Early in the evening of April 15th we watched in disbelief as the roof of Notre Dame de Paris caught fire. Dry Medieval timbers that had been in place for hundreds of years glowed in the night sky as the fire rapidly spread, engulfing the entire structure.

Later, the blazing central spire collapsed, a 19th century restoration, gone in a shower of orange flame. In spite of the dramatic images, the heroic efforts of the Parisian fire crews prevented the fire spreading into the two great towers that form the entrance to the cathedral. We have since heard that three bee hives on the sacristy roof also survived, the homes of some 200,000 bees.

Construction of the cathedral began in 1163, during the reign of King Louis VII, and was completed in 1345. It was built on a small island called the Île de la Cité, in the middle of the River Seine.

The cathedral was damaged and neglected in the 1790s, during the French Revolution, at one time being used as a stable for horses. Victor Hugo’s 1831 novel, published in English as "The Hunchback of Notre Dame," highlighted the building’s decrepit condition.

Looking now at this immense structure in stone, you wonder how it was built without the technicalities of modern construction. If I could experience a few days in a previous age, I would choose a cathedral building site, just to have a glimpse of the skill and effort of the many artisans at work. They took time to raise those stones and to set them one on another, producing the soaring masterpieces of European Gothic architecture that remains to this day. But why were they built in the first place, what drove men to spend so many years of their working life labouring over the cutting and shaping of stones with such careful artistry?

They were, of course, built for a significant purpose, a mark on the landscape of sincere faith and belief. They provided a focal point not only for the local community but also a destination for travelling pilgrims, a place of arrival. Often they were associated with a monastic community and just as Auden wrote that ‘a poem is never finished, merely laid aside’, so too were there additions to the structures in later years.

With such a firm root in the belief of a Christian community, it is no wonder that the elegance of stone, the complicated carving of wood and the glorious light from stained glass produced the marvel that we see across the land.

That said, we must now consider the question in the case of Notre Dame de Paris, what happens next? If, as looks likely, the stone edifice is intact, can the medieval wooden rafters of the roof be replaced - and at what cost? The challenge would be enormous but not impossible. It would be expensive and it would take time, a considerable time. The declared intention of President Macron to achieve reconstruction within five years is questionable. His motive is somewhat clearer for in 2024, Paris is due to host the Olympic Games and the cathedral is a huge tourist attraction. What cannot be denied is that this building of stone and wood has graced the Ile de la Citie for many, many years and so has a place in the heart of the French nation. Now something is missing. Bereavement is not too strong a word.

Others may question whether or not so much money should be spent when there is evident human need in the world. Maybe the focal point of faith comes at a price and will be evidence of that living faith in the face of adversity.

What has to happen in the coming months must be an open and honest discussion to determine intentions. Already, the public fund has received donations in excess of a Billion Euros. No doubt there will be further donations. However we should not forget that the prime purpose of the structure is offer a space for the celebration of the Eucharist and for personal prayer and refuge in the centre of a great city.

The cool grandeur of our cathedrals offers a space for those of faith and for those still searching. They draw us into their vastness and give solace in time of distress. Those who gathered at the height of the fire praying in huddled road-side groups were testimony to that belief.

The few words that follow were written on the Tuesday morning as the fire was finally dampened.

Red Dusk at Compline

The teeming tears of Paris

were not enough

to quench the fierce fire

that seared its heart.

A place of Eucharist

where an Emperor once was crowned

and horses stabled,

now savagely reduced to a stone shell,

sheltering a crucifix,

Christ-caught, in the agony of our folly.

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