Do you remember where you were when the planes hit the Twin Towers in New York? Most people do. You may also remember where you heard the news of Princess Diana’s death. I remember both. And I also remember hearing the news that Notre Dame cathedral in Paris was on fire.
I was having my tea in the parish house in Newcestown, it was the spring of the year before COVID. A newsflash on Drivetime brought the alarming news of the inferno. I ran to the TV and there on CNN was footage of Notre Dame ablaze. And more amazing still was the sight of a crowd gathered on the opposite bank of the Seine, not just gawking and taking pictures on their phones, but praying together, singing hymns, and weeping. It was a surprising sight, in the centre of a city that often seems not to know God. But then Notre Dame de Paris was not just another church, but the heart of France, its ‘Point Zero’, an icon of the nation.
Next President Macron appeared, and announced that the great cathedral would not just be rebuilt, but that it would be completed in 2024, the year of the Paris Olympics, five years hence. Given the enormity of the task, it seemed a foolish promise. But it was achieved.
Last Advent, I watched the re-dedication of the cathedral, in a moving liturgy where time and speed were not of the essence, but beauty was. I saw the new altar anointed and the brazier lit (safely) upon it, purifying and sanctifying. The font, ambo and tabernacle were also blessed, and six candles lit by the altar, a single candle and cross on the altar alerting us to the fact that Paris’ bishop was again celebrating Mass at his cathedral’s altar.
Pilgrimage
During that ceremony, I decided a pilgrimage to Paris was in order and in Lent of this year made the journey, along with multitudes of pilgrims. The church authorities had insisted Notre Dame would demand no payment for entry, and many took up the invitation to see the rebuilt marvel. Tickets are daily sent by email from the cathedral website for timed entry, with up to 10,000 such tickets being posted each day; it certainly seemed like that many people thronged the church the day I visited!. The ‘new’ Notre Dame is a wonderful experience for the visitor. For one thing, every pilgrim now enters by the main door. The prominent baptismal font, matching the altar, points to the gateway sacrament that baptism is. Pilgrims make their way clockwise around the exterior chapels, with panels alerting them to what is to be seen, and how it fits in the faith story. Directly behind the sanctuary is the Crown of Thorns reliquary, with volunteer stewards working hard to keep a reverent space around it. And more moving than anything is the brightness of the interior, with centuries of grime and smoke cleaned off. It’s worth a look: Notre Dame awaits you!
If it works for Rome?
It’s such a radical proposal that it seems unlikely to succeed. The diocese gathers its parish priests together and asks them to elect their new bishop. Problems immediately come to mind, the politics, the promises of payback, the jealousies. It could not work, you say: yet that is how Rome elects its bishop. Each cardinal elector is linked to a Roman parish and it is as such that he enters the conclave, to elect a new bishop for Peter’s see. And it works for Rome, why not for Raphoe, or Derry, or any other Irish diocese seeking a new leader?
Leo and the Hun
Everyone who comments on our new Pope’s name speaks of Leo XIII and his letter Rerum Novarum. Less mention is made of the ‘original of the species’, the first Pope Leo. In his day, Attila the Hun and his army threatened Rome. The image the Church carries in her heart is of the gentle, scholarly Pope Leo, unarmed and alone, walking out to meet the Hun and persuading him to leave Rome alone — and succeeding. People who trust in God can do brave things. St Leo the Great, pray for our Pope, and for us; give us some of his courage!
Notre Dame, Leo and Attila the Hun
Do you remember where you were when the planes hit the Twin Towers in New York? Most people do. You may also remember where you heard the news of Princess Diana’s death. I remember both. And I also remember hearing the news that Notre Dame cathedral in Paris was on fire.
I was having my tea in the parish house in Newcestown, it was the spring of the year before COVID. A newsflash on Drivetime brought the alarming news of the inferno. I ran to the TV and there on CNN was footage of Notre Dame ablaze. And more amazing still was the sight of a crowd gathered on the opposite bank of the Seine, not just gawking and taking pictures on their phones, but praying together, singing hymns, and weeping. It was a surprising sight, in the centre of a city that often seems not to know God. But then Notre Dame de Paris was not just another church, but the heart of France, its ‘Point Zero’, an icon of the nation.
Next President Macron appeared, and announced that the great cathedral would not just be rebuilt, but that it would be completed in 2024, the year of the Paris Olympics, five years hence. Given the enormity of the task, it seemed a foolish promise. But it was achieved.
Last Advent, I watched the re-dedication of the cathedral, in a moving liturgy where time and speed were not of the essence, but beauty was. I saw the new altar anointed and the brazier lit (safely) upon it, purifying and sanctifying. The font, ambo and tabernacle were also blessed, and six candles lit by the altar, a single candle and cross on the altar alerting us to the fact that Paris’ bishop was again celebrating Mass at his cathedral’s altar.
Pilgrimage
During that ceremony, I decided a pilgrimage to Paris was in order and in Lent of this year made the journey, along with multitudes of pilgrims. The church authorities had insisted Notre Dame would demand no payment for entry, and many took up the invitation to see the rebuilt marvel. Tickets are daily sent by email from the cathedral website for timed entry, with up to 10,000 such tickets being posted each day; it certainly seemed like that many people thronged the church the day I visited!. The ‘new’ Notre Dame is a wonderful experience for the visitor. For one thing, every pilgrim now enters by the main door. The prominent baptismal font, matching the altar, points to the gateway sacrament that baptism is. Pilgrims make their way clockwise around the exterior chapels, with panels alerting them to what is to be seen, and how it fits in the faith story. Directly behind the sanctuary is the Crown of Thorns reliquary, with volunteer stewards working hard to keep a reverent space around it. And more moving than anything is the brightness of the interior, with centuries of grime and smoke cleaned off. It’s worth a look: Notre Dame awaits you!
If it works for Rome?
It’s such a radical proposal that it seems unlikely to succeed. The diocese gathers its parish priests together and asks them to elect their new bishop. Problems immediately come to mind, the politics, the promises of payback, the jealousies. It could not work, you say: yet that is how Rome elects its bishop. Each cardinal elector is linked to a Roman parish and it is as such that he enters the conclave, to elect a new bishop for Peter’s see. And it works for Rome, why not for Raphoe, or Derry, or any other Irish diocese seeking a new leader?
Leo and the Hun
Everyone who comments on our new Pope’s name speaks of Leo XIII and his letter Rerum Novarum. Less mention is made of the ‘original of the species’, the first Pope Leo. In his day, Attila the Hun and his army threatened Rome. The image the Church carries in her heart is of the gentle, scholarly Pope Leo, unarmed and alone, walking out to meet the Hun and persuading him to leave Rome alone — and succeeding. People who trust in God can do brave things. St Leo the Great, pray for our Pope, and for us; give us some of his courage!
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