History has a way of playing funny tricks on us. I'm a sucker for irony and nothing is perhaps more ironic than the love-hate relationship between the French and the British. You see, it was the Normans who invaded Britain to take control in 1066, and then fate came full circle when the British (and their former-colonist Allies) invaded Normandy in 1944. We found that Omaha beach, once part of the bloody D-Day landing, is now frequented by French sunbathers and small children building sandcastles. I guess that is irony at its finest. Freedom preserved. Freedom enjoyed.
On the Fourth of July we spent the afternoon at the American Cemetery. We met three young Air Force Academy graduates who "hitched" a ride to Europe on an Air Force cargo plane. We spent a few hours of our patriotic holiday surrounded by American flags and American tourists listening to Sousa marches played by a visiting high school band. Then we made our way back to town, where we dined on exquisite French countryside cuisine that puts even my favorite Northern Virginia French cafe to shame. We walked along the canal enough to make room for dessert, a purely delightful crepe, filled with bananas and Nutella.
On our second day in the French countryside we enjoyed the idyllic medieval town of Bayeux. We found, in keeping with French culture, that here all the shops are closed on Monday mornings. Not to worry, we did find an open bakery with Nutella-filled pastries. After breakfast we visited the Bayeux tapestry. This tapestry was created to preserve the story of the Norman invasion of Britain. It fascinated me in a twofold manner. As a "fiber artist" (a.k.a. a knitter) I appreciated the intricate detail, the color-work, the storytelling mixed with artistry. As a history teacher and self-proclaimed nerd, I simply enjoyed learning about history as the Normans perceived it. It was a truly unique "primary source" to be sure.
The other notable site in Bayeux is the Cathedral. Now I'll admit, that like every honest Christian I harbor my doubts at times. Sometimes I start to wonder if the whole thing is a sham. But when inside a Cathedral I find it preposterous to believe in anything else. Cathedrals always remind me that evolution alone could not have formed beings so profound and creative. They remind me how different we are from the animal kingdom in our search for meaning, for significance, our transcendence beyond the realm of mere survival into the realm of love and worship. Cathedrals remind me that we all have a mark of the divine, an indelible image of God, despite the various and sundry mean with which we try to mar that image through deceit and corruption.
I also wonder what it would have been like for an ordinary peasant in Bayeux, living in a damp little hovel, toiling in the dirt for six days, to come to this glorious Cathedral on Sunday morning. I wonder if it was a feeling of disgust, or one of solace. Would I have bitterly compared the Cathedral to my meager surroundings, or would I have simply rested in the peace and beauty in that place?
Of course I know the true history behind religion, especially religion in Europe. I've spent enough on textbooks and written enough papers to save myself from blissful ignorance. The priests and architects and even the builders themselves were largely corrupt. The Church was rampant with usury, bigotry, and adultery. Liturgy and tradition replaced authenticity. The masses were unwittingly entangled in a complicated (and no doubt expensive) religion that demanded blind faith.
As I sat pondering those things in the Cathedral that day I became increasingly thankful for Reston Bible Church. It's not a Cathedral by any means, not even in its new and improved building. Today, our church is built for functionality, a very different approach from that of our Medieval church fathers. But it is, I believe, a well-intentioned one nonetheless. Today we worship in part by spending our money wisely - helping the poor, training the children, teaching the adults, serving the elderly, and even the immigrants. We are trying to avoid a faith based on blind allegiance to authority. Perhaps then, our building and our liturgy is a bit less awe-inspiring, but it is sacred in its authenticity.
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