Opening up bricked-in doors

The recent reopening of Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris offered everyone who watched — both believers and nonbelievers — a rich feast of ancient pageantry. It also confirmed, again to believers and nonbelievers alike, that nobody does ceremony better than the Catholic Church.

As the Archbishop of Paris knocked on the doors of the restored Mother Church of France, the whole world was inspired. That is because liturgy is not simply an artform refined over 2,000 years; it is alive with the deep truths it conveys.

Splendor and reverence are largely absent from our daily lives, and mostly abandoned by the dominant secular culture that casualizes almost everything. Whether our world holds anything sacred or not, it fails to treat anything as if it is. Solemnity tells us to look deeper; it challenges and trains us to recognize that some things mean far more than what they seem. Perhaps that is why so many of us search for meaning but do not find it. All the markers have been removed.

And yet, liturgy is written into human nature. When we encounter it, we are swept into its current and carried to the shores of transcendent reality. We are led to question, to ponder and ultimately to worship. Liturgy gives us far more than a seat in the audience of divine drama. Liturgy invites us to take part in it.

The church has designated 2025 a Holy Year, an Ordinary Jubilee (held every 25 years) dedicated to the virtue of hope. It will begin with the opening of the Holy Door at St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome this Christmas Eve. This will be followed by similar ceremonies at the other three major basilicas in Rome — St. John Lateran, St. Mary Major, and St. Paul Outside the Walls — and at a prison.

Doors that have been sealed, literally bricked up on the inside, will be opened. This is how the Holy Father will invite us to cross the next spiritual threshold that lies before us, to open ourselves to a fresh outpouring of grace, to more fully embrace the gift of hope.

This is more than symbolism. Ever since sin and death entered the world, the human heart has been sealed shut. Ours is a history of restlessness erupting in violence, a struggle for power because we cannot find peace. But Christmas offers us all a way out. The mystery of Christ’s birth crashes through what is impenetrable. He alone demolishes the power of sin; he breaks through the barrier of death. Jesus makes every wall a doorway.

With the Incarnation, God knocks on the door of humanity, and Mary answers. The humanity Mary places entirely at God’s disposal enables each one of us to do the same, to give him our fiats too. This is what makes the Blessed Virgin “Our Lady”– “Notre Dame.” In the waning days of Advent, the Mother of God comes to us as a living Cathedral, designed and created by God himself. She is salvation’s proof of concept. In the expectant Virgin, we see that those who believe are blessed, and that “nothing will be impossible with God” (Lk 1:37). This is the source of all hope.

Doors are so much more than mere architectural necessities. They give us both access and exit. They enable us to join others or separate ourselves from them. They keep us safe, but they can also keep us isolated and alone. The Incarnation opened the door between God and humanity, a door that will never again be shut.

The church has given us this Holy Year for a purpose. But we must be willing to ask ourselves the hard questions: Which doors have been closed in my heart? Which doors have I shut tightly against God? Which doors have I used to keep people away? Whatever they are, God wants to open them. He doesn’t care how long they have been closed.

Jesus is knocking. He is asking us to let him in. He is inviting us to leave the small spaces we have made our souls’ quarters, the prisons of anger, shame, and fear that teach us not to hope. Jesus is knocking, and he will not stop. We may cover the ears and eyes of our hearts, but he is there, waiting for us to crack open the door.

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