Why It's OK to be Upset over Notre-Dame

My mother loves Paris. It’s one of her absolute favorite cities in the world, and whenever you mention Paris, she gets a wistful look in her eye. When my niece, Sally, was a toddler, my mom used to fantasize about bringing her to Paris when she was older. And finally, as Sally turns 15, that plan--so long in dreaming--is in the works.
 
So when I saw the news that Notre-Dame was burning up, I immediately grabbed my phone to text my mom. She beat me to it: Notre Dame Paris is on fire.
 
We commiserated by text all that day, and collectively sighed in relief when it became clear that nobody had lost their lives and that most of the art--and the windows--had been saved.
 
There was something compelling about this event even for me, a staunch non-Catholic (non-any religion at all, actually). Standing with the people of Paris as they watched one of the grandest and most loved monuments in the city dance in the flames and smoke--It was like standing vigil as a loved one takes their final breath. It felt respectful to watch the drama play out, no matter what happened in the end.
 
As an active social media user, I’m familiar with the normal pattern of social media responses to news like this: first there’s an outpouring of surprise, then of support, then of grief…and then the naysaying creeps in. The self-righteous posts about how “it’s just a building, and meanwhile there are kids in cages” and “Nobody cared when black churches in the US south were being burned down!!”
 
When two French billionaires got into a pissing contest about who will provide the most funding to rebuild, the naysayers erupted in renewed fury--not unlike the way a fire acts, if you think about it--“If these rich guys can afford to fund reconstruction of an old church, that just shows that they can afford to feed hungry countries!”
 
Now, let me just say that neither of these responses are wrong. Yes, it’s troubling that the wealthy sit on their unearned money while others starve, and then open their pocketbooks for something sentimental but ultimately merely an object. It’s a travesty, and the wealthy should be ashamed of their selfishness.
 
And it’s also true that the media tends to ignore events happening in black communities, and that we’re so numb at this point that most of us go through our days not giving much thought to the tragedy of the current US administration’s (I won’t give the purveyors of these evil acts any attention by using their names) wanton kidnapping and abuse of migrant children.
 
I absolutely agree.
 
But we can feel grief over Notre-Dame--even as we also feel relief that the news wasn’t worse--and also feel rage, grief, and despair over everything else that seems to be collapsing in the world.
 
The collapse of accountability, decency, empathy, critical thinking. The collapse of common sense, of personal responsibility, of respect.  The potential collapse of democracy under the weight of narcissism, greed, and corruption. The collapse of communities under water and wind from rampant and unchecked climate change.
 
Of course, these are all catastrophic.
 
As the firefighters desperately fought the flames, my mom and some friends and I pondered the fact that--even given the rest of the terrible news of the day--the burning of Notre-Dame affected us more emotionally and deeply than other crises. Maybe because it’s such a complicated symbol, where art, religion, culture, and history mingle: deep and often dark nuances of pain and struggle intertwining with soaring beauty and elegant craftsmanship.
 
Can’t we stop, take a breath, and spend some time marveling at an old, grand building--and a symbol of an old, grand, battered but still thriving city? Can’t we consider the value of ancient relics and art, even if we don’t personally believe the Crown of Thorns was actually atop Jesus’ head? Even if we think religion is bullshit? Can’t we feel glad that three incredible, intricate stained-glass windows were saved?
 
Notre-Dame is not “just” a building. It’s a physical representation of the soul of Paris; it’s 800 years of history; it’s countless tears, hymns, and cries of wonder.
 
And in a world where we slog through the mud of tragic news from the minute we open our eyes to the minute we close them, we’re allowed to turn our attention to this near-tragedy. We’re allowed to sadly admire the flames as they consume the spire, gasp in combined horror and awe as it topples, listen to Parisians singing in the streets as they watch their beloved cathedral glow red from the inside.
 
Social media is, obviously, a constant feedback loop of opinion--we must always provide our opinion because it makes us feel validated. And I’m no different. But I’m here to say that it’s OK to be struck by what happened to Notre Dame. To feel sad about it. It doesn’t mean we’re ignoring the herds of other tragedies and crises bearing down on us. It just means we can appreciate what we almost lost.