Reprinted here from Andy’s blog:
After Speaking With A Parisian
Surviving Revolutions and World Wars, Notre Dame’s spire has long been a familiar sight to generations of Parisians, puncturing the capital’s skyline for over 800 years.
Back in the 1500s, the culture that we had built in the West embraced multigenerational projects quite easily. Notre Dame. Massive cathedrals were not built over the course of a few years, they were built over a few generations. People who started building them knew they wouldn’t be finished until their grandson was born.
Maybe it’s hubris, but we expect our creative monuments, our works of art, to last forever. Fixed points in man’s timeline.
Last night I spoke with a Frenchman, a Parisian, who was in mourning, speaking of a devastating cultural loss. I began to think of iconic buildings whose loss would affect we British people similarly. And then, as a Mancunian, a particular building in my own city, regularly seen but perhaps taken for granted by me.
I struggled to make a connecting comparison.
Then, the morning after that conversation, I woke to a photograph and an idea that, within all of last night’s images of destruction and despairing, I had lost touch with: there’s always hope.
For You are my hope, O Lord God; You are my trust from my youth.