At the inauguration of the reopening of Notre Dame, the magnificent and unparalleled cathedral of Paris, the conspicuous absence of Pope Francis was immediately noticeable.
The official explanation was that, as a cathedral, it fell under the jurisdiction of the bishop of the Paris diocese. Therefore, the Pope intended to leave the duty of reopening it to him, refraining from overshadowing his role with his own presence.

However, it has also been suggested that the true reason for the absence of the leader of Catholicism at the reopening of one of Christianity's greatest temples lies elsewhere: the Pope prioritizes the peripheries, which he certainly does not neglect.

Upon reflection, I can only fully agree with Pope Francis's stance. Of course, the Paris cathedral is an extraordinary masterpiece, one of humanity's greatest artistic achievements. More importantly, it symbolizes the country historically regarded as the "eldest daughter of the Church," during times when the rest of the continent was sinking into polytheistic barbarism or heretical Christian confessions (such as Arianism). However, do these ancient cathedrals, magnificent works of art though they are, truly embody the Gospel message?

Certainly, they were born from the deep religious sentiment of medieval peoples—a sentiment that, unfortunately, remains the heritage of only a few in our time. But they were also symbols of the ambition of those who built them. Each city and state dedicated centuries of work to constructing a cathedral more beautiful, grandiose, and richly adorned than those of other cities and nations, as a way—perhaps the best way—of distinguishing themselves.

Today, we rightly admire these works of immense beauty. But isn’t Christianity’s message one of fraternal help to those in need?

"For I was hungry, and you gave me food; I was thirsty, and you gave me drink; I was a stranger, and you welcomed me; I was naked, and you clothed me; I was sick, and you visited me; I was in prison, and you came to me. Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.”
(Matthew 25:35-40)

Where are those in need today if not in the peripheries of our great and opulent cities? Where prosperity and consumerism do not reach, Christian charity must.

God is everywhere, especially in our suffering brothers and sisters. We do not need imposing, magnificent cathedrals. Saint Francis chose as his home a tiny, humble chapel—the Porziuncola—made of poor stones, where he wished to die. Over it, we have built a grand and immense church: the Basilica of Santa Maria degli Angeli. For his simple tomb, a symbol of the perfect joy of one who embraces Sister Poverty, preferring the treasures of heaven to those of earth, we have built in Assisi two overlapping churches decorated with the unmatched and beautiful frescoes of Giotto. These are stunning works, no doubt, but do they reflect the spirit of Saint Francis?

At the reopening of the grand Notre Dame, there were about 40 heads of state and world leaders surrounding President Macron. Was this event a celebration of France’s grandeur—something Macron, like most French people, holds dear—or was it an expression of authentic Christian faith, which the vast majority of those in attendance likely do not share?

I am always moved and amazed by the splendor of cathedrals: from Notre Dame to Barcelona’s Sagrada Familia, from Monreale Cathedral to Munich’s Frauenkirche. But I ask myself: are they truly expressions of Catholicism? Christ was born in a poor home in a small, humble village. He associated with the poor and sinners, not the great palaces of his time.