At times I am glad that certain things are still respected in our question mark world.
Sacred spaces are not always so or are often trapped in the parenthesis of context.
But surprisingly, amidst the bump and bubble of Les Baux-de-Provence, the Church of St. Vincent retains its sense of purpose, just as it has for nearly one thousand years.
Founded in the 12th century, it’s rounded portal symbolizes the half-moon arc of man reaching up towards God and coming back down to Earth with God inside him, a reoccurring theme in Romanesque architecture.
The stones have been smoothed by so many supplicant hands. Bare heads of countless newborns have been dipped in the baptismal fonts.
I wonder if Les Baux’s warrior troubadours would kneel to absolve themselves after their far-reaching attacks during Medieval times, their swords scraping the steps as they did. Did they beg for forgiveness? Were they granted it?
Vincent of Sargossa, a Spanish martyr from the fourth century is the patron saint. Legend says that ravens protected his body from the vultures after he had been burned alive on a gridiron. He is invoked by winemakers, brick-makers and sailors. Certainly, the first of those might call upon him today as Les Baux is surrounded by gently sloping hills dotted with vines. The same need for protection from nature’s whim – or man’s – remains.
Despite the jewel-like tones of its glass stained windows (donated by Prince Rainier III of Monaco in 1955), a somber mood prevails. Perhaps peace is honored as the church itself seems to be wrapped in a shroud of melancholy, one that would flutter in ages past as the “Lanterne des Morts” was lit under the gargoyles watchful stare when one of the villagers had died.
Dug partly out of the hillside, the anchored walls of St. Vincent hold in their veracity.
While the recent time change has truly thrown me for a loop – as it always does – I hold dear this part of the year in its slow exhale, with strands of reflection wrapped around my fingers, binding them into something steady even when whispered, like a prayer?
Faith is a curious number.
Thank you for all of your incredibly kind wishes for Ben. Have a wonderful weekend.
Such beautiful photos. I, too, thought the first one was a painting. Feeling sadness for Parisians and the French tonight. More tragic to think these horrific deeds may be at least partly in the name of religion.
I've visited this church before, but never really 'saw' it until I read and saw your post. Thank you!
A beautiful post, Heather. I'm pondering your last line. As a person of faith, I do find faith to be a curious thing, full of paradox and mystery and breathtaking beauty. If we understood it all, it wouldn't be faith. What a world we live in, where men have slaughtered and plundered in God's name. I wonder if he doesn't shake his head at us all. And now, as I write, I just turned off the news of the horrible attack on Paris, also done, perhaps, because of ideology and religion. God grant me a simple, loving faith.
You've captured and described this beautifully. There are so many churches I am looking forward to exploring down here in the south of France. I love the serenity of the church. Happy Birthday Ben!
In Eze for a couple of weeks. xo, ebh
Thank you for sharing your perspective on history
I thought at first the beginning photos is a painting, brush strokes on the upper stone.
so beautiful. Thank you!
THAT first photo looks FAKE as it is JUST SO………….PERFECT!
XO
The time change has done nothing to your writing skills nor your photog prowess!
Again, I find myself tiptoeing through this breathtaking post as not to intrude. Such a rich, thoughtful post,Heather.
Thank you for sharing these intimate thoughts! T xx
Sacred spaces to me often have that mix of revered awe and also of a hint of melancholy. I always wonder so much about those who have gone ahead of us.
xoxo
Karena
The Arts by Karena
Artist Sandra Goroff
This is so beautiful. Thank you for your pictures. Again I want to be in our second home in France.