Notre Dame

Easter morning found us with Aunt Lorraine recovering and Karen still feeling pretty ill, at least that's what the two of them told me when it was time to get ready for the planned walking tour guided by a native Parisian. I went on the tour myself but when I got back to the hotel somewhere around 1:30 in the afternoon all that remained was a short note indicating that they had tried to call and that they were heading to Notre Dame. They hadn’t been gone too long so I decided to venture out and see if I could hook up with them. A half-hour and a couple of metro rides later I was standing in the courtyard of the mighty cathedral gazing up at the familiar towers that are distinct to Notre Dame. As might be expected, there was a long line of visitors and I hesitated for a few minutes before deciding to get in line. Surprisingly, the line moved along quite rapidly and before long I was sitting in the rear of the sanctuary letting my eyes get accustomed to the darkness and taking in the splendor of the stained-glass windows.

I have mixed feelings going into Catholic cathedrals like this. I am not Catholic. In fact, in recent years, as I’ve learned more about Catholicism and observed its effect on people, I’ve grown more anti-catholic in my own beliefs.  This won’t, of course, make some of my immediate and extended family happy, but to pretend otherwise dilutes my own Protestant faith. When I enter a Catholic church, my mind and soul wrestle with mixed emotions about doctrines and practices and I find it difficult to truly worship there. It almost feels like blasphemy to be there and yet I know that in other respects this is just another building and I can worship God there if I so choose. This day being Easter Sunday, I wanted to spend some time worshiping the risen Savior and offer my thanks to Him who rose from the grave to conquer death and bring mankind salvation. So I sat in the back of the sanctuary and meditated on the Easter story for a bit and came away refreshed in my soul.  Unlike the scene depicted on the altar of the Cathedral of Notre Dame which shows a dead Jesus held in the arms of his mother Mary, my Jesus is raised from the grave, living and dwelling at the right hand of God, having conquered death once and for all. “Death has been swallowed up in victory. Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?” (I Corinthians 15:54b, 55). He is risen!

Oh, I never did hook up with the ladies until we all got back to the hotel. Unfortunately, their cursed sickness was beginning its effects on me and I found myself being the one wanting to stay in bed for the next couple of days. It was unfortunate that we all had to get sick. It sure takes the spunk out of you for a while.