Our Lady

The cathedral of Notre Dame de Paris burned today.

There aren't really any words to describe the horror of watching the conflagration on the news. Hundreds of years of history burning, burning. What would be lost? What will be left? There was concern that the towers would be destroyed if the bells fell. Mercifully, though, the towers appear to have remained intact, although the spire and the roof are destroyed. The fate of the historic organ is still unknown. The most cherished religious artefacts were saved through the aid of a human chain. Well done, people of the human chain. You give us hope for humanity.

It is interesting how the handful of small griefs that I carry around with me, have impacted my reaction to the devastation of Notre Dame. On the one hand, I may only have the strength to bear my own internal trifling sorrows, because the enormousness of this historical, impersonal-to-me tragedy seems too big to contemplate fully. Yet on the other hand, I can cry for Notre Dame, even as my eyes remain dry for my minuscule personal heartaches.

Why is the burning of the cathedral the tipping point for tears? Is it only safe to cry for the losses of humanity?

 All I can see right now is the orange glow of the cathedral's flames.

God bless. Let us see what dawn's light brings.