We were well into our dinner when the conversation turned to the newly restored Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris. Across the table sat our friends, who have lived in Paris for over 30 years. On the day the cathedral caught fire, they stood and watched with thousands of others.
As they recalled that day, tears welled in their eyes. Just the thought of this majestic place engulfed in flames evoked deep memories. As they watched, a group of young Parisians sang a hymn. When they spoke of the spire falling, the weight of that moment was still almost too much to process—even five years later.
Notre Dame is a symbol of Parisian heritage and culture. Its stunning architecture and long historical significance as the heart of Paris strike a deep chord with the French, even if the cathedral's Christian relevance is lost on many. The construction of the church began in the twelfth century and took over 200 years to complete.
I first saw it in person in the summer of 2007, when our friends, the Wilbanks, showed our family around Paris. Our children played together under the towering Gothic structure, and I was simply in awe, standing in its shadow, surrounded by the Parisian white limestone buildings.
It took several visits back to Paris to fully grasp the depth of the cathedral’s significance. My greatest enlightenment to its grandeur and importance happened in 2014 when Kermit Horn took me on a tour of the Latin Quarter. We stood below the church’s façade as he explained the tympana in detail—where Christ sits on His throne, separating the sheep from the goats. He finished his explanation and shared that we were about to embark on a journey through history—a history of ideas, great books, great thinkers, and their relevance to us today.
As he looked out across the hundreds of people gathered in front of the church, he said, “All of these people we see, and ourselves included, are standing here today because their father ejaculated inside their mother. Is there more to life than just this? That is what we will consider today.”
He had my attention from 7 a.m. to 2 p.m., and I could have walked with him for days. Over the years, perhaps it has been days, as through his eyes, Paris—its history, its beauty, its influence, and its future—became a profound interest of mine.
I have found myself back in Paris many times—with Danae, on a weekend trip with my daughter, alone at times, and with friends.
Once, I spent two days alone walking the Latin Quarter, Hemingway’s A Moveable Feast in hand, searching for the addresses mentioned in the book. I spent a day alone beneath the Eiffel Tower, reading a Ben Sasse book as Gypsies kept bringing me beers to drink. Danae and I placed a lock on the old bridge—now gone—and celebrated an anniversary. We went to La Cigale to watch Jimmy Buffett perform. We strolled beside the great white domes of Sacré-Cœur, where our kids had their portraits made by a local artist.
We have dined with friends at five-star restaurants and spent countless afternoons in simple cafés, drinking Aperol Spritzes and eating foie gras. One morning, we woke up at 5 a.m. so Sarah could take pictures of Danae and me at the Trocadéro before the crowds arrived—though today, I suppose AI could just remove them.
Sarah and I once spent a weekend together in Paris, staring up at Rodin’s The Thinker before laughing and celebrating life at the Hemingway Bar in the Ritz. Over numerous trips, we’ve spent hours in museums, libraries, and universities. Just last week, I stood in the Panthéon with my friend Maria Cortez, contemplating the social impacts of Rousseau and Voltaire as we gazed upon their graves.
The impact of Paris is immeasurable. It is enchanting to the seeker.
I began to see Paris through Kermit’s eyes, and as he teared up at the thought of Notre Dame on fire, I felt it too—and I teared up as well.
At the center of this city stands a cathedral bearing hope—a hope understood by some but missed by many.
The cathedral is the keeper of the Crown of Thorns, a fragment of the Cross of Christ, priceless artwork, the labor of global craftsmen, and the heart of the people. What many don’t yet understand is that it carries the message of hope in Jesus Christ. The bells ring in celebration of His resurrection. The spire points to His heavens. The façade tells His timeless story. And the cathedral’s very existence speaks of humanity’s desire to worship God. As Victor Hugo wrote, “The trunk of a tree is immovable; the foliage is capricious. Notre Dame is a work of art authored by humanity itself.”
She was so impressive, all cleaned up. The interior was vibrant after centuries of dirt and soot had been removed in the process of healing her from the most recent fire.
I knelt, made the sign of the cross, stood, and thanked God that she was spared for generations to come.
I hope they will look up at her stained glass, her Gothic design, her imposing frame, and consider what they, too, may build for God. More importantly, I hope they consider the finished work of Jesus—the very reason people have worshiped here for centuries.
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