SOLEMNITY OF THE RESURRECTION OF THE LORD – YEAR C
Last Monday evening, just as dusk was beginning to engulf the City of Light, fire broke out near the roof of one of the oldest and most beautiful churches on earth. In fact, it would not be an exaggeration to say that Notre Dame Cathedral is an architectural wonders of the world, being among the first examples of the Gothic style. Its roof was supported by a lattice work of timber known popularly as The Forest because the wood was fashioned from fifty-two oak trees of a size no longer existing in France. The rose windows are exquisite and quite possibly irreplaceable depictions of the figures and mysteries of the Faith. The nave was the setting for the unfolding much of Western civilization.
On-lookers stood with tears streaming from their eyes or fell to their knees in prayer as the smoke that had been grey at first and then black gave way to flames leaping into the darkening skies. Television networks all over the world suspended their scheduled programming to broadcast live coverage of the cathedral’s imminent collapse and utter destruction.
Wednesday brought the first pictures of a roof open to the sky, open wounds where stained glass windows had been, and still the crowds weeping silently, or praying the rosary. Some of them joined in chanting hymns to our Blessed Mother, whose premier shrine still wrapped in smoke and soot portrayed her as a bereaved mother, wrapped in her dark vesture as not just Notre Dame, but Notre Dame des Chagrins – Our Lady of Sorrows.
When it was finally possible to look into the once-glorious interior, it looked more like a tomb than a church, filled with the ashes of dreams, the corpse of beauty. Yet daylight continued to stream gloriously through rose windows that had miraculously survived the conflagration. And, to the wonderment of non-believers and joy of present-day disciples the rubble-strewn altar was still surmounted by a golden cross that radiated brilliant light.
After an even more disastrous fire gutted Holy Apostles Church in Manhattan more than three decades ago, a homeless man who was a daily guest at the soup kitchen in the church’s basement remarked, “ You can wake a sleeper, but you can’t kill a dream.”
This night tells the story of women coming to look inside a tomb. They bring spices to preserve the remnant of a life that they are powerless to restore. Weeping, stunned, broken-hearted after the firestorm of Calvary that burnt the heart out of the Master, they come to pick up pieces of their own lives shattered like so much stained glass. The relics of the past lie scattered about the tomb: the burial cloths, tokens of a recent death and interment. There, among the relics, stand two men in dazzling garments who declare, “You cannot kill a dream.” The Spirit of God, the dream-maker who coaxed life from a universe formless and void, has raised Jesus up and glorified him. Jesus, risen and glorious has gone out of the tomb into the world where he cannot be contained in churches, no matter how beautiful, any more than he could be restrained in a tomb. And he carries a banner emblazoned with a cross, that instrument of torture and death now a token of victory, that nightmare that has enabled even the wildest of dreams to come true.
“Do not cling to the past, to empty tombs and fire-ravaged churches,” the disciples hear the Risen One command. My Spirit is with you to ignite dreams of a world renewed, of a great cathedral restored, lives made whole, a Catholic Church purified after a fire-storm of scandal.”
The fire in Notre Dame awakened the people of France out of their complacency. We live in a world of fragile beauty that is delicate and so easily destroyed. We have all found ourselves at one time or another abruptly awakened from a period of contentment or happiness to confront tragedy. We all carry with us the charred memories of pasts that can never be restored. We have been seared by the deaths of people whom we love. Relationships have gone up in smoke. Innocence has been smudged by sin. But you cannot kill a dream. Tonight reminds us that the greatest, the most daring dream is no dream at all, but the most real of all reality. He is Risen. His Spirit moves among us tonight bringing rebirth and fresh hope. May the cross that shines still above the charred altar of Notre Dame be the promise of a rebuilt and restored Cathedral and lead us along the road to a Catholic Church renewed in holiness.
“Ave crux, spes unica – Hail, Oh Cross, our solitary hope.” Those lyrics penned long ago in France by Venantius Fortunatus, and chanted in Notre Dame every Holy Week since its consecration still ring from the lips of dreamers everywhere.