Both Notre Dame Cathedral
in Paris and Al-Aqsa Mosque in Jerusalem burned yesterday. Both are not
just religious shrines but cultural and artistic treasures. Both fires seem to
have been accidental, thankfully not violent hatred. Also thankfully, no one
died or was seriously injured in either fire. Given both the human propensity
for provincialism and that the Notre Dame fire was more spectacular and
damaging, that the Western press gave it more attention may be disappointing but
is not surprising.
The antiquity of
both sites speaks to the depth and universality of visceral reaction to these
fires. The Notre Dame Cathedral was built from 1163-1345. The Al-Aqsa Mosque
was first built in 705 and rebuilt on several occasions: 746, 780, 1187. Such
ancient shrines suggest a sort of affirmation of immortality against our
awareness of transitory human mortality. When their vulnerability to mundane hazards becomes obvious,
our confidence in these anchors is shaken and we are confronted by the reality
of human fragility. I recently wrote of contemplating mortality (http://nstolpepilgrim.blogspot.com/2019/02/contemplation-of-mortality.html)
in which I quoted Psalm 49:10-13. This excerpt seems especially poignant today.
“Though they named lands their own, mortals cannot abide in their pomp.”
I must confess to
some ambivalence as I consider the future path for each of these sites. Repairing
the damage to the Al-Aqsa Mosque seems to be less daunting or expensive than the
Notre Dame Cathedral and will probably proceed without much notice. Notre Dame
Cathedral was already being renovated, and that work may have sparked the fire.
Many millions of dollars (Euros probably despite US news reporting) had already
been raised for that effort and will certainly be used to repair the fire
damage. Without a doubt, many millions more will be needed to do that now. The
source of these funds seems to largely be private donors interest in cultural
preservation and not the gifts of the faithful for the cathedral’s ministry. I
know nothing about those workings, though I would not be surprised if the
cultural had not eclipsed the religious function of the cathedral long ago. To
be sure, even with all of our modern technology, we no longer have people with
the craft skills or the materials or patience for the kind of work that built
the cathedral in the first place, so it will not be “restored” to what it was.
In other times, its upkeep was neglected and “restoration” efforts were not a
return to the original.
The magnitude of
the cost of even modest repair of yesterday’s damage is staggering. I do not
think I am alone in my ambivalence at pouring that kind of money into this
project when food and water, health and housing, peace and justice are so
lacking for so many people in the world, and even in the prosperous, developed
West (including the US). This evoked for me some of the emotions I had when
visiting St. Peter’s Basilica when I was on pilgrimage in Rome in 2004. As I
marveled at the grandeur of the architecture, art, and history there, I grimaced at
the realization that this was originally funded by the sale of indulgences to
many poor and ordinary Christians in Europe that triggered Martin Luther’s
reaction and unleased the Reformation. It’s ongoing upkeep is very expensive. I
don’t want to look at all of this through my Protestant eyes, but first as a
human and then as a follower of Jesus, who I can’t imagine commissioning such a
project. Yet, I value what it contains and conveys.
So I am not at all
suggesting that I know what should be done in either Paris or Jerusalem in the
wake of yesterday’s fires. Rather, I am prompted in my contemplation to
consider how all human life is transitory – even the things we consider permanent.
We are tempted to think of the antiquities with which we identify as eternal or
symbols of eternality, which strikes me as tantamount to idolatry. I am also
prompted to ponder in God’s presence my priorities, and those of the society in
which I live, for the care of people who live in need, often dire need, of the
basics of life: food and water, health and housing, peace and justice. I am espousing
no opinion or position. I am proposing no plan for proceeding. Nor am I
suggesting wallowing in blame, shame, or helplessness. Rather, as the news of
these fires unfolds, I intend to gaze unswervingly, unflinchingly into the
cracks and spaces of my discomforts to catch a glimpse of the presence of God.
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