front, or even behind the rood screen, transubstantiating (changing the substance of) the bread and wine into the body and blood of Christ. But - -

at certain points in the liturgy, the church would want the people to look, so the bells would be rung to call their attention as the celebrant raised the bread and wine to show them. That, and not the "papist magic" as our old parishioner seemed to think, is the history of the sanctus bells.

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There is one other phenomenon that occurs during the Eucharistic prayer, that seems to have taken hold among eh laity in the Episcopal Church in my lifetime: crossing oneself during the benedictus qui venit (when the celebrant says "Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord." This is a good example of etiology at work: figuring out the origins of a practice, custom. This also dates to the Latin Mass and people not understanding what was happening, but being triggered by a word or sound. 

In this case, the trigger was/is the Latin word "benedictus." Hearing the word, the people thought the word "benedictus" meant that the celebrant was giving them a blessing, and they would cross themselves. In my growing up years in a low church Episcopal parish and diocese, only the priest celebrant (the product of a high church theological seminary) crossed himself at the benedictus qui venit (though in some parishes the attending acolytes may have been instructed to make the sign of the cross). The etiological element is that today, the priest crossing himself at the benedictus qui venit has grown to where many lay people also do so, especially the acolytes and other attendants at the altar during the eucharistic prayer, but growing among worshipers in the pews. Nobody knows why they do it, not even most priests. As I said, it dates to the Latin Mass; but etiology has asserted its authority to say that we cross ourselves at the "blessed is he ..." because we believe that Jesus Christ comes present in and as the words as the words are spoken; and so we acknowledge his presence by crossing ourselves at the approach of the Holy One.

It's a reasonable thing, especially for anyone who wants to go there theologically. 

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stopping now to sip my Bloody Mary and eat the rest of my tin of smoked oysters.

RSF&PTL

T90