Kells' Bells

My love for a very old document

The first time I tried to have a mystical experience with the Book of Kells, I was eighteen and fresh out of my first year of college. The Westmont Orchestra was on a tour to Ireland, England, and Wales. When asked , I’d tell people that I was most looking forward to seeing the Book of Kells. This was back in the days when I researched things before I got there. I described the Book as a really nicely illustrated manuscript of the four Gospels. It lives at Trinity College, Dublin, where we were scheduled to take a tour.

I brought my violin and a single backpack, winning the prize for smallest luggage. This meant that most nights, while others went out, I’d be stopping up the sink, sprinkling in powdered detergent, and washing that day’s clothes in the hotel sink. Then I’d hang up the various items all over the room to dry, and roll and pack them in the morning.

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Our visit happened on a bright day with great clouds, but the building with the Book of Kells in it was kept very dark, on account of how light destroys our favorite documents. The air was warm and smelled strongly of onion. I remember not being able to move around through the rooms without bumping into people. When I’d imagined experiencing this manuscript, it had been only me in a spacious, light-filled room. With wood flooring. I’d also been under the impression that I’d be able to gaze at the manuscript for a long, uninterrupted time. Instead, I had to shuffle obediently along this museum path. I made up for it by thinking ungracious thoughts about the other members of the crowd and pretending to be interested in cuneiformed bits of clay.

I remember kind of blushing(?) as I approached The Book and looked down into the thick glass box where it lay open to the tenth chapter of the gospel of John. I’d taken enough Latin to know that

ego sum pastor bonus

means

I am the good shepherd

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All right then.