On the surface of things, she appeared to be her old self. An ancient of days who once sat crowned in glory. Where, for over eight centuries, generations of knees had bent in prayers of supplication. Rosaries said, and the relic Crown of Thorns treasured and venerated. But just around the corner of her timeless face, you could see the outlines of the tragic consequences of a consuming Holy Week fire.
For the sake of safety, approaches to the sacred ground surrounding Notre Dame were blocked by metal fences and armed guards, while she sat there beyond reproach of any sort. Her dignity and honor still in tact while machines craned their repairing cargo all around her.
In her surrounding channels of the River Seine, boats loaded with tourists from every nation under the sun skim the surface of her long legacy as if it were merely an ancient dream of some historic past. They come and go as if seeking Michelangelo or some legions of the French dreams until the currents take them toward Eiffel’s tower, still timeless and standing erect against a setting sun.
The grand Lady of Paris, though brought down to earth by calamity and gravity, seems more like a Phoenix than a collapsed Cathedral. Waiting for that holy spirit to restore her windows of glory and open her doors to all people. Deflated but not undone, the quiet mother of all cathedrals remembers the flames and combustion. Like that old Greek bird, in her ancient ashes, a new holy place will emerge and her flying buttresses will bring life once again to all her dear people and tourist alike. Her mighty bells will toll over the Parisian skies with songs of melodious praise. Choirs echoing Ave Marias or Gregorian chants ricocheting under vaulted roof. Dancing flames of candles lighting dark space in loving memories of the quick and the dead. From requiem to rejoicing. From ruin to restoration. From charred relic to rekindled glory. All of us say a little prayer for that high and holy hope.
We might always have Paris, but let us never take for granted those holy places throughout our lives that are susceptible to tragedy. While she seems like a hunchback invalid at the moment, Notre Dame continues to teach all of us about the sacred right in the middle of the secular.
Writer’s note: I am in France for most of May, and spent a few days in Paris which inspired this blog. The artist rendering of the burning of Notre Dame is from the cover of a recent issue of The New Yorker.