Yesterday, I watched in horror and pain with many others as Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris burned in an apparent accident connected with the renovation work they were doing. I also read about a minor fire that broke out, also an accident, at the Al-Aqsa Mosque (possibly kids playing with fire, from initial reports) on the Temple Mount.
Both of these spaces are holy and a fire at either, no matter how major (Paris) or minor (Jerusalem), is concern and a worthy cause to raise money for. But I am drawn back to the notion that some church fires are worse than others for reasons having less to do with the destruction they cause, and more to do with how they came to be.
The destruction wrought by the fire at Notre Dame is particularly bright in our eye because it attacks many of us in a place that is relatable: the beautiful sculpture, the light coming through the rose windows, the mischievous gargoyles that excite a feeling of belonging and identification that we all have… or that we all want to have.
But I remember as well the fires set in St. Landry Parish, Louisiana, just in the last few weeks. These fires were intentionally set, apparently by a white supremacist trying to incite fear, and they have been connected to a single person.
These fires bring out different feelings in us than the fires at holy places across the Pond, but our reasons are poor. We tell ourselves:
These fires were set at structures with long histories, but not as long as Notre Dame.
These fires were set in holy places that are seen as specific to African Americans, even though they are as open to all as Notre Dame.
These fires were set in churches of deep local significance that we don’t make the effort to translate into cultural significance like we do for Notre Dame.
But on the ground, none of these things matter: we make an error when we compare them in our minds, because we’re missing a key piece of information when we think about St. Landry Parish and Notre Dame Cathedral.
The burning of black churches in the south holds a particularly dark history. It echos the Civil Rights Movement and the attempts of white supremacy to assert itself through terror and direct action against places where people should feel safe.
No fire that destroys a sacred space is a good fire. But the scale of the destruction is not always limited to things. Sometimes, the fire that burns reimposes something so many of us had prayed was fading from living memory, bringing it sharply back into focus in the here-and-now.
As folk seek ways to help, looking for funds to put money into or places to offer their skill and volunteer time, I found the choice quite clear:
For me, when comparing the destruction of a church by accidental fire and a church destroyed by white supremacy, the answer of which to put my money toward is simple.
Your mileage may vary, but I encourage you to think in these very stark terms.
If you are looking to help the historically black churches, they have a GoFundMe available to do so from.
