EXCERPT:
I expected to arrive at Notre Dame de Paris around 10:30 for an 11:00 Armistice Day ceremony (traditionally, the solemn chanting of Te Deum), and I guessed that, aside from the usual tourists, the congregation might be sparse (no veterans of the “Great War” of 1914-1918 survive, and this year’s anniversary--the 93rd--was not a round number that might command special attention).
Instead, I found the cathedral jam-packed and a homily already underway. The main area was blocked off, so tourists could only pass around the side aisles. It was a 10:00 Mass, and the congregation was largely black, mostly women, and many in the bright colors of traditional tribal garb.
The homily (offered by the Archbishop of Paris) was projected on HD flat screens every 10 yards long the side aisles of the cathedral. I made my way up the aisle with the tourist flow, circled counter-clockwise round behind the altar, and stopped on the far edge facing back across the sanctuary to the nave.
This was the annual Paris celebration in honor of the French overseas dioceses of Antigua, Martinique, and Guadalupe. This was, however, the first time this Mass was celebrated at Notre Dame.
The rest of the Mass was punctuated by the loud, rhythmic, drum-driven music of a large choir singing upbeat multi-part hymns in both French and the creoles of their respective countries. Most of the hymns were high energy island melodies, with the exception of a gloriously harmonized Creole lyric set to the tune of “Amazing Grace.”
As Mass ended, a bishop rose and drew loud applause and warm laughter by noting that, without doubt, this was the first time a black bishop had spoken to his people from the sanctuary of “This beautiful cathedral of Notre Dame of Paris.”
As I listened—just minutes after holding black hands on both sides of me during the Our Father, exchanging signs of peace with these French Africans, and filing up with them to receive Communion in this great monument to Catholic faith—I found the moment almost unbearably moving.
This cathedral is, after all, the crowning product of medieval Christendom, an era when the Catholic tradition achieved a remarkable integration of imperial customs (inherited from the Roman Empire) and popular culture. The result, in Gothic architecture like Notre Dame, created spaces that soar heavenward with impossibly “light” stoneworks in which walls and pillars are but bit players supporting the real stars: the fragile and flamboyant stained glass windows that make up much of surfaces. Those “Vitraux” were, a Charlemagne said, “The catechism of the people,” who despite general illiteracy provided the heroic and expert labor that made these marvels possible.
Notre Dame and its sister cathedrals across Europe are thus among the chief glories of Christendom, which was itself Catholicism’s first attempt to go global by attaching Catholic faith to Latin culture.
That culture, of course, was imposed by European Christians on most third world colonies--witness these French-speaking Africans. But once decolonization began, the dream of a permanent global Euro-Latin culture was doomed, and the “Christendom” project with it.
Enter Vatican Council II (1962-1965) with a new idea: rather than tie Catholicism’s global reach to a receding European culture in a post-colonial age, why not equip Catholicism to thrive in all cultures? Why not, for example, expand beyond Latin and Gregorian chant and western polyphony as the sole liturgical options to embrace all the languages and musics of the globe?
Because of that new idea, I got to witness, on this day, this vibrant liturgical celebration from three third world cultures--here, in this bosom of Christendom! Far from violating the wondrous gothic beauty of Notre Dame Cathedral, this heartfelt celebration lifted hearts much as the flying buttresses lift the stone--and the brilliant bright costumes seemed fitting reflections of the brilliant blues and reds, yellows and greens of the cathedral’s great rose windows.
This celbration broadcast the unmistakable message that Catholic tradition, already 100 generations old, can without warning burst forth with the youthful and holy spirit of a new generation, and thus give new life to this beautiful space which we inherited as the legacy and faithful gift of another Catholic generation, now long gone but not forgotten. Just as that generation’s genius crafted the stone, the sculptures, and the glass, this generation is crafting its own monuments to faith in music and dress.
There is no place on this earth quite like the Cathedral of Notre Dame of Paris, and in all its years it has never witnessed anything quite like this.
