On Notre Dame, Peeling Potatoes, and the Domestic Church

written April 16, 2019, the day after the fire at Notre Dame. These are ideas and words that I cannot get out of my head, shared with you. I hope you’ll find consolation and courage and inspiration. 

My jaw dropped, and I felt like weeping when I saw the image of Notre Dame burning. How could it be? Not something so beautiful, not this treasure. No, Lord, no.

As my teen gave me a quizzical look, I immediately texted my friend, who was born in Paris. The tears-streaming emoji filled the text better than any words. “:cry cry cry cry Have you seen the news? Notre Dame. B, I’m so sorry. :cry cry cry cry” I watched with great sadness as the spire fell, engulfed in flames.

So much history. So much skill, creative genius, back-breaking labor, blood, sweat, and tears to build the magnificent cathedral. In flames. Being coated in smoke and ash.

All afternoon the day of the fire, I couldn’t stop scrolling news stories and eloquent articles about why Notre Dame means so much. In between texting my Parisian friend and my long-time friend who was with me on a pilgrimage to Paris in 1997, I showed my children pictures of the cathedral before it burned. They can’t yet grasp the magnitude of it. They can’t imagine what was lost, because they don’t know yet what it took to build. It’s not just the windows, the spire, the roof. It’s creativity. Vision. Faith. Perseverance. Generations and generations of skill handed down from one master to an apprentice. Countless hours of manual labor to craft such an incredible place of beauty, story, and faith. What faith! The people of France had to have had such a love of our Lord and the Blessed Mother to dedicate their lives to this cathedral that so many would never see to completion.

Can you imagine?

A day later now, and peeling potatoes for dinner, my mind wanders along so many various paths, it’s dizzying. I’m thinking of the chore part of peeling potatoes. Such a simple task, for a simple dinner, one which I hope my children will eat. I think about the peasants who worked on the cathedral. What did they eat? I think about the genius of the artisans who crafted the windows, the gargoyles, the towering pillars. I marvel at the faith of a people to build this, and the faith of the people who have prayed and met the Lord in that sacred space. What of the wonder the people felt when they first entered this place of beauty and prayer and peace? The people who traveled miles to worship. The people who fought in the French Revolution and entered to pray for peace and weep for the dead. The people who did the same during the World Wars. Those who gathered to mourn after Bataclan. The people who visit and can’t help but feel awe at such a structure, even if they are not faithful Catholics.

It’s because beauty transcends denomination. One needn’t be Catholic or even Christian to appreciate the peacefulness and the beauty that Notre Dame was. Dare I say, still is, and will be?

And I’m back to peeling potatoes. My life is simple and domestic. I’m never going to build a cathedral, or have a part in something so magnificent. Or am I? 

I read something yesterday about what the peasants may have felt and thought when they first entered the cathedral, so many hundreds of years ago. Sacred heart and stained glass windows telling stories of the love of Christ filling the space, inspiring the imagination and beckoning the soul to know the God who is even more beautiful that that holy space.

Then I recalled some snippet of a quote shared a few years back; it was part of a talk at a women’s retreat. During that talk, the speaker (It was Jennifer Fulwiler) spoke of wives and mothers building cathedrals, in their domestic church. Here’s a blurb from someone who was there,

The builders of so many of the great cathedrals never got to see the fruits of their labor.  Their work may have seemed insignificant, but all those little bricks and mosaics turned out something brilliant for God.  We hope that each little daily action of changing a diaper, wiping a nose, making another lunch quesadilla, done over and over again, though it feels so monotonous, is truly helping to build up some beautiful souls for Heaven. 

My home is certainly nothing to share in a decor magazine or tour of homes. My decor is a mash-up of bookshelves, carefully tucked away free weights, hand-made quilts, a cluttered counter, bowls and bowls of fruit, collections of Star Wars, Legos, and Barbies used for stop-motion videos. It’s not glorious. But it is our home, it’s the space God called me to be present, to be crafter of beauty and peace, to be the heart of this particular domestic church.

And I think of Notre Dame, the space the quiets the heart and draws the soul upward because of its beauty, because God was present there, because it was a space of faith and connection and prayer.

And now, peeling potatoes, still, I see the connection. The first generations of Parisians never saw the completion of Notre Dame, but they believed in the worthiness of the task, to give glory to God. They persisted. They passed on the skill and the knowledge, and I assume, a love for the Lord. They worked to create a sacred space in the midst of struggle. They worked to bring a bit of heavenly peace and beauty to earth. So must I. Here in this dated kitchen with mallard-duck tiles on the walls, I must also strive to make this space one of beauty and peace, a respite from the struggles outside. This is our domestic home, our refuge, our place to pray together every single day. It’s my space to work on and in little by little each day, to bring God’s goodness and beauty and love to my family.

It’s here in our home that we can and should meet the Lord most often, in humble daily prayer, in serving each other, in loving each other. It’s here that I share the Word with my children and teach them to pray. And it’s from here that we go forth to meet the Lord again, in our neighbor and in the Eucharist at Mass.

Notre Dame, the beautiful work of love and faith and cooperation, is an inspiration to me. Like those who constructed the cathedral, I won’t see all the fruits of my labors, and there are days that will seem to be going up in flames. But by the grace of God and His goodness, saints will grow up here, and leave a lasting mark on the world that only Saints can leave: the mark of God’s glory.