Why this famous poet became Catholic on Christmas Day

In one of the floor tiles in Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris is an inscription that reads:

25 DECEMBRE 1886
CONVERSION DE PAUL CLAUDEL
MAGNIFICAT

At least, I know it used to be there; I’m not sure since the renovation. The inscription is (or was) near the spot where a statue of the Blessed Virgin once stood. I can almost picture Claudel, a world-wise French poet, wandering into the cathedral on a whim on Christmas evening of 1886...

Maybe Claudel was bored and yearning for some beauty, or curious if the Church had changed since he had abandoned her so many years before. Or perhaps his Christmas celebration had rung hollow because, in spite of all his artistic success, in spite of the admiration he had achieved, he felt spiritually homeless. So he went into Notre Dame, the crowning achievement of Paris, and there, in a Gothic masterpiece dedicated to Our Lady, he saw the statue of Mary and knew that she was the mother he was longing to embrace.

It was vespers, the singing of the evening office by the clergy of the cathedral, that really got to him. He stayed to listen. At every vespers, the Church sings the words of Our Lady at the Annunciation. Her Magnificat echoed off the stone interior like a lullaby to the Christ-child. That’s the moment Claudel knew that he was Catholic. Her words birthed new life within him, and he knew he was home. He knew he was in his Mother’s arms.

Over at Dappled Things, Roseanne Sullivan has a lovely essay about the events of December 25, 1886 (including lots of interesting information about the statue of Our Lady and one other very famous French saint who had her conversionary experience that very same day). She wrote it a while back, but I find myself returning to it regularly.

I think what I find so inspiring about is that Claudel was converted to the love of God simply through the beauty of Christians at prayer. There was no special trick or persuasionary tactic, no video series or pamphlets. It was the liturgy of the Church that called out to him.

I had a similar experience of visiting a Catholic Mass as a non-Catholic and feeling overwhelmed at the beauty. This was at St. Francis de Sales Oratory in St. Louis, Missouri. I recently had the chance to celebrate Holy Mass there at the high altar and was thinking back to how, 15 years ago, I never would’ve dreamed I would be one of the priests in the sanctuary.

There’s something winsome and inviting about the liturgy of Church. Christmas is, of course, a magical time of year with all the cultural traditions and family togetherness. I can’t help but feel, though, that underneath all the whimsy and decorating and baking, the reason we love the holiday so much is because, if we pull back the veil even just a little bit, the celebration is revealed to be the extension of a mother’s heart reaching out to embrace her children.

It isn’t that Claudel learned some new piece of information that evening at vespers. It wasn’t some thing that changed his heart. He met someone. He met Our Lady, and through her he was re-introduced to her Son.

Claudel never ceased to be amazed at the quickness of his conversion. It was like a lightning strike. Later, he described the experience, writing “It was the gloomiest winter day and the darkest rainy afternoon over Paris…” He remembers with picture-perfect clarity that he was standing near the second pillar at the entrance to the chancel as the Magnificat was sung. The fact that he was standing is an interesting detail. To me, it reveals that he was still a visitor in the space. He wasn’t comfortable enough yet to kneel down and pray, to make himself at home and stay a while.

Claudel's attitude shifted instantly, though: “Then occurred the event which dominates my entire life. In an instant, my heart was touched, and I believed. I believed with such a strength of adherence, with such an uplifting of my entire being, with such powerful conviction, with such a certainty leaving no room for any kind of doubt, that since then all the books, all the arguments, all the incidents and accidents of a busy life have been unable to shake my faith, nor indeed to affect it in any way.” He had met his Mother that night, and what son would ever doubt his mother?

One of Claudel’s poems that I read over and over is his “Five Great Odes.” In it, he comments on the power of the Magnificat at vespers, writing, “It is the hour to stop and consider what you have done/ and how your work is joined to that of the day.../ the Magnificat at Vespers, when the sun/ measures the whole earth.” He seems to be recalling an experience indelibly marked in his memory from December 25, 1886, much as any of us have vivid memories of our own mothers and the closeness we have shared with them. This is what Claudel feels, an unbreakable bond formed on Christmas day when he was gathered into her arms.

Also in her arms is the newborn Christ-child. This child is destined to grow and take on his destiny at the Cross where he will stretch out his arms in imitation of his Mother, leading Claudel to comment, “Soon he will take you in his arms, as Mary took you.”