I followed the rebuilding of this sacred building meticulously. It changed my life.
The Case for a Spiritual Christianity
I wrote this on December 25, 2022.I was searching for an answer to my question about remaining Christian, or perhaps just identifying with the church of our mothers and fathers, without accepting all the doctrinal overreach and the insistence on adherence. I thought that perhaps if I took a step back from my hypercritical mindset, relaxed and simply observed the landscape, a convincing argument might present itself. I love the church's music and art. They are a real source of spiritual nourishment. Perhaps I could fully embrace a kind of spiritual agnosticism.
(Thibault Camus/AP)
On April 15th, 2019, as I watched the live coverage of the catastrophic fire that almost destroyed the magnificent Cathedral of Notre Dame, I confess, I was in tears. I am a francophile; I love Paris; when I was a student in northern France, I visited the cathedral many times. Watching the fire engulf the whole transept, I was devastated. It touched me on a very deep level, beyond grief and shock.
Then I remembered another catastrophic disaster. Watching Manhattan’s Twin Towers burn and collapse, the loss of life, and the extreme wanton destruction was horrific. I was also devastated, but in a different way. It was a terrorist attack. My feelings were mixed with horror and fear.
Both the Twin Towers and Notre Dame were iconic markers on the skyline of major cities. Construction on the Twin Towers began on August 6th, 1966, and they fell after a terrorist attack on September 11th, 2001. Pope Alexander III laid the cornerstone for Notre Dame Cathedral in 1163. It took hundreds of years to build--the last major restoration was by Viollet-le-Duc in the mid-19th century.
I followed the work on replacing and renovating both the Twin Towers and Notre Dame. The design process of rebuilding in New York was predictably contentious. Experts and property developers were called in. There were debates about the design, reconfiguring the site, accommodating commercial uses, providing transportation links, and remembering the victims. Though still the World Trade Center, it would be something different. The process was very American and, at least in form, attempted to look democratic. In France, the debate was about whether to allow any changes during the renovation. Initially, some suggested a new design for the spire that was a modern innovation when it was rebuilt in the mid-19th century. In short order, the French Senate passed a bill requiring that the reconstruction be faithful to its “last known visual state.” They would rebuild the spire exactly as it was, to the millimeter, using the materials and construction techniques specified by Eugène-Emmanuel Viollet-le-Duc, the only accommodation being improvements for modern technology, electricity, and building safety, plus new designs for the square in front of the cathedral, underground parking, and adjacent buildings on the Ile de France.
Both the Twin Towers and Notre Dame caught fire and fell within several hours, one completely and large portions of the other. That is really the only similarity. In New York, a huge number of people perished. In Paris, no one died. One was caused by a terrorist attack and the other by accident or negligence. One was a commercial property and the other a sacred space. I was shaken deeply by both tragedies. I watched them both unfold live on TV. Though I hesitate to trace my emotional reactions to a disaster as a path to religious belief, examining my responses has been revealing.
To extend my theological metaphor, rebuilding the World Center was like the Council of Trent in response to the massive cultural, political, and intellectual shift of the Reformation, and renovating Notre Dame is like a careful meditation, a prayer on the source of our faith.
I’ve watched the renovation of Notre Dame, searching the internet for every report, argument, and discovery as the work progressed on Le chantier du siècle. When plans were revealed for redesigning the interior space to accommodate current liturgical practice, Alexandre Gady, art historian, said, “Curiously, it wasn’t the clergy talking about the sacred this morning; it was historians like me who defend historical monuments. Notre Dame is sacred, not just in the Catholic sense but also sacred in the way it unites us, that it speaks to us, and that it tells our history.”
Other critics said that the overzealous clergy of Paris was set on turning their tourist attraction into a spiritual Disneyland.
If all the people who love Notre Dame, whether or not they are committed Catholics or not, whether they belong to other religions or none, whether they’ve have contributed money, time or talent to preserve this valuable artifact of our spiritual heritage, or simply sent their love, if the result is a slick Disney remake of Victor Hugo’s The Hunchback of Notre Dame I’ll know that we are really in the twilight of Western civilization.
What do I know?
On Christmas Eve, I started watching this bit of fluff, “Inside the Vatican, episode 1” on YouTube. Suddenly, a very handsome man with a magnificent voice began singing to the world. Mark Spyropoulos is a British baritone with Greek roots who found himself in the oldest church choir in the world, the personal choir of the pope, Cappella Musicale Pontificia.Mark started talking about singing the Nicaean Creed solo during the televised mass that goes out to millions upon millions. One day, he realized how many people had heard him make this profession of faith. He’d sung it at every papal mass for 3 years.
He quoted the Latin: Credo in Unum Deum. “I believe in One God.” He went on, “I didn’t sing, ‘We believe in One God.’” It was he, Mark, who made a very personal profession of faith. He asked himself: Did he really believe in the One God? And what did that even mean? “I don’t even know. Sometimes I feel like a fraud. I’ve just declared the beginning of the Nicaean Creed in front of the Pope and the world; surely I should be sure of what I’m saying. Sometimes I know what I'm singing, and sometimes I don’t.”
“If you ask me if I believe in God, my reply is that I don’t understand the question. What do you mean by God? (I could hear his interviewer prompt him: God as defined by the Catholic Church) These are massive questions.”
“I’m a baritone. What do I know?”
And it became a kind of personal crisis of faith. Aside from the musical insider joke, he really didn’t know. Then he told a story of a rather beautiful personal revelation; I think it was while singing a Bach piece, the 1747 version as opposed to the earlier 1745, the one that Francis preferred. Apparently, Francis is a hands-on boss when it comes to certain details.
“Well, what do I know? I'll tell you what I know. I can tell you that when I am immersed in this music, I feel in touch with something.”
Singing, he realized he truly believed in a power greater than himself. He was actually far more eloquent than my Jesuitical argument.
Medici Archive Project, Music Program. Vox Medicea (directed by Mark Spyropoulos).
