Afternoon at Notre Dame (photo essay)

There’s a magic in stained glass.  I could almost say I was raised in churches.  My parents took me to church for the first time when I was 3 days old.  Dad is a minister, retired now, and when you’re part of a minister’s family you go to church whenever the doors open.  Maybe that’s where my fascination with old churches began.  From childhood I remember looking at the light streaming in through stained glass, transforming the floating dust specks into Tinkerbell style fairies

One of my greatest desires was to visit one of the famous cathedrals in Europe. My husband chose our hotel in Paris in part to fulfill that longing.  We were in the Latin Quarter and in walking distance to Notre Dame.  Mind you, walking distance in Paris might be a bit farther than you or I would be inclined to walk, but I didn’t care.  I would get a whole afternoon on the first day to enjoy exploring one of the most beautiful churches in France.

One thing the art textbooks fail to convey is the sheer size of a cathedral. 

Approaching the front façade, you realize that those little figures that were hardly the size of your pencil eraser in the illustrations are, in reality, huge. Gargoyles lean out in rows, peering at crowds of people in the open square. 

 A figure in a silver cloak and a star mask stands on a pedestal with a small yellow tin to collect the money from passing tourists.   We took many photos of the beautiful façade with saints and apostles stacked up in a holy rows.  When you stand at the enormous wooden door, covered with iron scrollwork and over 12 feet high, your world shifts.  The scale has changed. 

Awesome is one of those words that has been used so much that it has lost its meaning, its power.  The moment we walked into the echoing nave of the cathedral, I was struck with genuine awe.  Ceilings all but disappeared into dimness and shafts of multi-hued light stream down from banks of stained glass windows.  The columns that support this mighty structure, look like massive redwoods grown of stone.  Six men holding hands could not embrace their width.  The soaring heights makes you feel like you’re kneeling—makes you feel like you should be kneeling.

Although there are no signs (in English anyway) to caution you against loud talking, all the voices are hushed.  It’s an unfamiliar feeling.  I search for the word and find “reverence”. Candles flicker and cast dancing light on the face of a dark life sized crucifix.  There are poignant sculptures of saints and prominent nobles with hopes of buying a place in the afterlife with beautiful donations.  Dark wood gleams carved into beautiful shapes but the star of the show is the huge kaleidoscopes of stained glass—one on each side of the main sanctuary. These windows are just massive.  The “small” figures in a row underneath are life sized. 

In the cool stone womb, modern life is shut out.  Even the flash of digital cameras can mimic flickering candles.  I expect to hear the solemn strains of a monastic chant echoing from the massive vaulted ceiling.  I long for this peace and beauty to stay with me but eventually we must leave. 

We head toward the door under the goliath pipe organ and out into the blinding light and bustle.  But somewhere, my heart carries a piece of that stained glass beauty I took with me.

copyright Janna O'Donnell 2007