Magnificat Anima Mea Dominum A Meditation on Notre DameApril 24, 2019 By Royal W. Rhodes 1 Comment Edgardo W. Olivera/Flickr It burned with pentecostal tongues of fire, consuming all of history and France, and left a void by its collapsing spire. A Gallery of Kings had felt the glance of killing steel when God was thought to die in riot, then replaced by high Romance, To rise again and fill the Paris sky. A brooding sprawl of lumber, stone, and glass, where tourists gawk and pilgrims multiply, who heard the organ sighing as they pass, while gargoyles balanced with the forms of grace and weathered walls reverberate the Mass. This new inferno saw a “forest” race in spreading drifting sparks of molten lead, that selfless fire-fighters rushed to face. Perhaps I know, when asked where God had fled, God was found in them or just outside in those who sang an “Ave” in their dread. Photographers recorded deep inside that overwhelming darkness, like a cloak, a radiant cross and Mary like a bride, Gleaming in these signs of fire and smoke that led the exiles, made the waters calm, and then unto a humble handmaid spoke. I am more broken than is Notre Dame, mixing tears with ash from ancient oak, and trouble heaven with my trembling psalm. Like this post? Subscribe to have new posts sent to you by email the same day they are posted.