"Their heart is faithless; Now they must bear their guilt. The LORD will break down their altars And destroy their sacred pillars."
- Hosea 10:2
"He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches."
- Revelation 3:22
In November 1793, the early years after the French Revolution, Notre-Dame de Paris Cathedral became the site of the Feast of Reason, as a Temple newly dedicated to atheist philosophy. The event represented the increasing belief that secular Enlightenment principles had won and would triumph over the legacy of Christ, which had dominated Europe for so long. Indeed, after much ransacking and looting, the former glory of Notre-Dame de Paris, designed for Catholic worship of God, was in ruin. As we know, contrary to the hopes of the revolutionaries, somehow the Cathedral and Catholic faith both recovered and outlived the mockers of the day. Yet, today, they face an even more dangerous mocker: our own indifference.
For the first time in its life, the same landmark Cathedral was on Monday suddenly engulfed in flames, destined only for complete ruin were it not for careful medieval construction methods that upheld its structure.
Whilst the timber roof, modern table altar and recently constructed spire burnt to ashes, reminiscent of the fleeting nature of temporal things, the Cross by the High Altar shone alone amidst the dust and rubble - in what has now become an iconic image and poignant reminder for many of us. "Somehow," an unassuming British news reporter read aloud the next morning, "the Cross is still standing."
In a similar vein, a relic of the Crown of Thorns - claimed to hold part of that placed upon the head of the Catholic Church's Founder prior to His Crucifixion by the mockers of His own day - was rescued, through the unhesitating heroism of a fire brigade chaplain.
Now, symbolism should never be too hastily arrived at or settled on, as many have stressed after this event. Yet, looking at some facts around this globally-observed event that occurred at the outset of Holy Week might, if anything, just help us examine and repent of our own interior state - as indeed the Church instructs us to do at this very time.
Our love for God, the first and greatest commandment and that from which obedience to all others flows, is a good place to begin. We know it was the fervour and zeal of ordinary men who loved God, both the medieval designers and the faithful priest, that defied our expectations and saved the main treasures for the Church and world to continue venerating and enjoying. We know it was the High Altar and golden Cross, built in love to embody sacrificial love (agapē), that stood as all else crumbled. And we know it was the spontaneous yet trusting plea for intercession from Our Lady (who always leads us to her Son) that brought the world so much light as it mourned the darkening of the building bearing her name.
The cause of the blaze is still partly unknown but is speculated to be due to a renovation accident and decades of negligence. The irony is strong in that although the Cathedral had outlived plagues, revolutions and even wars, her biggest devastation struck through mere lack of concern.
A similar observation might be made of the half-hearted Christian faith and love for God we see in Europe and the Church more widely today. Despite a history in which she was described as the thriving "Eldest Daughter of the Church" and home to saints from King Louis IX to St. Thérèse of Lisieux to St. Joan of Arc, France now sees Mass attendance of ~ 5% among its Catholics and a more fanatical devotion to laïcité ("secularity") than to God. Capitulation and conformity to the world infect every corner of the Church's outreach. Our teachers and shepherds are too afraid to distinguish error from Truth, darkness from light, wrong from right. We spend more time debating political destinies than we do eternal ones. And, worst of all, we pay homage to 'museums of Western civilisation' like Notre-Dame, yet neglect to wholeheartedly honour the very One for Whom they were built.
As St. Maximilian Kolbe, a Polish priest who was led to his death in 1941 by swapping places with an Auschwitz inmate, once said of our collective affliction,
"The most deadly poison of our times is indifference. And this happens, although the praise of God should know no limits. Let us strive, therefore, to praise Him to the greatest event of our powers."
Both causing and resulting from indifference, we see today in the Mass itself - the Sacrifice that should manifest the highest worship of God - how the High Altar and orientation towards God have been replaced by a priest lacklustrely facing the people from behind a table. Likewise, reception of the Holy Eucharist has become a right rather than a humbling and awe-inspiring privilege. In turn, the faithful watch on in horror as the Blessed Sacrament is routinely desecrated. Natural results of all of this, erosion of belief and tenets of an entirely different religion, start seeping in through the cracks of the Church walls.
Because God is the highest Being, as indeed many acknowledged whilst contemplating Notre-Dame's other-worldly purpose, He deserves our whole praise, our whole surrender, our whole heart. The impetus of the civilisation that built Notre-Dame de Paris Cathedral was, unlike us, one that acknowledged His Beauty so much that it would spend almost 200 years building her to come as close as it could on earth to duly reflecting it.
Throughout Sacred Scripture, we're reminded of the contempt God holds for any lukewarmness towards Him, surely so out of place among those He created and then redeemed by His own blood,
"So because you are lukewarm, and neither hot nor cold, I will spit you out of My mouth."
- Revelation 3:16
Contrary to the vague and anthropocentric message manifest in the new Mass and innovative theologies of the late 20th century, Christianity is and always has been about humbling ourselves to glory in God alone. It has asked of us a walk of willing self-mortification, where necessary, and imitation of the Christ who was the ultimate glory of the Father. Taking up our crosses to follow our perfect Lord to Calvary, as He asked any willing follower to do, is a tough ask and, unfortunately for the message preached by many today, a life laid down and interwoven with His cannot be indistinguishable from the world's.
If the Church is who she is, and if Jesus Christ was indeed the eternal Word incarnate, i.e. the only Way, Truth and Life, we must wholeheartedly live and worship like it. Likewise, if we love one another, we must call out and stop appeasing any and every error and sin, with no exception, which so deviate paths leading to His redeeming love and mercy.
In the Church, repentant sinners can find hope and reconciliation with God. In the Church, error is made subject to the Truth thereof and crumbles, liberating the heretic from fog (I can certainly attest to this myself). For the sake of the Lord's Passion which we commemorate today, we His Body on earth must persevere in proclaiming and witnessing to the fullness of His message, and never being taken captive by half-truths, partial-truths and the vices that ally with them.
As the world now laments the loss of ancient beauty and a few French Catholics awaken and reminisce about their faith, I hope and pray not only for a revived Cathedral but especially for a revived people who will come to wholeheartedly unite with Christ's suffering, love, and worship. On Easter Sunday, we're reminded that when we willingly die with the Lord, there is also hope of resurrection with Him.
Was the fire a definite sign from above to renew our faith? I don't know and I won't answer for you. But what culminated in the events of the first Easter weekend is still true today and always: that whenever we the sheep veer off course, whether an individual soul or a wandering continent, the true Shepherd arrives just in time to reroute us back again.
In the words of the prophet writing in the final book,
"Wake up, and strengthen the things that remain, which were about to die."
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