The Notre Dame.  How many times I have walked through it and been amazed at the beauty of the building.  Of the stained glass windows.  Of the paintings.  It is a loss for the world.  A  building that stands as one of the greatest architectural landmarks that was remaining from an era.

Once, I was there when the church was hosting an organ recital by a renowned organist. The pipe organ was unequaled in the world.  8,000 pipes is what the press said. I can't begin to explain the sound of it.  Echoing through the massive walls.  Gone.  You can't replace something like that.

I am thankful that I heard that organ.   I am thankful that I saw the stories captured in the Notre Dame stained glass.  Gorgeous stained glass.  There is no way you can go back and recreate or recapture what has been lost. 

Things are lost through history.  And left to our memories alone.  The first time I went to Paris, Becky and Craig were living there, Steven was 18 months old and Becky was pregnant with David.  That was at least thirty years ago.  Later, I went back with Becky, and other friends, a number of times.  

We think we have antiques here in America.  We don't.  Paris is in itself an antique.  A monument to hand work in walnut, granite, marble and on and on.  Beautiful things done before mechanization, back when men did their work with their hand tools. 

I have two wall sconces that are hand carved walnut.  They came from an ancient Parisian church building that was lost to time.  Becky brought them to me from France.  I have a piece of Paris to remember.  The church is gone.  But God is alive.  He is not contained by walls or buildings.  We go to buildings to worship Him together, and remember.  Easter is this week.  He lives.