Though you walk through the fire
Many of us watched with shock on Monday evening as Notre-Dame became engulfed in flames, spreading through the roof, toppling its glorious spire and threatening to destroy its structures and historic treasures. It was several hours before any sense of relief set in about what survived. In the thick of it, there was a tide of grief and despair at the magnitude of the loss. One of my friends was in disbelief, having sung there with his choir just that morning. Another friend stood amidst the crowds by the Seine, weeping and singing hymns: expressions of bereavement and also of hope and solidarity.
Quickly, that hope caught light too, as determination grew to rebuild one of France’s most glorious icons. A young man named Éloi was among the crowds, and commented: ‘As a French Catholic, I felt really bad after the fire so I see this vigil as a way to say that even if the flames destroyed the cathedral, we can rebuild it because the Church is made not of stones but is a living body.’
As we look towards the new hope and life that is celebrated this Easter Sunday, Éloi’s words capture the heart of its spiritual vision. As Christ bursts from the tomb, he brings the real hope that no death, no destruction, no despair, can ever entirely consume us. In those wonderful words from Isaiah, ‘though you walk through the fire you shall not be burned, and the flames shall not consume you, for I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Saviour’ (Isaiah 43.2-3). Christ’s risen body, confusing as that body is, speaks of God’s loving commitment to transforming and glorifying all he has made – bodies, and woodlands, and slums, and charred cathedrals – taking us through pain and loss, and into resurrections of hope and healing.
In the first century, Clement of Rome wrote to the Corinthians of the Resurrection. He wrote of the image of the Phoenix, interestingly adopted by early Christians so promptly and readily from pagan mythology. This mythical bird, each 500 years, prepares to die, making itself a nest of frankincense and myrrh, only to rise again from its ashes into new life. In iconography, the Phoenix often rises from licking flames. This symbol seems particularly poignant this week, amidst the robbery of Parisian flames and the search for hope in the midst of cultural and spiritual loss. Do join us this Easter Sunday, as we celebrate the resurrection of Christ, whose rising offers the promise that there is no loss, no fear, no despair that is beyond the power of his saving hope and loving promise.
God of glory,
by the raising of your Son
you have broken the chains of death and hell:
fill your Church with faith and hope;
for a new day has dawned
and the way to life stands open
in our Saviour Jesus Christ.