Sunday Mass

As a first timer to Paris, I did the usual things. Eiffel Tower, Versailles, Escargot. But what I didn’t bank on was attending Sunday Mass in Notre Dame Cathedral. After 3 days of clouds, cold and rain, we finally had a beautiful day. Full of sun and a little wind. I actually took my coat off. But never my scarf. I think scarves are mandatory in Paris.

Notre Dame Cathedral

On first glance of the cathedral, I was let down. It is the 850 year anniversary and in front there is a huge, ugly building blocking any decent front view, housing a makeshift museum of Notre Dame and it’s past. The line was long and we only had so many hours left in the day to see everything, so the plan wasn’t to go in. Also, it reminded me of Westminster Abbey, and I’m not too impressed with the Abbey. Sorry. So going into another church wasn’t on my list. Was I ever wrong.

Upon entering you are greeted with huge wooden doors, and that brown darkness that comes with any old church. It’s not black, but brown. Maybe because of the candles, or the stained glass windows. Or because black is too “dark” for a church. I always look up first. The eye to drawn upwards with all the elaborate arches and light filtering in from blue and purple windows. Then I heard the singing, more like chanting. It was in Latin. It was Sunday, after all. I had seen the “Silence” signs, but figured that was a general. Respect the church and be quiet type sign. Nope, they were having Mass. Awe and excitement. To have stumbled upon such a unique experience, in such an iconic place. Having never attended a Catholic Mass, I was intrigued.

Regardless, of what you believe I felt a supreme presence in that place. You know, when the hair on the back of your neck stands up and you get goose bumps down your arm. Being in such a beautiful place, witnessing a thousand-year old tradition it’s hard to not feel something in your soul.