An uplifting Palm Sunday turned to a heartbreaking Monday.
For any Christ-follower—Catholic or Protestant—watching the grand dame of them all perish in flames was surreal and devastating. As one eyewitness said, “I feel as though my guts were ripped out.”
Exactly. Gut wrenching.
Even for Parisians, who are largely a secular citizenry, the site was more than they could fathom. Some referred to its history, its French historical significance, the artwork it contained, the architecture, and its significance in French literature. Notre Dame is part of their national identity.
Then there was the impromptu group that formed and sang Ave Maria as they watched it burned, a reminder that there is always a reason to hope and pray in the midst of pain and sorrow.
I couldn’t contain tears when the picture popped up on my computer screen. My husband and I were speechless as we watched the scene on our television. We couldn’t get our minds wrapped around it.
If you’ve never seen the cathedral in person, toured the interior, tried to absorb the artwork, carvings and glory, or witnessed the magical, ethereal, soul-grabbing sound of the organ or cantor as the notes lift and rise to the arches, you might not have been fully capable of grasping the horror and profound sadness some of us experienced.
I felt deeply, deeply grateful for having those experiences just six months ago after finishing our Camino de Santiago walk.
And I felt deeply sorrowful for those who looked forward to seeing it and will likely never have the opportunity. Like my younger son.
And I was also reminded that this building was a mere symbol of something greater. That we are connected to God through His Holy Spirit, not buildings and icons and reliquaries; and we worship in spirit and in truth.
But that’s hard to do. It’s often easier to worship when there’s something tangible, to see, to touch.
And I wondered if what we experienced might be a little like what the Jews experienced as they watched their beloved temple—the site of their communing with God, their identity—being destroyed.
Their shock and anguish must have been unimaginable.
Yet, this week is also a reminder that we no longer need the temple because Jesus paid the ultimate sacrifice over 2,000 years ago so that separating curtain could be split and God could take up residence in our hearts.
How wonderful it is that Passover begins this week, a time for Jews and Christians to remember what God has done in their lives. How he has preserved and blessed us.
I had some profound words to write for this week’s Meditation Monday post, but a weekend full of tax computation robbed me of my time and energy. And then yesterday threatened to rob a piece of my heart.
Last night, though, I went to bed with the image of Notre Dame’s gold altar cross radiating brightly amidst the ruins, right behind the marble pieta of Jesus draped across Mary’s lap.
A gorgeous reminder that, in spite of grief, He still makes hope available.
And that’s what this week is about—a promise fulfilled, eternity bought, and hope offered.
Amen.
Andrea
“Certainly there was an Eden….We all long for it, and we are constantly glimpsing it.” —J.R.R. Tolkien
There will be no Workout Wednesday blog, but rejoin me for Good Friday for a few Holy Week-centered words.