Notre Dame

Finally, for the first time since I’ve been in Paris I took myself inside the Notre Dame tonight. Mainly because it was late and there weren’t any queues. On many occasions I have walked past this wonderful building and been put off from going inside by the throngs of tourists lining up outside. I had wondered if this would be the one church in Paris I never saw the inside of. And I wish I had made that my mission. It was like walking into a Disney character, which I guess it is. Here is what the Catholic Church would look like if it was headed by Simon Cowell. In the centre was a giant projection screen with ‘Holy’ images doing some kind of a loop. Along the aisles were TV screens, blank as it happened but I imagine these are where you place your interactive vote as a host of Choral singers compete to be the next Charlotte Church. The Holy music playing loudly over the speakers did not make me feel spiritual, I could already see Charlotte Church clad in a black leather mini and bra getting ready to present the show. I suspect either Simon, or more likely Lois would have to grow a beard in honour of Jesus. Maybe they’d even get Andrew Llyod Webber on the panel as innocent choir boy after choir boy sang delights like ‘Jesus Christ Superstar’.

I have a bit of a thing about Churches in Paris. I cannot walk past one without stepping inside. Here is what a Church would be before Henry VIII stole all it’s glories. They are staggeringly beautiful and the collection of Renaissance art never fails to impress. It’s actually a real joy to be able to walk into a Church and see my own religion, well the one I grew up with, represented. To see the wealth of the Catholic Church that was fought after and berated in Tudor times. Protestant Churches don’t have the same feeling as Catholic Churches. They pride themselves on being bare and stark and, well bland. Catholic Churches in France take you back the moment you step inside. They are dark and sombre with dramatic art and gold everywhere, the stain glass windows allowing for very little natural light. As you wander the aisles and stare at the designs, the architecture, the paintings, you feel as though you could be walking hand in hand with history. All manor of horrific stories and plots surround the religion and you can almost see the Cathar matyrs burning on their stakes. I feel haunted by the traditions of religion as I walk along staring at the lit candles and little alcoves for prayer and I cannot help but fall in love with the stories surrounding it once more.

But Notre Dame is what happens when you let Walt Disney into the Church. I have never seen anything more horrific in my life. I walked round it scowling and shaking my head like an old lady who shudders at the youth of today. And maybe that is what pissed me off more than anything. That realisation that I am already a fuddy duddy. But, please, don’t put TV screens in the church. Whatever next, interactive sermons where you can pick the Bible story of the week based on what’s been happening in your latest soap opera? In which case, this week we might have to search the Bible with a fine toothcomb for a baby swap plot. Just imagine if Jesus had been swapped with John the Baptist, well that turns everything on it’s head now doesn’t it.