My Recent (Miraculous) Experience Inside the Newly Restored Notre Dame in Paris

In 2019, Notre Dame went up in flames. The world watched in disbelief as fire engulfed one of the most iconic and beloved cathedrals in Europe. People around the world grieved—the physical loss of the building, but also centuries of devotion, artistry, and sacred architecture destroyed.

The fire felt like a call to attention in the collective psyche, as if something sacred and ancient was inviting us to look. But why?

When I found myself in Paris the other month, I felt called to visit and bear witness to the changes. (My first visit to Notre Dame was in the summer of 2007).

What I knew: Notre Dame literally meant “Our Lady.” Most assume this refers to Mother Mary. But some scholars and mystics believe it may also be a veiled reference to Mary Magdalene—the other Mary—whose role in Jesus’ life and teachings was obscured for centuries.

If you’ve read some of my other posts, you’ll know that I believe Mary Magdalene held a sacred role in Jesus life. One as wife, lover, and mother of his children. (A “heretical” view in the eyes of the Catholic Church and those who choose to view Jesus as greater-than-human, or more holy/divine figure than the rest of us).

But, I was discovering, the symbolism of Mary Magdalene and the deeper esoteric teachings connected to her are often woven quietly into the architecture of France’s great Gothic cathedrals. Six out of the ten most renowned cathedrals in France bear the name “Notre Dame” — “Our Lady” — a testament to the enduring presence of the sacred feminine in plain sight.

But to protect and preserve the truth of Mary Magdalene, many architects and holders of the secret knowledge (of Jesus and Mary as equals) often hid her in the symbology and art; or under the guise of Virgin Mary.

The word ‘Magdalene’ itself means “tower,” and some say the twin towers of Notre Dame symbolize Jesus and Mary Magdalene, standing side by side as spiritual equals.

So what does it mean that the roof and central spire of such a prominent landmark burned away—a place that may have been built to honor the feminine, but also to hide it?

I resonated with this reflection:

“To me, it means… the church and any institutions where feminine power is repressed or hidden will no longer be able to stand. The roof of the old way is caving in.” — Jonette Crowley

What fell in the flames—was the central spire, perhaps a symbol of the institution of the Roman Catholic Church itself. The fire spared the twin towers: the symbol of divine partnership remained.

Perhaps this was a purification, a spiritual burning away of what was no longer serving.

After the central spire burned, there was a need to rebuild—but maybe not just in stone, but in spirit—with equity and reverence for the feminine.

While my last experience inside the Basilica of Mary Magdalene was not a holy one (read more about that here), I chose to keep an open mind and heart entering another Catholic Church.

(And this, I believe, is what is being asked of us in times of such polarity—to see through the eyes of those who see differently than us. Because how will we truly create change if we remain in a constant state of fighting?)

I also knew Pope Francis did much to right the wrongs of the Church: naming Mary Magdalene as the Apostle of the Apostles in 2016, and taking a more progressive stance on matters of the environment, climate change, and immigration. (May he rest in peace after his passing the day after Easter in April 2025.)

And now, the new Pope, Leo XIV—an American. Many say he is here to continue the legacy of Pope Francis.

But back to my story —I waited almost two hours in line under the hot sun just to step inside the church. It felt like a rite, much like the times I waited in line to receive a hug from the Saint, Amma (More about that in my book, Just Be).

There is a spiritual preparation in the willingness to be patient.

I admired the ornate exterior of the church, wondering which apostles were being depicted. Some believe Mary Magdalene is included—wearing a crown, sitting beside Jesus as his equal.

Finally, I reached the front of the line and stepped inside the Cathedral.

What I noticed first was everything was bathed in an energy of light—
As if the fires had indeed cleansed and purified the space.

Next, I noticed Mass was happening. This was not just a stagnant space dedicated to history, but it was a living, breathing place of worship.

Inside the Notre Dame in Paris

Men in robes lit candles. People around me prayed.

As I walked through the Cathedral, I could feel, I was not the only one in a state of awe.

Music from the organ filled the air.
Gold shimmered like accents of light on a gently rippling lake.

I kept walking. I saw the confessional. Through frosted glass, there were two people inside.

But it wasn’t a booth draped in red velvet, where one sits alone speaking to a priest they cannot see.

The priest was seated right next to the woman at a table, close enough to place a hand on hers. In that moment, I felt the holiness of the practice—how freeing it is to step out of emotional isolation, to bring our shame to the light, and be witnessed. In this light, shame can be released.

I kept walking. I saw more vignettes as I viewed into each side gallery of the Cathedral.

In one, I saw a Black man, dressed head to toe in priest’s robes. He was weeping with his head in his hand. An elder woman—maybe his mother—stood beside him, comforting him in his grief.

Then, I found a side gallery in honor of Mary Magdalene. It was absolutely beautiful. Incredible blue light streamed through the six-petaled rose stained glass above—a symbol associated with Jesus, and perhaps a lost gospel of his.

The side gallery of Mary Magdalene inside the Notre Dame in Paris, France

Mary was portrayed anointing Jesus’ feet—the sacred rite she was known for, before and after the crucifixion.

I felt alive. Tingly. A pulsing awareness on my third eye. The way I felt stepping into sacred temples in India.

“God is here,” I thought.

I believe God is always here, like the air around us—but in temples, or in this case, a Church, it was like feeling a breeze. I could feel God’s presence.

In that space, I felt the ways the Catholic Church had begun to step into the modern age: Black men as priests. Mary Magdalene as Apostle. Confessions brought into the light.

While I believe there is still a ways the Catholic Church could go—especially in honoring women as spiritual leaders—I felt the presence of the divine here.

A holy experience that reminded me to keep an open mind and heart to all walks of faith, and all religions. A reminder that while the organized structure around spirit may look different and even hierarchical from one faith to the next, inside we can often still find the sweet taste of the divine.