After five years of hard work, Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris has finally risen from the ashes. A titanic task, which does justice to the extraordinary mobilisation and expertise of the French craftsmen and those who assisted them. But the ceremonies to reopen the building left us with mixed feelings.
Speaking as a Frenchwoman, as a Catholic, there are many reasons to rejoice at this achievement. Like millions of people around the world, my heart sank as I watched the magnificent nave being devoured by tongues of fire one evening in April 2019, just a few days before Easter, and then the roof structure giving way with a terrible crash. A strong feeling of irreparable loss gripped us all that evening, to the point where many tears flowed.
And yet. Notre-Dame de Paris was the strongest. At the end of an extraordinary construction project, France’s most famous cathedral has risen from the ashes. A thousand and one stories, each more moving and powerful than the last, have accompanied its fall and its resurrection. The story of the indifferent fireman who entered the burning building out of duty, only to emerge a believer, touched by grace. That of the firefighters’ chaplain who, at the risk of his life, took it upon himself to go and save the Crown of Thorns and the Blessed Sacrament. The carpenters who, as one man, asked for their axes to be blessed before they set about preparing the oaks for the carpentry.
There were also breathtaking images, so full of meaning in our grey, mystery-free world. The immortal shot of a ray of sunlight illuminating the altar amidst the rubble. These photos of the restored spire, taken with exaltation by Parisians as it rose once again into the Parisian sky—like the needle of a compass showing them the only direction worth following, that toward Heaven.
Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s: when many doubted, President Macron believed in it, and put all his authority in the balance (which goes to show that where there’s a will, there’s a way) to make it possible within these deadlines, at the price, thank God, of a certain number of adjustments of regulations and red tape to work, quickly and well. Confidence and enthusiasm are always there when the objective is noble and exhilarating. He entrusted the project to a worthy man, retired general Jean-Louis Georgelin, who died in 2023, unfortunately without having seen the end of this immense project. There have been enough thunderous failures since Macron took over as head of France for us not to give him a good mark, for once, on the Notre Dame restoration.
But the cathedral’s rehabilitation has also had its dark side, and the sordid stories are no less numerous than the high points.
The ludicrous discussions about the possible transformation of the building, with wild suggestions ranging from an integrated café-restaurant to a glass roof-top. The pettiness of the mayor, Anne Hidalgo, who, while not wanting to spend a penny on Notre Dame, has found a way of making the construction site pay a tax.
The torrents of hatred that poured down on the wealthy citizens who had generously put their hands in their pockets to finance the work.
À quelques jours de la réouverture de Notre-Dame, je n’oublierai jamais qu’alors que les familles Bettencourt-Meyers et Arnault faisaient chacune un don de 200 M€, #AnneHidalgo, toute honte bue, exigeait du chantier de restauration une redevance de 25,4 M€, avant d’y renoncer… pic.twitter.com/2PEyGhGN40
— Eric Klein (@EricKLein_) December 4, 2024
The questionable choices made, against the wishes of heritage protection associations, such as the removal of the stained glass windows by Viollet-le-Duc in favour of contemporary creations, stubbornly desired by the evil trio formed by Emmanuel Macron, his Minister of Culture Rachida Dati, and Archbishop Msgr. Ulrich.
The installation of hopelessly dysfunctional liturgical furnishings, devoid of all grace and meaning.
You might think that all that is now behind us, and that the only thing that matters is the reopening of the church and the resumption of worship, effective on the solemnity of the Immaculate Conception, on a beautiful and cold Sunday in December 2025. But the ceremonies held on December 7th and 8th remind us that nothing is won, and that much is irretrievably lost.
As a Frenchwoman, as a Catholic, I should be rejoicing, but my heart isn’t really in it. The restored Notre Dame is whiter than it has ever been. But with the soot that has been stripped from the stones, the repentance of men and the prayers accumulated within these walls over the centuries have been washed away to create a smooth, uneven face at the image of a hygienic modern world too proud of itself. A little of the soul of Notre Dame has gone.
And what about the opening ceremony?
With two days to go to celebrate the anniversary of the separation of Church and State, President Macron could not stop himself from speaking inside the cathedral, despite promises to the contrary. And his wife, Brigitte Macron, took communion with the archbishop, even though she lives with a man in a union that is anything but canonical, to say the least—all in a blissful unanimity maintained by a Church in France that no longer really knows where it stands.
The official festivities gave rise to gigantic nonsense, providing a formidable factory of memes on social media.
The liturgical vestments designed by high-profile fashion designer Jean-Charles de Castelbajac gave the impression that the ceremony was in the colours of Google or Microsoft Office, as the case may be—blithely trampling all over the liturgical calendar in the process. Many people who were not ‘traditionalists’ noticed this. ‘Trad’ abbots wearing white lace are to be blamed for their putative non-compliance with the directives of Vatican II, but anything goes for the official clergy, who do what they want, when they want.
Fr. Clément Barré commented on X:
Basically, the problem with this garment, beyond any aesthetic appreciation, is that it escapes the common language of the Catholic liturgy. For a Christian, it does not say what is being celebrated. Instead, it summons up another language, with other references, other meanings… that of the artist, who in effect silences the Church to speak for him. And we are summoned to enter into this new language, which does not belong to us.
The ceremony was sadly characterised by the omnipresence of ugliness. In the words of Cyrano de Bergerac’s father, the poet Edmond Rostand, “I thought I saw a long slug slide over a flower.” It is appalling to see the extent to which the modern church strives to present a repulsive image. Let’s make the best of it: it’s a formidable technique for bringing out the radiant beauty of the past.
It would seem that the French have had a problem with opening ceremonies. After the controversy surrounding the Olympic Games, the ceremony at Notre Dame was a huge missed opportunity to speak to the greatest number of people—so much so that the choice of mediocrity and ugliness is never likely to win over the crowds. The public was expected to flock to the building, but a storm blew in from Paris. As a result, many visitors stayed at home. If, like the ancient Romans, we like to read divine will in the signs of the weather, we could say that Heaven was—a little—annoyed at the way things had turned out and wanted to send a reminder.
The gaudy colours of the liturgical vestments speak only to a small caste of initiates satisfied that they have paid their dues to the prevailing progressivism. Another example: the musical programme. For a moment, a splendid Magnificat resounded under the vaults. But the ‘awakening’ ceremony for the organ disconcerted many. Made up of improvisation sequences on the majestic instrument, the vaults resounded with dissonant pieces in the purest vein of twentieth-century music, designed for aesthetes trapped in intellectualism. As amateur organist and editorialist Olivier Babeau humorously put it: “It’s been going on for 50 years. Time doesn’t help, it just won’t go away. And that’s a problem. If music is meant to uplift, it must speak to the senses. For many people, this kind of music is more likely to keep them away from the altar because it’s the stuff of pro-virtuoso musicians tired of harmonies.”
It would have been so simple to choose something harmonious that would appeal to the humble heart of the man in the street, who has often lost his way in the faith and just wants to be amazed. Too simple. Modernity has forgotten the old Racine adage: “The main rule is to please and to touch.”
The signal had been given from on high, by Pope Francis, who, by refusing to travel to Paris, failed to see what an extraordinary opportunity the reopening of Notre Dame provided to speak to as many people as possible, and who preferred to send a dull message when he could, by his presence, have bowed the knee to a multi-secular reality that is a reference point for millions of people throughout the world.
The party is ruined. I would have liked to be there, but the Notre Dame of December 7th is not quite mine. Fortunately, what remains is the inexorable power of those who conceived it, built it and supported it with their prayers. Its immense beauty continues to shine through beneath the garments of gaudy modernity with which it has been dressed. This Notre Dame is still standing, against all odds. I’m going to pay homage to her when the official din has died down. God save France!
