Bon vacances! The monks are away . . .

We arrived in Paris on 2nd August, and, as we were warned, much of Paris is on holiday. Many small boutiques and artisans have closed up shop for the summer, l’été. There are innumerable polite, hand written notes on doors and window announcing their annual holidays. The closest boulangerie, is closed for an entire month, from 17th July to 17th August. But, in a beautifully French bureaucratic way, there is clearly a system to ensure that no Parisian is deprived of their daily bread: a list of alternate local bakeries and their opening days is provided. But everyone has a right to congé annuels, annual leave. Even monks.

Our studio is just around the corner from S. Gervais, the parish church which is the foundational home of Les Fraternités de Jérusalem, a community of men and women who live out a monastic call in the midst of the city. I have, as you may know, been looking forward to joining this community in their rhythm of daily prayer. Alas! They too are enjoying congé annuels! Or the monastic equivalent: the note on their door says they are “on retreat” or “in chapter”. Their website explains: each year, the brothers and sisters of Jerusalem leave Paris for the month of August to rest and pray in the grand air. Just like the rest of Paris. How sensible. So there are no services, none at all, at S. Gervais – though the church is still open for prayer – until le chant de laudes, the singing of morning prayer, at 7 am Wednesday 1st September (note for diary . . ). However, no one need go without holy bread either. As at the boulangerie, a list the times and locations of alternate local masses is provided.

So, we are walking a leisurely ten minutes, across the Pont Louis-Phillipe and the Pont Saint-Louis, to Notre Dame for Vespers, a service of spare simplicity held in the midst of circling swarms of tourists. The first night we joined the end of the long line waiting to enter the cathedral, wondering if we would make it inside in time for the service. How often do you have to queue to get into church? It must have been much the same for your average medieval pilgrim. And, perhaps, a similar story inside the cathedral, where prayer and sightseeing coexist. Surprising as this might seem in this secular age, there are people who actually come to churches to pray. So, the pilgrim-tourists are “encouraged” through the use of moveable barriers to walk around the perimeter aisles, whilst the front of the nave is reserved for those attending services. Noisy pilgrims, average human beings, have long been a challenge for Notre Dame: in the 14th century a stone screen was built around the chancel to provide a more peaceful prayer space for the cathedral canons. It is in this cocooned space that the first of the daily Eucharists is celebrated.

At 5.45 pm a bell inside the cathedral calls us sharply to attention. The perambulating pilgrims are momentarily startled, but soon continue on their way. We stand and a trio of liturgical leaders – celebrant, reader and cantor - sweep into the sanctuary. The priest sings us into God’s presence, and then places incense into a large bowl – generous enough to rise to the heavens of this extraordinarily lofty space. Then the cantor, probably a trainee opera singer, leads us in the evening hymn, and the psalms and canticle, gently prodding us along as we join in the alternate verses. This is not performance. Our participation is expected, we are given words and music. I count it a success though if I can catch the reference for the Scripture reading, one of the few things that is not on the service sheet. No matter, because we respond with the Magnificat sung in Latin (French translation provided) while the altar and the 14th century sculpture, Our Lady of Paris, are censed and then we pray for the world, the church and (perhaps I am imagining) for all that have wandered in and out of the building on this day. I like the way the intercessions are offered by young people, in different languages. We chant the Lord’s prayer, are offered God’s blessing, and sing our farewells to the priest. It is, to use the French term for a fixed price menu, a formule. But for us right now, as we orient ourselves in this new place, such a helpful one. And in it, each evening, somewhere, in some moment we notice, God is here, in the heart of Paris.