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.
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.