A Trip to Gaul, Divided Into Three Parts: Part II, Chapter 7: A Priceless Pearl in St. Gervais

Church of St. Gervais, 4th Arrondissement, home of Jerusalem


"Today was a near overdose of churches; I wandered into Saint Leon church, not too far from my hotel. I then went to Île-de-Cité with the hopes of seeing Notre Dame and Saint Chappelle, but I could not abide the thought of waiting on line for half an hour or more with a bunch of tourists who are gawking and talking, so I skipped both and walked up to St. Gervais, where the great Couperin was once the organist, to pray with the Monastic Community of Jerusalem (Fraternité Monastique de Jerusalem), a group of urban-dwelling monks and nuns who work part-time, rent housing, and pray the office in communmity together every day.

They take vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience and are subject to the authority of the local bishop; they have a habit and live under a rule. They sing the office and Mass in unaccompanied four-part harmony. THey dedicate themselves to praying in the heart of the city, to being a refuge from the loneliness and anxiety of urban life, while still participating in it. They make Eucharistic adoration a central part of their life, as well as silence and lectio divina.

Upon seeing all of these things I was swept up with the joy of discovery: these are the things I want!

I learned at Solesmes that, though I have a love and admiration for the Benedictines, I do not have the Benedictine spirit; I am called to city life, to being in, but not of, the world. I am a restless wanderer who needs safe haven, but being tied to one place is too much for me.

Part of my hesitancy has also been the prospect of loss of the company of women; I speak not of sex necessarily, or relationships of a romantic nature, but simply living in a community with only men and cut off from women; that these communities (the monks and nuns) live, govern, and finance themselves separately, but pray together in four-part harmony is very appealing....I felt drawn in by them; I didn't feel quite at home, owing to the language difference, but I had the same feeling of having found where I wanted to be that I felt the first time I stepped off the plane in La Guardia airport and knew that New York was the place I needed to move to.

So, then, my trip was about exploring religious communities; I did not know that's what it would be about, but it seems to hav worked out that way. I saw the beauty of Solesmes and the daily life of the Benedictine abbey; the silence was moving and welcome, though there is that part of me, the 'pilgrim spirit,' to use Yeats's phrase that would have me grow restless and want to wander off....

Aix was the last place I expected to find churches to spend all my time in; not that I knew anything about it before going there, but my intent was to go to relax, to see the old parts of town and to draw a bit in my noteboook. It was a pleasant surprise to see it is a town with a saint and with some home-grown movements, like the Oblates of Mary Immaculate and the Diocesan Monks at St. Jean de Malte....


The Fraternité had a pull for me, it drew me in. I was self-conscious and shy about approaching any of the brothers and sisters about my interest because of my language skills, because I am shy. I talked to the woman in their bookshop who is an employee, not a member of the community, who happened to be from Woodhaven, Queens, NY and has lived in Paris for 5 years teaching English and working in the bookshop. I expressed my interest to her and said that I did not have a chance to speak to anyone, that I was leaving soon, that I didn't realize this trip was about discernment, but that it seems to have turned into that.

'You'll just have to come back!' she said.

'Yes, I will,' I replied.

'Even though it's not quite the right thing to say, you'll know what I mean,' she said, 'Good luck discerning.'

'Thank you! Au revoir!' I said, walking out the door of the bookshop. I went from there to the train that took me to the airport.

Now I am on a flight back to the States, to Boston, where I will not hear French, where I will be able to understand what people are saying, even if I can't understand why, or understand them.

And all I want is to be in St. Gervais, or Aix, or in the north transept of the Abbey Church at Solesmes." (28-29.6.2007)


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The Fraternité celebrates Mass in the early evening, which meant that I needed to find Mass earlier in the day at a different church for the Solemnity of Sts. Peter and Paul; I went to the Shrine of the Miraculous Medal, the Mother House of the Daughters of Charity at 140 Rue du Bac. The chapel was standing-room-only, filled with people from all over who had come to worship in the very place where Our Lady appeared to St. Catherine LaBouré, whose incorrupt relics are on display in the chapel, along with those of St. Louise de Marillac and the heart of St. Vincent de Paul.

I purchased a large quantity of Miraculous Medals, which I subsequently had blessed back home at my parish in New York. Though I am new to the devotion myself, I would like to share this gift with my friends near and far; in light of that, if you would like to receive one of the medals, please e-mail me at papistry-at-gmail.com with the subject header "Miraculous Medal"; in the body of the e-mail, please include your name and your mailing address and I will be happy to send one to you on a first-come, first-served basis.





Chapel of the Miraculous Medal: St. Louise de Marillac (above), heart of St. Vincent de Paul (r.)




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I do not recall ever having such freedom as I did during my travels in France; the only constraints I had during the second week were those of train schedules. Everything else I did was based simply on where I felt like going at the moment and how long I felt like walking. I went where I wanted until I needed to stop and sit, which I then did for as long as I wanted, sipping coffee or grazing and jotting notes in my little notebook.

In the freedom, I discovered a love of silence, a love of God's company that I knew was there but had not yet come to appreciate for its depth. By having not specific plans to see such-and-such museum or site, I was free to roam about, to wander into churches if I wanted. By looking at what I was doing with such freedom, i.e. seeking out God's company, and that of other Catholics, I came to see that perhaps religious life might be where I belong.

It will be a long road, one I cannot simply start down today. I am in contact with my confessor, I will continue to pray, and I ask that you, my friends, join me in prayer that I might see more clearly what action I ought to take.

In the midst of the silence, the prayer, the dependence upon God to sustain me in a new place, in a place where I was limited to the most basic of conversations based on my lack of knowledge of the language, I came to see that I have begun to be cleansed of my idols, that I, too, could be fully alive through seeking God.



The bare essentials: coffee, notebook, pen, and a place to sit

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"I fought you, Lord,
With the heart of a lion,
And yet you prevailed.

I fled you, Lord,
With the speed of the wind,
And yet you were there before me.

I drowned you out, Lord,
With the sound of a tempest,
And yet you could be heard.

I hid from you, Lord,
In the darkest shadow
And yet you found me.

All this because you
Were hidden within me
From the start.

And now it's just
You and I, Seigneur,
Me, fully alive in You." (29.6.2007)

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"In a fitting Epilogue to the story, two notable things happened on the flight back to the States. Or three, really.

1) I wrote the little poem above.

2) I endured anxiety and heartbreak and terror during the brief spell when my notebook, having fallen on the floor of the aircraft and gotten picked up by the passengers sitting behind me, went missing.

3) My beloved pen, about which I've written before, broke. And I didn't feel badly, rather, I was grateful to have had it with me on my trip and found it fitting that it should break at the end of the trip." (29.6.2007)

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More to follow....