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My fondest memory of Paris was not a romantic rendezvous at Eiffel Tower but a spriritual rediscovery at the famous Notre Dame Cathedral.
Braving through the cold winter afternoon, I had to test my patience waiting in a long queue of tourists eager to get in the cathedral to take a look at its majestic interior and learn its historical significance.
When I finally got in, we were only allowed a few minutes to explore. I went around but stayed on to attend the last French mass for that day. I don’t go to mass as often as I should but that particular ceremony, even though I only understood a few words, was a magical experience that took me back to the Renaissance.
Hearing the news of the fire that destroyed the cathedral yesterday was an emotional blow. The cathedral is not just a figure of literature where a hunchback lived nor is it an architectural masterpiece but an icon of faith for the those who believe.
