The Blessing of the Bell

France may be secular, laïcité rules, but the sense of community is strong and each commune guards and celebrates its heritage. Which is why, on a damp February morning, I join some one hundred and fifty residents of a town in the Var to witness the blessing of a newly minted bell for the tiny late Romanesque chapel of Saint Honorat, on the edge of the town. 
Two priests from the local parish are there with, in pride of place, the mayor, the caretakers of the church, donors of the bell, the Protestant pastor, whose congregation uses the church for a monthly service, and members of  the society which takes care of the St Honorat church and the nearby hermitage of St Ferréol. The artist creator of the bell is modestly hiding in the crowd and is duly identified by the priest. Traditional galoubet tambourin music is provided by two musicians.  
The blessing is in the Catholic rite. The priest jokes to the Protestant pastor "si cela n'est pas votre tasse de thé, il y aura un apéritf apres la céremonie" (if that's not your cup of tea, there's a drink after the ceremony). And indeed, a table beside the porch has wine from local Château St Béatrice, soft drinks, water, pissaladière and other grignotes (nibbles) brought by the attendees for all to share.
The bell is named, St Honoré, by le parrain and la marraine (godparents) - the couple who principally care for the upkeep of the church. The crowd recites a litany of saints. The bell is blessed with holy water. The crowd recites the Lord's Prayer. The bell is blessed again with incense.  The 'godparents' strike the bell, before the fund-raisers and the mayor, and then the other attendees.  Then comes the final blessing of the crowd.
Time for a snack and a glass of St Béatrice, before the threatening rain begins to fall. 
I wait until the crowd is dispersing to strike the bell. It swings easily back and forth, repeating its clear, sweet note. 
Afterwards, on the short, steep drive to the Hermitage of St Ferréol, above the St Honorat chapel, I note a near perpendicular flight of stone steps to the Hermitage, and am glad I'm in the car. At the top, I see the final steps are marked by the last of 14 stations of the cross, 'Jesus is laid in the tomb'. I look down and see stations marked at regular intervals. A youngish man is climbing the steps. I remark that the steps are a 'Way of the Cross'. The man is puzzled. He shrugs. He has no idea. It's good exercise for  him. Laïcité.