When life collapses and the weight of grief threatens to bury us, we have two choices: wait in the dark, or begin, stone by stone, to build our way back toward the light.
Joseph Cheval, a humble French postman, chose to build. Out of sorrow, he created a palace - not for kings, but for love, for memory, and for hope.
This Easter, his story reminds us that resurrection is not always sudden. Sometimes, it is a long, aching labour... one we must undertake ourselves if we are to roll back the stone and rise again.
As Easter approaches, we often turn to ancient texts and sacred traditions. Yet sometimes, the Easter message reaches us not just through Scripture, but through the quiet lives of ordinary people whose stories go deeper than doctrine, speaking to the soul.
One such story is that of Joseph Ferdinand Cheval, a French postman from a small village. He wasn’t a priest or prophet, nor a philosopher. He simply walked his mail route each day, delivering letters across the countryside. And yet, through quiet persistence and grief-transformed imagination, he built something that still speaks to the heart of Easter.
Cheval’s story doesn’t begin with triumph, but with a stumble. Literally.
One day in April 1879, at the age of 43, he tripped over a strangely shaped stone while on his rounds. The stone stirred something deep within him. He pocketed it, brought it home, and returned the next day to find more. Curiosity became obsession. Stones filled his pockets, baskets, and eventually a wheelbarrow. What began as a stumble became a vision. What began as a stone became a palace.
For thirty-three years - a biblical number if ever there was one - Cheval worked alone. He mixed lime and cement by hand. He built arches, towers, columns, and fantastic creatures. He carved poetry and symbols drawn from cultures across the world. He had no training, no patron, no plan. He had only sorrow...the death of his beloved daughter Alice...and what he carried in his heart he poured into stone.
He called it the Palais Idéal, his Ideal Palace. Swiss chalets rest beside pagodas; Hindu temples beside medieval towers. It is strange and seemingly mad. But look closer, and it becomes unmistakably sacred. A prayer in limestone. A resurrection in rubble.
I can’t help but see the Easter message in his life.
Here, too, was a man who walked a lonely path. A man mocked and misunderstood. A man carrying a message the world didn’t understand. Jesus walked dusty roads bearing news from afar. Cheval, too, was a postman. His letters were earthly, but his life became a message of its own.
Who was this man?
Born in 1836, Joseph Cheval lost his first wife, his first son, and later, his second son was taken to live with relatives. He began his working life as a baker, but eventually became a rural postman, walking 32 km a day - over 225,000 km in his lifetime, or five times around the world.
He read the postcards he delivered, marvelling at faraway places. He found inspiration not in books or sermons, but in stones shaped by time and water. Nature was his cathedral.
Years after his losses, he met and married a widow, and they had a daughter named Alice. She became his joy and anchor. But in 1894, Alice died at the age of 15. Her death crushed him. He turned his grief into grit, continuing to build the palace for her ... for love.
He once wrote:
"I was walking very fast when my foot caught on something that sent me stumbling... I had dreamed of a palace, a castle, or caves - I can't express it well. I told no one, afraid of being ridiculed. And then one day, I tripped. I found a stone of such strange shape that I brought it home. The next day, I found more... Nature had done the sculpture. I said to myself: since Nature will do the sculpture, I will do the masonry and the architecture."
He carved this inscription into the palace:
“1879–1912. 10,000 days. 93,000 hours. 33 years of struggle. Let those who think they can do better, try.”
Some might find it irreverent to compare the Son of God with a humble French postman. But I see it as an honour. The Easter story doesn’t live only in cathedrals. It lives in every story where grief is transfigured by hope. Where love refuses to die. Where something broken is gathered, and something beautiful is born.
Cheval once said, “I wanted to prove what the will can do.”
The Ideal Palace is now a French National Treasure and is designated as a National monument.
The Palais idéal is an intricate and whimsical structure, combining elements of various architectural styles, including Gothic, Romanesque, and Oriental. It features intricate sculptures, exotic figures, and intricate designs, all meticulously crafted by Cheval himself. The palace became a local curiosity and attracted visitors from far and wide.
Cheval completed the construction of the Palais idéal in 1912, at the age of 76. He spent the rest of his life maintaining and improving his creation until his death in 1924. Today, the Palais idéal is regarded as a masterpiece of outsider art.
But back to my Easter thoughts.
Both Jesus and Cheval were mocked. Both walked lonely paths. Both built something eternal. One carved salvation in spirit. The other, in stone.
This Easter, I find myself thinking not only of crosses and empty tombs, but of a man and his wheelbarrow, gathering broken things and building something glorious. For isn’t that the message of Easter?
That nothing is truly broken.
That even discarded things can rise again. That from dust, wonder can be born.
And don’t we need that message now?
If we want our civilisation - our principles, our way of life - to survive, we must not abandon the fight. We must live, rebuild, and stay awake for the rebirth that may yet come.
If we turn away in apathy, the stone may roll across, and we’ll be silent witnesses to the death of over 2,000 years of letting the light in.
I, for one, do not want to live in darkness.
But too many of our leaders today seem determined to turn the lights off.
Let them try. Let them mock. Let them call us fools.
We’ve seen what the will can do.
Jesus was 33 years old when he died and was reborn as a leader of mankind.
While his crucifixion was literal and ours is more metaphorical, we are witnessing our own stoning, humiliation and torture for daring to challenge the current mindset and propaganda that is imposing its shackles and restraints on an increasing level.
Deep down inside, we are praying for a miracle and a rebirth or resurrection where good triumphs over evil and hope is restored and justice and commonsense prevail.
Shaydee
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