As I walk the streets in Paris, seeing one grand church after another, I sometimes wonder, "What makes such a church 'tick' (attract people)?" or "Why is this church empty and like a museum?" These large stone churches were built by people of faith (and considerable wealth), but those founders could only assure that a building would be constructed, not that anybody would use it years later. (It's the sort of thing we have been wondering about our Menno Simons Centre.) It seems appropriate to think about such things on Pentecost Sunday.
This week, I walked a bit NW of the Rue de Turenne and encountered a church I had not seen before, the Église Saint-Nicolas-des-Champs in the 3e arrondissement (254 rue St Martin). This seemed to be a rather large church structure, so I decided to see if I could get in and photograph it. First, I took a photo of the official historic marker, both for my later reference and to help me remember which church I had photographed.
And another, less official sign posted in English:
The first church built on this site was to erected for the new village of workers serving the new Priory, Saint-Martin-des-Champs (St Martin of the Fields), which was founded in 1079, an era when monasteries were seemingly being erected throughout all of Europe. This priory was under the strict auspices and ever watchful eye of the great Abbey of Cluny. The lands given to support this Priory were impressively extensive, some being as far away as England. Since not all of this income was needed to support the priory, some of the income was used to establish parish churches, including the church Saint-Nicolas-des-Champs, whose first chapel was constructed just outside the priory's walls shortly before 1119, 40 years after the Priory was established. Centuries later, when the village developed into a much larger town, construction began on the present church in about 1420 and continued through the 16th century.
The present church is impressive, especially for a parish church. You would hardly guess that its floor would cover a football field. But this is not simply another historic French church with the occasional Mass for a few people. It houses a thriving congregation that is very much alive.
During my first visit, I noticed reasonably well-dressed people gathering, even though no service was posted on the official printed schedule. Being clueless, I continued to walk about the church taking photos, until I saw a priest hurrying toward the nave (notice his sandals).
I quietly moved to the back of the church, took a seat, and watched as people went to the front, greeting each other. Only when the priest and helpers moved to the church's back (main) double doors did I finally realize that there would a funeral. I remained for the entire 80-minute service, partly to learn how they conducted their funerals, and partly to take the opportunity to reflect on the family members we recently laid to rest in Indiana. I think there were about 60 attending, which suggested either the deceased had a large family locally or was a member of an active congregation. The congregation sang all of the songs with guitar accompaniment.
Finally, the priest and helper followed the coffin to the back of the church, but then, as far as I could tell, the congregation remained to talk.
I liked the way the priest stayed to talk with people after the funeral. People seemed to know him and were drawn to him.
Even though there was a funeral going on, the occasional tourist would enter, walk around the sides, look at the artwork and structure, taking photos as though nothing was happening. This is the nature of these historic churches in France. The buildings are owned by the nation, and 'entrusted' to specific groups for their use, but not for their exclusive use.
When looking at my photos that evening, I realized that I needed to add a photo of the front of the church, so I returned. Since I was there, I thought I might step inside for one more walk through the church. But to my amazement, the sanctuary was nearly filled with people and still more were coming, filling the many seats on the side aisles. So once again, I sat down at the very far back corner where extra chairs had been set up. But this time nothing happened. I was--yet again--clueless. I later learned that this was a 100-minute Adoration, which means that there is no talking, reading aloud, or singing, but hundreds of people gather from 4:30-6:15 (coming and going, but most stayed) simply to contemplate God, or the Sacraments, or one of several saints whose lives were particularly inspiring. To my surprise, this Quaker-like silent gathering was powerful, even though truly silent. I knew I couldn't take a photo with my loud SLR, so I used my more quiet pocket camera because I really wanted a photo of the filled church. I confess that I left after 20 minutes. This type of silent meditation requires a level of discipline greater than mine.
As they are meditating and contemplating, I'm sure that at least some of the people are inspired by of the wonderful large paintings behind the main altar. That afternoon, they were illuminated both by spot lights and by brilliant sunshine.
At times when there are no formal services or gatherings, individuals can pray their way through the Stations of the Cross, aided by works of art like this:
This young man was going from chapel to chapel along the long aisles, holding several rosaries and devoting time to prayer.,
The church's website shows one of the most active church schedules I have seen in France (I'm likely just unaware of other similar schedules). This parish holds ten of these silent Adorations weekly, as well as the customarily frequent Masses, classes for people seeking baptism or marriage, meetings for young people, etc. Sermons are also recorded and available. Once a week, an entire prayer service is devoted to the sick in the parish. I am impressed.
The people who help to give this church such a vibrant 'life' are the Members of the Communauté de l'Émmanuel (the Emmanuel Community, founded in 1976), an international charismatic group to whom this church as been entrusted (other than for its major repairs) since 1992. World-wide, this Order has about 10,000 members, including priests (c. 250) as well as individuals who choose to be celibate, couples dedicating their lives in special ways to the church (but not being celibate), ordinary supporting laity, etc. I noticed that the women making things happen smoothly could be identified by their simple but functional white jackets and dark skirts.
The community's primary emphases are Adoration, Compassion for the poor, sick and needy, and Evangelisation. The size of the group gathered for silent Adoration on a hot Wednesday afternoon proved to me that this is indeed a very active church. Possibly the group was particularly large since Pentecost was approaching? You can see how many extra chairs are set up in the side aisles. These are double aisles, supported by columns and late Gothic stone vaulting (ribs) in the ceiling.
I often like to look down at the floor, as well as up to the ceiling. I find tiled floors fascinating, and marvel at how well they have been constructed in order to survive all of footsteps and moving of furniture over the centuries.
I also enjoy the swinging doors which admit one into the 'choir' where the monks/priests used to sing, a space set aside from the rest of the church. I like this sense of closure and openness.
I'm guessing that this used to offer holy water. We can see that it is solid marble.
The pillars are all numbered, nearly 100 of them (6 across to support the central nave and its two side aisles). The less-than-subtle consecutive numbering baffles me. I'll keep searching, but this seems to be way beyond Google.
I have so much more to learn about churches in Paris, but this is a small start. The heat wave has finally broken and good weather is promised for the entire week. The Bloughs will be joining us for the weekly 30-minute organ prelude to the evening Mass at St Eustache, after which, we will celebrate their anniversary at our favourite place, the Bistro Porte Dorée.
Meanwhile, I'll sign off, with love from us both,
Evan
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