Posted in Amy Welborn, Amy Welborn's Books, Catholic, Catholicism, Christian, Church, Faith, history, Jesus, Joseph Dubruiel, Loyola Kids Book of Saints, Loyola Press, Mass, Mexico, Mexico 2018, Michael Dubruiel, prayer, Saints, tagged Amy Welborn, Amy Welborn's Books, Catholic, Catholicism, faith, Loyola Kids' Book of Saints, Mexico, Michael Dubruiel, religion, saints, travel on November 23, 2024|
Blessed Miguel Pro is in the Loyola Kids Book of Saints under, “Saints are people who create.”
From our 2018 visit to Mexico City and Puebla – the church where Miguel Pro’s relics can be found – except it was Holy Thursday morning that we stopped by, so while the church was open, the museum was not:
Posted in Amy Welborn, Catholic, France, France 2024, history, Travel, tagged Amy Welborn, Amy Welborn's Books, Catholic, Catholicism, faith, France, France 2024, Michael Dubruiel, religion, travel on November 8, 2024|
On my last full day in France, after spending time in the morning at the cathedral and wandering a bit, I ended up at another church, just as stunning, in my view, as the cathedral: the Basilica of Saint-Remi.
Now, who was Saint Remi? An important fellow, a bishop – the bishop, in fact, who baptized Clovis, who then became the first Christian king of France.
This is the oldest church in the city and one of the finest in northern France. It was built in the Romanesque style in 1005-49 on the site of a still earlier church and was given Gothic vaulting in 1162. In actual size the church is as long as Notre Dame in Paris. It contains the thousand year old tomb of St. Remi, archbishop at the age of 22 and patron of the city. It was St. Remi who baptized Clovis, the first King of France. The Basilica was badly damaged in the First World War.
Coming from the east, the sweep of the church is not evident at first. It takes a walk around to absorb it.
A fair of some sort was setting up in the square in front of the church. A quite appropriate, medieval-type thing to do.
(There is a museum, but since it was a Monday, it was closed.)
I entered, not in the front, but in a side door towards the back, which put me in the middle.
The basilica had quite a bit of material, both posted and in pamphlet form, reflective of its actual purpose, both of the believer and the seeker. I shared much of that in this post.
I was intrigued here, as well as in other Catholic sites in Reims, and indeed, during my whole time in France, by the unapologetic memorialization of the baptism of Clovis as significant and positive. My 21st century American assumptions kicked in and were continually confounded, as I expected the event and its consequences to be treated critically, as…what? As the imposition of Roman belief and cultural structures on a noble indigenous people (cf. Celts)? Probably. But I didn’t see any of that, and while my visit was brief and cursory, there was a part of me that was surprised to see such statues still standing, even in Catholic contexts.
I confess that I find the approach of the French to their history curious. Perhaps it’s more accurate to say that I’m just ignorant of and curious about it. Contemporary France is the product of the Revolution, but I never saw the event mentioned, except for notes that yes, this church facade was defaced during the Revolution …after it had been defaced during the Wars of Religion. On the other hand, the long monarchical history is anything but erased. No one wants to erase it, it seems.
Louis XIV in Reims. Combine that with the absurd pomposity of Napoleon’s Tomb at Les Invalides in Paris and the just (it seems to me) very matter-of-fact embrace of monarchs, saints, and other figures from all eras and every unique period of French history, it seems a far less censorious and anxious approach than we have here. Am I wrong? Correct me, if so.
Time for champagne!
It was a short walk from the Basilica to the Taittinger champagne house, the only one at which I could book tour on such short notice. I did the “Instant Rosé” tour. In English, with an English tour guide and perhaps fifteen on the tour, almost all American but for one Australian couple.
It lasted about an hour, and was quite interesting. The deep origins of the location are with the Romans, who dug chalk out of the earth there, and whose excavated caverns – those pyramid-shaped spaces – are still the core of the site.
Monasteries were built over them, with the monks using the underground spaces for wine cellars and the tunnels to scurry about, even over to the Basilica. During both wars, the cellars and tunnels were used as bomb shelters, and one can still see graffiti from the periods on the walls.
The bottles are still stored and turned in the traditional way – by hand – but this is the only Taittinger house that still does it that way. Elsewhere the process is automated, of course. It continues in this location simply to preserve the tradition. Maybe for the tourists? Who knows.
If you click on it, you should be able to see the sediment.
And of course, a tasting followed.
On my walk back, I passed the lovely Art Deco Carnegie Library, built after the devastation of the Great War with a grant from, of course, the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace.
Posted in Amy Welborn, France, France 2024, history, Saints, Travel, tagged Amy Welborn, Amy Welborn's Books, Catholic, Catholicism, faith, France, France 2024, history, Michael Dubruiel, religion, saints, travel on November 8, 2024| 1 Comment »
Today is her memorial, so it seems only right to tell you how I ran into her in Dijon.
I must first admit that I had only the vaguest sense of her life and spirituality before this trip, and absolutely no idea, not surprisingly, that she was from one of my destination cities: Dijon.
So Elizabeth fits quite well into a theme that’s taking root within – the Saint Around the Corner. That is, a figure – man, woman, child, young, old, from long ago or just this past century – by whom I’m surprised on my travels.
And, if I’m paying attention, in my daily life, where ever I may be.
Back to Dijon, then, to the imposing church (aren’t they all) of St. Michel:
That morning, I will say, I encountered by a first “saint around the corner.” I had hoped, during my time in Lyon, to take a trip over to Annecy, where the relics of St. Jane de Chantal and St. Francis de Sales are located. The lousy weather made that a bad idea, so I resigned myself. It turns out I wouldn’t leave France without brushing up against Jane after all:
(Her birthplace)
On to St. Michel:
I wrote a bit about the church in this post, highlighting the ways in which the structure’s signs and symbols are made accessible to the visitor. The other image below is part of a rather low-key light show one night about which I really thought I had written, but apparently not. Well, perhaps later.
The façade, as you can see, is distinct, and the interior is cluttered in a way that I find very Catholic and pleasing, but some Liturgical Purists of a Certain Generation find upsetting in its “incoherence” and a good excuse to rent a dumpster and buy a pallet of beige paint.
Anyway, upon walking in the church, I was met by a row of standing posters about, yes, Elizabeth of the Trinity. One of them is here, part of one of those “incoherent” arrangements that our betters would sweep clean.
As I said, I knew who she was – vaguely – she had been canonized in 2016 – but not much more, and certainly not that I was in her hometown, and now in her home parish. And where her relics are located.
So, more on St. Elizabeth of the Trinity: Born in 1880, a lively, sociable and, she acknowledged, often ill-tempered young woman, an accomplished pianist, with a rich inner life, centered on the love of God:
‘You will either be a terror or a saint,’ her mother had said. The stubborn little girl who often demanded her way, had inherited the military spirit of her ancestors. Her father Joseph had enlisted in the French army and had a successful military career, receiving even the Legion of Honour in 1881.
After the early death of her father, Elizabeth’s outbursts of anger increased. However once she experienced for the first time the sacrament of Penance, it brought about what she styled her ‘conversion’. She henceforth began to struggle noticeably against her violent temper.
In the spring of 1891, when she was almost eleven years old, Elizabeth made her First Communion. She was profoundly affected by her first reception of Christ in the sacrament of the Eucharist. Her mother later testified, ‘From that day and afterwards there were no more fits of anger’.
…Elizabeth asked for help in understanding her interior experience – her need for silence and recollection – and her sense of an inexplicable presence in the depth of her soul. The Dominican proceeded to deepen her awareness of the truth of the indwelling of the Trinity in the soul of the baptized: that not just Christ, but that all three of the Trinity Father, Son, and Spirit – were present in love in her soul.
As she was waiting to enter her beloved Carmel, Elizabeth lived the life of a typical young, active Catholic laywoman of her time. She sang in two choirs in her parish; she helped prepare children for their First Communions, and she animated a type of ‘day care’ for the children of those who worked in the local factory.
The personality of this energetic young woman had blossomed from her earlier years. It should be noted that Elizabeth was also a very gifted musician who could have made a career with her talent. From the age of seven, she studied music at the Conservatory of Dijon, winning several prizes for her skill at the piano.
Elizabeth’s mother finally gave permission for her to enter Carmel after her 21st birthday, and she received the name Sr. Marie Elizabeth of the Trinity. At her profession of vows, she wrote “At last He is all mine, and I am all His: now I have nothing else but Him, He is my All! And now I have only one desire, to love Him, to love Him all the time, to be zealous for His honor as a true bride, to give Him joy, to make Him happy by preparing a dwelling and a refuge for Him in my soul.”
Elizabeth loved the Carmelite life, and thrived in the silence that led to an intense awareness of the presence of the Trinity in her soul. She composed a well-known prayer to the Trinity that begins, “O my God, Trinity whom I adore, help me to be utterly forgetful of self so as to be rooted in you … May nothing disturb my peace or draw me out of you, my unchangeable One, but at every moment may I penetrate ever more deeply into the depths of your mysteries…” Elizabeth suffered acutely from Addison’s disease and passed away at the age of 26. Her final words were “I am going to Light, to Life, to Love!”
Here is a link to her works (Carmelite publications site, not AMZ)
And so here she is – her reliquary chapel at St. Michel in Dijon, her parish from childhood through her entrance into the Carmel.
She received her First Communion at this church, prayed there, and was active there.
Friday, Saturday, Sunday are the feasts of perpetual adoration in our parish. I look forward to going to Compline in the evening at 8 o’clock, I look forward to receiving my Jesus each of these three days, I look forward to going to pray to Him at the foot of His altar and to talking with Him in a sweet heart to heart! …
At the time, the Carmel was located nearby (it is now on the outskirts of Dijon) and so of course, she could still hear the bells as they rang through the day.
As was the case in Paray-le-Monial, the home of St. Margaret Mary Alacoque, I was struck once again by the counter-witness against the characterization of Catholicism, especially pre-Vatican II Catholicism, as a landscape of fear that pushes out the Gospel, that sidelines the Love of God. Other concerns, themes and messages rise and fall, dominate and recede in the course of Catholic history and life, but I do have to wonder at those who angrily accuse Catholicism (especially in the present day) as obscuring the profound, passionate love of God for each of us, to wonder – where are they looking? How does the Good News stay so hidden from them still, when it is, no matter where you are…right around the corner?
Posted in Amy Welborn, France, France 2024, prayer, Travel, tagged Amy Welborn, Amy Welborn's Books, Catholic, Catholicism, faith, France, France 2024, history, Michael Dubruiel, religion, saints, travel on November 7, 2024|
All France posts here. Many travel posts here.
I was flying in and out of Paris – saves money, provides more flexibility – and as I planned the trip it occurred to me that I could tack one more new spot in at the very end. What was, if not nearby, at least an easy trip to CDG? How about Reims?
The appeal was two fold: to see the famed Cathedral, and to taste some champagne. When it comes to wine, sparkling is my favorite, but something I have to be wary of, since I tend to drink it too fast. The more I thought about it, the more interested I was in a champagne tour or tasting, partly because I like champagne, but also because the process is interesting.
It worked out just fine. On Sunday 10/6, I left Dijon in the morning, drove to Troyes, then left Troyes and headed to Reims. I could have squeezed in another monastery to complete the Cluny and Citeaux trifecta, but Clairvaux – as in Bernard of– had been used as a prison since the French Revolution, had only recently been decommissioned as such, and was just in the beginning stages of restoration as a site reflective of its monastic origins. So I decided to just move on to Reims.
(Reminder of transportation. I’d rented the car in Macon with a return in Reims. I had the car for a week, and with the full coverage insurance and returning the car to a different location than pickup, the total price was still only about $250.)
I found the hotel and, more importantly, the parking, which was in an underground lot right there at the hotel. I had plenty of time to see the Cathedral before it closed, so after I checked in, I went over there for a first look. The dining choices were slim on a Sunday night, but I ended up with a good steak at this place. On Monday, I navigated the very challenging route to return my car – it wasn’t far from the hotel, but the morning traffic and one-way streets made it more difficult than I’d anticipated, and yes, as I walked back, I glanced with envy at the far easier, in-and-out Hertz and Avis places.
My train to CDG was around 5, so I had the day, which I spent at the Cathedral, then at the Basilica of Saint-Remi, and yes, a champagne tastings. I was limited in my choices – I had to stay in Reims (there are many more in and around the town of Épernay), it was a Monday, the day on which closures are common, and I was booking last minute. Taittinger is where I settled, with no regrets. Retrieved my luggage, caught the train to CDG, puzzled about how to get to the hotel, figured it out, and entered the chaos of that very busy place.
So, photos:
The Cathedral is, of course, magnificent. Famed for its architecture, but also for its central importance in French history: the site of Clovis’ coronation, and thereafter, the crowning of all French monarchs.
Part of the story with this structure, as with many, including the Basilica I’d see later, is the destruction wrought in the Great War. Joyce Kilmer’s poem on the destruction.
For some reason, I don’t have many large interior images of the cathedral – well, you can find those elsewhere. What I did hone in on were the stained-glass windows celebrating the making of champagne, added in the 20th century.
In the left-hand window, winegrowers work in the vines watched by St Vincent, their patron saint.
In the centre, they harvest the grapes, which are then made into wine in the right-hand window, supervised by Dom Pérignon, the famous cellar master of Hautvillers, and John the Baptist, patron saint of cellar workers.
Below, supporting industries (bottles, corks …) add their contribution to the alchemy of the cellars.
On the borders, the winegrowers’ tools (middle) and the churches of 44 Champagne villages (left and right) serve to root the artistic work in the landscape.Seen from ground level, the window draws the gaze upwards, to the level of the divine: above left, two men toil to carry the grapes of Canaan, image of the prosperity of the Promised Land and symbol of Christ on the cross, Jesus being the bunch of grapes whose blood fills the Church’s chalice.
The mystic wine press takes centre position, Christ crushed as he suffers for our sins and his blood becomes the wine of the eternal kingdom. On the right the symbol of the Eucharist is pursued in the miracle of the Marriage at Cana that unfolds in the three oculi, with the bread and wine surrounding the sacrificial lamb. The fruits of Man’s labour are presented as a sacrificial offering — his labour is the sacrifice he makes to perpetuate the work of creation.
The great organ is being rebuilt – some of the supplies and a view of the vast workspace.
St. Joan is, of course, in every French church – the Padre Pio of France – and I particularly liked this image.
As I said, my first visit was in the evening, about half an hour before closing. It was dark and quiet, with just a few visitors. Vast, shadowy and meditative, candles flickered, the stained glass and the towering stone columns and arches drew one’s eyes up to the heights, now hidden in shadows. Owned and maintained by the French state, destroyed and rebuilt, a place that speaks, if one listens, of the knotty relations between the divine and human here on earth: Creating beauty, nourishment and joyful things out of the Creator’s gifts. Destroying them. Eyes on God, fingers grasping the scepter. Rising from the earth, singing of the City of God, in the midst of the City of Man.
A place on earth where humans attempt to speak of and to heaven, a complicated array of stone and light that holds the prayers of a people in its vastness, but where there is also, always, a space in the quiet for the yearnings of a single soul, a pilgrim on her way.
Posted in Amy Welborn, Amy Welborn's Books, Catholic, France, France 2024, Michael Dubruiel, Saints, Travel, tagged Amy Welborn, Amy Welborn's Books, Catholic, Catholicism, faith, France, France 2024, history, Michael Dubruiel, travel on October 21, 2024|
(Itinerary post here. Where I stayed post here. All France 2024 posts here.)
They – “They” – say that 40% of the world’s stained glass can be found in the Aube department of France. How do they come up with that?
The saying goes that France is home to 80% of the world’s stained glass windows, that 80% of French stained glass windows are located north of the Loire, that 80% of the stained glass windows north of the Loire are in the Champagne region, and that 80% of the stained glass windows in the Champagne region are in the Aube département! A quick calculation would therefore suggest that around 40% of the planet’s stained glass windows can be found right here in the Aube… Nowhere else in the world will you find the sheer number and quality of stained glass windows as you can here.
Sunday, October 6 was my day to drive from Dijon to Reims – where I’d spend the night and the next day, then that night heading to the airport. Learning what I had about Troyes, the main city of this department, convinced me that of course I would stop there.
(I recounted my very minor misadventure with driving and parking here.)
Troyes seems to be a simply wonderful small city, full of half-timbered structures and yes, stained glass.
I was only there for a few hours, but I did see quite a bit, and yes, there was a lot of stained glass. But more than that, as well.
Unfortunately, I didn’t make it to the site that I actually knew existed in Troyes before I even dreamed up this trip, and in which I was interested, and had written about here – the Museum of Tools and the Philosophy of Labor, created by Jesuit worker-priest Paul Feller – the fellow who encouraged Sartre to write his nativity play while they were in a German camp. Well, next time. And I hope there will be a next time.
After I parked, I began my wanderings on this drizzly morning. Ah, look, there’s an open church door. Let’s look and see what’s going on:
Mass of course, and what do you know – it’s a TLM, this one – I could tell immediately from the altar boys’ blue vestments – ICKSP. The church was smaller than the TLM Masses I’d popped in on in Lyon, but the vibe was the same: incensey, low-key bustling mostly because of the children, chill, at the same time open and focused on the altar.
I want to add – the parish had diocesan-related pamphlets and materials available in the back, and signs I saw at another Catholic spot later listed the TLM times along with other Mass times in other parishes, and it was not a big deal.
Next, past the socialists and over the canals, to the Cathedral, where I attended the last part of Mass (I’d been to an actual whole Mass the evening before in Dijon, so be quiet).
The music at Mass was provided by an organ and I think a violinist (I say I think because there might have been more instrumentalists, but I couldn’t pick them out if there were.) There was little hymn-singing, if any. I’d noticed this in the Masses I attended in Lyon and Dijon as well: the Prayers of the Faithful were quite long and included sung responses.
And yes, there was a lot of stained glass…
I had tut-tutted at the clearly higher average age of Cathedral attendees, but found myself chastened, in a way, with the next church, just a few blocks away, where attendees were socializing in the plaza outside after Mass:
Ah. They were all here. The Basilique Saint-Urbain de Troyes. An interesting history:
The future Urban IV was called Jacques Pantaléon. The son of a Trojan cobbler, he did basic studies at the Cathedral School, then went to learn theology at the Sorbonne (Paris) around 1200. Canon in Langres, archdeacon in Liège then in Laon, bishop of Verdun, chaplain of the Vatican and papal legate in Poland, he was named patriarch of Jerusalem in 1255. In 1261, when he was not yet a cardinal, he was elected pope and took the name Urban IV. However, he never settled in Rome: he died and was buried in the Saint-Laurent Cathedral in Perugia in 1264, although he had expressed the wish to be buried in Troyes in his beloved church.
Pope Urban IV never forgot his hometown: in 1261, he decided to build a superb collegiate church (a church of canons under his authority) on the site of his father’s former shop. He entrusted the construction to the architect Jean Langlois and sent him a fabulous sum for this purpose.
If you click on the middle picture, you can see the hardy group of scouts being led onward.
(A check on posted material told me that this Mass had been a special sort of children’s Mass.)
Inside:
Well now, here’s a problem. In Troyes, as in much of Europe, the churches close up in the afternoon. It was now afternoon. I had a couple more churches I definitely wanted to check out, so what to do in the meantime? Well, how about a museum – which kindly doesn’t close in the afternoon – the “City of Stained Glass.”
It’s a museum housed in the 18th century Hôtel-Dieu-le-Comte. The museum provides a history of stained glass, insight into the process, exhibits of old and contemporary stained glass, and changing exhibits.
The exhibit during my visit was fascinating – it centered on a mid-20th century project to bring contemporary stained glass into Notre Dame in Paris:
In 1935, twelve Parisian glass artists proposed replacing Viollet-le-Duc’s grisaille stained glass windows installed in the upper nave of Notre-Dame de Paris with their own creations. Encouraged by advocates of the modern revival of sacred art, the modernity, the project nonetheless met with a great deal of resistance in the name of the preservation of the cathedral.
What a fascinating exhibit, and timely.
Hôtel-Dieu-le-Comte has also preserved the old apothecary, with the containers for raw materials and compounded medicines on display in all their beauty. The boxes contained the ingredients, and as the sign says, were painted, not only with the name but an image of the plant or other source of the material inside.
By now, the churches had reopened, and I had two on my list before I’d retrieve my car and head up to Reims.
First was Saint-Jean-au-Marché, where I found a surprise:
Short version: St. Marguerite Bourgeoys, a great missionary to New France, was born in Troyes and baptized in this church.
Her home no longer exists, but they managed to save some of the stairs – and put them in the church!
Finally, for a fitting end was my favorite – intriguing, intricate, beautiful – the Church of St. Mary Magdalene:
Its apse and choir were renovated again around 1500, in the flamboyant Gothic style of the period. Its Renaissance-style square tower dates from 1525, as does the richly sculpted gateway to the former cemetery to the right of the entrance (now the Jardin des Innocents). The church’s main portal was rebuilt in the 17th c. and the nave restored in the 19th c.
Sainte-Madeleine is remarkable for its famous rood screen and the stained glass windows in its chevet, masterpieces of exceptional finesse that visitors can admire at a glance. Only a handful of religious buildings in France have preserved a rood screen, a stone platform erected between the nave and the choir to carry a choir and/or officiants addressing the faithful.
The guide indicated that the rood screen had probably been painted originally – traces of color can be found. And of course, there were originally doors – undoubtedly wood – below the stonework.
The window on the lower right pictures the days of creation. I found them striking, with a rather contemporary feel:
As one commonly sees in European churches, there were ex-voto plaques, expressions of gratitude for answered prayers. I contemplated this one for a while and have thought about it often since. Troyes was liberated by the US Army, led by Patton, on August 25-26, 1944.
One wonders what the answered prayers were – gratitude for the coming liberation and an end to war? For a soldier’s life? Protection?
Posted in Amy Welborn, France, France 2024, Travel, tagged France, France 2024, travel on October 18, 2024| 1 Comment »
Yes, the food and drink post is coming, but it’s a little longer, so let’s do this instead.
(Itinerary post here. Where I stayed post here. All France 2024 posts here.)
Mostly, I walked of course.
The first thing to say is: don’t be afraid to drive in Europe. Well, the continent, at least. I, myself, am terrified at the thought of driving in the UK, but I do think that in order to see, for example, Ireland properly, I’m going to have to gird my loins and attempt it. My friend who has driven in Ireland a few times says she can only do it because her travel companion and navigator is on high alert. I feel the same – I wouldn’t want to attempt it without someone there whom I’m confident would constantly say NO! LEFT lane!
Anyway – as for the areas where they drive on the correct side of the road no problem. Some people fuss about roundabouts, but I love them in Europe. Basically: if you miss your turn, you can just keep circling and get it right next time. Very handy Life Metaphor.
I’ve driving in Sicily, Puglia and other areas of southern Italy, Tuscany, all through Spain and much of France. I have found that driving in most of Europe, especially on highways, is more relaxing than in the United States because a higher proportion of drivers actually obey the speed limit, especially truckers.
That said, of course, I didn’t drive for this whole trip. For the first week, I was in the very large city of Lyon, so no car was necessary or desired.
As I said in the itinerary post, I flew into Paris, landed in the early afternoon, then took a fast train to Lyon. The tickets weren’t super cheap because I did wait to purchase them (not day of, but maybe week before) – but I also purchased a senior (HAH) discount card because I thought it would pay for itself and more with the train travel I was planning, and it did.
I didn’t take any taxis during those weeks, but I did take thee Ubers, one on the way from the Lyon train station to my apartment, simply because I had luggage, had been up for 24 hours, and didn’t fancy figuring out public transportation in that condition. (The others were the morning I went to Avignon, simply because I hadn’t slept much the night before and was exhausted, and would rather do a 10 minute drive to the station rather than a 30-minute, 3-change subway trip, and then finally, at the end when I was getting from my hotel in Reims to the train station. Again: luggage and it was raining. All three Ubers were painless, chill and introvert-friendly.)
The Lyon subway system is great. By midday on Day 2, I was a pro. The thing is, there are only four metro lines, but Lyon is so compact you can get almost anywhere you want to go using it (plus some walking, but you can manage that, right?) Having so few lines also means that the connections are flawlessly managed, and there are never more than two lines intersecting at a station. What this means is that, say I need to take two lines to get where I’m going. What I found every time was that I would arrive at one station, walk down some steps, and there the next train would be, arriving in just a couple of minutes.
There are also busses and trams – and there were stops very close to my apartment in Croix Rousse. I didn’t take them as often, though, because the metro was easy and quicker. I did take the tram to the train station as I left, though. Again, very easy.
(All trains and trams were clean, people were polite and like public transportation passengers everywhere: minding their own business.)
Oh, and I purchased a week-long pass, but, as in NYC, you can just use a card or a phone paying app to pay at the turnstile.
During the week, I took two day trips: one to Avignon, the other to Vienne. Both trains, both easy. Now, please know that I delayed purchasing an Avignon ticket (waiting to see what the weather was like, how I felt), so I didn’t get a fast train down there. That was fine. As I mentioned, I hadn’t slept much, and I was a zombie anyway. I needed time to revive.
Train from Lyon to Macon as I described here, and then car rental through Auto Europe. I rented with them for my 2023 Italy trip, and it was again a good experience. I want to emphasize: I rented the car for a week, with different pick-up and drop-off points and took no-deductible full coverage (In addition to my CC insurance, just to be super safe) – and it was about $250 for the week.
Yes, it was a tiny Fiat 500, but still…not bad!
And yes, it was manual, but I know how to drive a manual and enjoy it. The only problem was – reverse.
I got in the car – after making sure the guy had shown me how to access the gas tank – started it up and headed to the hotel. I parked at the hotel, got my luggage, checked out, got back in the car which was parked on the street, and tried to reverse. I inched forward. Tried again. Drifted forward. What was this? Looked for a video “How to put Fiat 500 in reverse.”
Ah….a ten second video showed me. There’s a ring of sorts around the gearshift that you have to lift as you put it into R. That’s it.
The thing is…I went through the exact same thing in Italy 18 months ago. Couldn’t reverse, puzzled, panicked, looked it up.
I mean, once I saw “ring” it all came back to me instantly – of course – but still, it’s annoying and even concerning that the detail had just fled my mind completely. Well, not completely, since it came back, but you know what I mean. Cue memory exercises, immediately.
So I had the car for a week. That day, I drove to Cluny, Taize, Paray-le-Monial and then for the night, Chalon-sur-Saone and then next day to Dijon. The only time I took the car out in Dijon was the day I went to Vezelay, and then on the meandering way out and up to Reims. There was no way I could have seen any of those sights efficiently without a car.
My other day trip from Dijon was to Beaune, which is a 20 minute train ride, so it made much more sense to do that than to get the car, navigate traffic, find parking in Beaune and drive back.
Parking? Parking is easy to find and pay for in those cities. In Dijon, I used a garage that charged about $10/day and was a 3-minute walk from the apartment.
The only glitch – and it turned out not to be a glitch – occurred on my foray into Troyes, the day I drove from Dijon to Reims.
It was a Sunday morning, and the city was way busier than I’d anticipated – it was footrace day – a 5k and other events (same in Dijon that day, interestingly enough), so traffic was heavy and the roads to the parking garage I’d bookmarked were closed off. So I drove about, found another, and drove down, pleased with myself.
A few hours later – about 3pm – I wandered back to the garage and found…the gates down. Doors shut, grill down. FInally thought to read the sign, which said, loud and clear that on Dimanche, the garage closed at 1.
Not quite panicking, but almost – after all, I could stay in Troyes that night, retrieve my car in the morning and head to Reims anyway – I tried to figure this out. The trouble was, in Troyes on a Sunday afternoon (as in most of France), almost everything is closed (including, of course the Halles or market under which the garage was located.) I found a little grocery, explained my plight – ma voiture…garage fermee…..or whatever. The very nice guy waved his hands and motioned me to come with him. Of course, the garage wasn’t closed to those leaving – only entering. Idiot. All was well. Let’s go to Reims.
My one issue and fear with driving in cities in towns in France was that they only use white paint for road markings, and a two-way street could become one-way in the snap of a finger and if you weren’t paying attention, it was easy to miss. Fortunately, I never did.
I arrived in Reims on Sunday evening (phew), and there was an underground parking garage under the square where the hotel was located. I parked, got the hotel rate, then the next morning drove it to the Auto Europe office – less than a kilometer away, but a real challenge to get to considering early morning rush hour traffic and one way roads and the corner on which the office is located – and walked back to the hotel. They kept my luggage after checkout, I wandered Reims, taking in the Cathedral, the Basilica of St. Remi, and some champagne, got back, got my luggage and an Uber, arrived at the train station way too early – but it was the local train connecting me to the TGV station where I’d get the train to the airport – but there was an earlier train than my ticketed train arriving, so I just got on that.
And…we’re done!
Posted in Amy Welborn, art, Catholic, France, France 2024, Gospels, history, Loyola Kids Book of Signs and Symbols, Loyola Press, Michael Dubruiel, Saints, tagged Amy Welborn, Amy Welborn's Books, Catholic, faith, France, France 2024, history, Loyola Kids Book of Signs and Symbols, Loyola Press, Michael Dubruiel, saints, travel on October 18, 2024|
Let’s continue with the France theme, and feature this piece, from the Musée des Beaux-Arts in Dijon:
As solid as it is, it still strikes a charming, winsome note, perhaps because of the quietly attentive ox.
“Shades of polychromy” means that like so much statuary of the past, it was painted. It looks to me as if he might have been intended to hold a pen, as well.
Wouldn’t it be something to see all of this statuary, from the Greeks on, in the colors they were intended to bear!
I have more to share from this museum, of course, but for now, let’s have Mary holding her Child in a post that will be familiar to anyone who’s struggled with a wriggly baby:
Back to Luke: From the Loyola Kids Book of Catholic Signs and Symbols – the symbols of the evangelists:
Posted in Amy Welborn, Catholic, France, France 2024, history, prayer, Travel, tagged Amy Welborn, Amy Welborn's Books, Catholic, Catholicism, faith, France, France 2024, history, Michael Dubruiel, Prayer, travel on October 16, 2024|
How convenient that her memorial falls in the midst of my scattershot attempt to recount my trip to France.
Paray-le-Monial, where St. Margaret Mary lived and experienced her visions, was not at all on my original itinerary. It wasn’t on my radar, for I knew nothing much about St. Margaret Mary Alacoque. I’ll admit this and turn in my Catholic card right this minute as a consequence, but yes, it’s true. My Vatican II Baby True Colors rise up bright and clear in this area, as I acknowledge that I have gone most of my life with little knowledge and less interest in French devotional developments (except for Lourdes) and indeed, when I started seeing her name and “Sacred Heart” on the spiritual travel/pilgrimage radar this area, I definitely got confused. I thought, Wait, isn’t she in Paris? Didn’t I visit that church and see her relics?
No, idiot, that was St. Catherine Labouré – Miraculous Medal. Get it straight.
So yes, she entered my vision early on – the diocesan TLM parish, Saint-Georges had materials about a parish pilgrimage to Paray-le-Monial. Okay, let’s break open the map and see what’s up.
The most logical day to do it would be Monday, 9/30, which was to be get-the-car-Cluny-Taize-and-up-towards-DIjon day. But at that point, I was still thinking that Ars would be my extra destination that day – I was pretty fixated on getting to Ars, home of St. John Vianney, of course. But Ars is on the other side of Lyon and south, and while I did have a lot of time, it really made no sense to drive completely away from the direction in which I ultimately needed to go.
So, back to Paray-le-Monial.
Which I did, and here’s that report.
This is what I’ll add today:
We read a lot about the Bad Old Days of Catholicism, when supposedly all Catholics did was cower in fear under the sway of priestcraft, threatened with Hell at every turn, never knowing the love of God. Thank goodness that Spirit™ came along to straighten us all out, amiright?
There are even figures today who have reacted very strongly against Catholicism, saying that all they knew as a young person growing up Catholic – in the 80’s – was hellfire and paralyzing legalism. I don’t doubt those accounts, and is surely a reflection of a particular subculture rather than the general Catholic gestalt which most of us experienced as, well, the exact opposite of that.
And while legalism, control and fear have certainly been a feature of Catholic life, theology and spirituality since the beginning, and all of that has certainly done damage, when one looks at the Catholic spiritual impulses and movements that have lasted both as popular devotions and as those sanctioned by the institution, one finds, even as we enter a church building, invariably under an ominous Last Judgment tympanum, an overwhelming message of love.
As I wandered the near-empty, very quiet streets of Paray-le-Monial that Monday afternoon I was, at every turn, faced with a message, and that message was love.
Love of course is the heart of the Gospel, the heart of salvation history, but of course it gets obscured. It gets obscured by those entrusted with this Gospel, as they allow their mission to be transformed into one of institutional maintenance and control. As they do indeed redefine “love” to their own advantage. It gets obscured, more importantly, in our own hearts as we fixate on and are mired in our failures and our weaknesses, as we objectify other human beings and instrumentalize creation, as we simply forget who we are, why we are here at all, and who put us here: love.
And so the saints and mystics arise. They pour out their lives in the works of mercy through the centuries. They dwell in silence, often a painful, sacrificial silence, and they listen. Unburdened, stripped and free, they can hear, so clearly, what the rest of us either refuse or simply can’t hear, and, often at great cost, against obstacles within and without, they let us in, they let us know what they have heard, and if you listen to them across the centuries, what they have all heard is the same, and it all comes down to this:
Posted in Amy Welborn, Catholic, France, France 2024, history, Travel, tagged Amy Welborn, Amy Welborn's Books, Catholic, Catholicism, France, France 2024, history, Michael Dubruiel, saints, travel on October 15, 2024|
The bodies of the Witnesses, after having been maltreated in every way, and exposed in the open air for six days, were burned, reduced to ashes, and swept by the wicked into the river Rhone, which flows past, in order that not even a vestige of them might be visible on earth. And these things they did, as if they had been able to overcome God, and deprive them of their second birth….
On the same day I visited the home of and center dedicated to Blessed Pauline Jaricot, I took in the L’Antiquaille: Cultural Space of Christianity in Lyon.
It’s on the same road as the house, just a couple of hundred meters down. The location of both is the Fourvière hill – where the huge Basilica of Notre Dame is located and which was, two millennia ago, the center of the Roman city, then called Lugdunum. An amphitheater and odeum remain, and there is an excellent museum of Gallo-Roman civilization.
It’s a small museum located on what was, for a time, thought to be the site of the imprisonment of Bishop Pothinus – the first bishop of Lyon/Gaul and one of the martyrs of 177. Contemporary scholars don’t think that is the case, but nonetheless, there is a long history of Christians honoring the martyrs on this spot, and some gorgeous mosaics in a chapel to commemorate the martyrdom.
The older (even than I) lady at the desk spoke no English and warned me – as if it would dissuade me – that what I would see was almost all in French. That was fine, I responded – I know the story anyway, and I can read French. She did have a folder of English-language commentary and background, and what I found was that many of the placards included English translations.
(I’ve written before about the magic of Google Translate – you hold your camera up to something written in another language and it instantly presents you with a good translation. The trouble was the stone walls of this museum wouldn’t allow the Internet waves or whatever through, but it was fine.)
The main martyr exhibit was bracketed by displays, at the beginning, on the origin and nature of Christianity, and at the end, on medieval Christianity, the Wars of Religion and Byzantine Christianity. I just walked through those, but did spend time, of course, on the material on the martyrs – which began with a very well-done and helpful animation on the growth of Christianity and its institutions from the second century on – and their gradual disappearance from the 17th on……
Anyway, in true arty European style, the centerpiece of the martyr exhibit (aside from the chapel) was a hallway lined with large clear panels etched with much of the text from the Letter from Vienne and Lyon, which describes the events and has come to us via Eusebius.
It’s pretty artsy and motion-activated, so the panels light up and a sonorous French male voice narrates the events as you go. Definitely heightened the drama.
The crypt, though, was the highlight.
In it, mosaics created in the 19th century depict the 48 martyrs of Lyon, associate with the means of their martyrdom.
A nice little museum with a specific focus, effectively accomplished. Along with visiting Blessed Pauline’s house, there with the Basilica looming overhead, walking atop the ruins of Roman Gaul, it was a good opportunity to contemplate rise and fall, faith, resistance and courage.
Oh, and reflecting how that worked out in the past, as well.
Posted in Amy Welborn, Catholic, evangelization, France, France 2024, Travel, tagged Amy Welborn, Catholic, evangelism, France, France 2024, travel on October 14, 2024|
When I was in France, of course I ducked into many, many churches. So many, and since most of them were in the Gothic style, if it weren’t for the pictures I took, I wouldn’t be able to tell you about a single, distinctive one.
As I always am, I was continually searching: not only for the artistic and historic signs of faith and what they could teach me, but for signs that would tell me if and how these buildings were still being used for their original purposes.
And by that, I don’t mean do people still go to Mass here? I was looking for signs that those who do, indeed, still worship in those buildings understand that the buildings themselves offer opportunities for encounters with the sacred by the wanderer and the seeker.
This is a cause of mine, and one about which I’ve written often. Here. Here. Here.
The point of all of it is that:
One of the elements of post-Conciliar life that I’ve often argued against is the devaluation of the material. Those who were managing things -aside from harboring the iconoclastic spirit, which is just a constant in the cycles of religious institutions – decided that all of that – church art and architecture, buildings, statues and so on – were a distraction at best and an obstacle at worst. An obstacle what, you ask?
An obstacle to (you know this is coming) mature faith which does not need the crutch of images, but flourishes in interiority.
An obstacle (and this is important) to the understanding that we are the Body of the Christ, the Church and that the energy put into buildings and decor distracts us from the presence of Christ in each other, and perhaps even functions as a way to avoid this truth. That in building up with stones and stained glass, we grant ourselves permission to ignore the living Spirit in our brothers and sisters.
The pendulum is obviously swinging back, for the right reasons, it seems. Not because something Gothic or Romanesque or with some statues is a nice marker of “Catholic identity,” but because, yes, these buildings and what they contain and even the very space they occupy stand as witnesses and are modes of evangelization, people:
When you get down to it, it’s pretty simple:
A church building stands as a witness. People are going to encounter it as such – walking by, peaking in, stopping in, getting brave enough to go to Mass – do you offer any resources to help them? To help them understand what they are seeing? To help them connect this building and what they see with what they are seeking?
Or are you just an insular community, indifferent to those who aren’t in your club?
So. What did I see in France? It was very interesting – and positive.
Note, first, that all church buildings constructed before 1905 are owned by the French state. I have no idea how that works out in real life – what roles government and religious entities have in decision-making and such. But it’s important to know.
Secondly, most of the churches I visited are in heavily trafficked areas – tourists, residents. They are not planted out in some subdivision, void of life during the day. There are always people walking by, coming in and out.
The point is: most of these churches seemed well aware of that and engaged with that reality, from the perspective of evangelization. And not fake, committee-led evangelization. There was a very strong sense of: When people come in, they’ve been led here by the Lord. Let’s meet them in that spirit.
What follows are some samples of what I saw in churches and then some materials. Long. Sorry.
I have already written about the Basilica of Notre Dame on the Fourvière hill. As a reminder: the church is unique, akin to Sacre Coeur in Paris. It was constructed for a particular mission and purpose, and the vibe still reflects that. In addition, it is one of the more popular tourist destinations in Lyon simply because of its position above the city and the view from the hill. As I wrote before, staff and volunteers are quite present to answer questions and point to materials, which were not indirect:
That last photo is just a sample of the copies of the Hail Mary that lined the steps descending into the crypt.
The Basilica of Beaune is not only a work of Burgundian Romanesque art, it is the House of God. The Holy Sacrament is in the chapel of the Cloister, do not miss to visit it and adore. And even if your visit has no other purpose than to contemplate this building, know how to respect this Presence and not to disturb the silence of those who pray! The Statue of Our Lady of Beaune is also much more than a work of art. It is an image of a saint, before which countless faithful have knelt.
Make yourself a pilgrim’s soul and you will soon taste the sweetness of this maternal tenderness, which the people of Beaune and the surrounding area have appreciated for a long time and who would like to see you share.
In Reims, of course, the Cathedral is a central tourist draw. But don’t forget:
A place that reveals, manifests and celebrates the face of God, incarnated in Jesus Christ, still alive in his church.
The edifice carries messages that are expressed in an original language: the language of stone and glass.
It is a place where yesterday’s Christians expressed the faith they lived at a certain moment in history – a faith that was deeply alive and that helps us to enliven our own. Some stained glass windows, or capitals, remind us that men and women played a part in the dynamism of the kingdom. Shall we be builders in our turn?
As praise of God, art leads us to Him through iconography and architecture. The use of space, the play of volumes under the light are as many supports for thanksgiving.
Also in Reims is the enormous, quite fascinating Basilica of St. Remi – Remi was the bishop who baptized Clovis.
The prayer on the left was next to one of the vigil candle stands – and a note: despite the scourge of church burnings in France, I never saw anything but real candles. Loads of them. Not an electric flicker in sight.
Anyway:
I can’t stay in this church for long. By letting this candle burn, it is a little bit of me that I want to give to you. Help me extend my prayer into the activities of the day.
The plaque on the far right reads: Welcome, brother, sister. Here it is God our Father who welcomes you!
I found this very interesting. It’s not the most attractive display, but the offer is sound: a rack with loads of printed-out prayers for the taking and using in a moment in this chapel:
St. Martin d’Ainay is in Lyon, one of the few Romanesque churches in the city, and with a deep heritage. When I popped in there were volunteers at the ready to lead a tour (I declined, saying I’d just use the materials they had available – in several languages, note.)
MIddle: Welcome to you who enter this church, visitors and seekers of God.
Most of the historic churches had good explanatory placards at side chapels, around stained glass windows, giving not only the historic provenance of images and items, but their meaning – basically..who is in that window and what are they doing? Which is helpful.
St. Michael’s in Dijon put duplicates of the images on column capitols at eye level, with an explanation:
And, as you can see – real candles, but the option to use a card reader to pay for them!
(Seen often in France – and once – the option on the collection basket, as well)
Vezelay, of course, is not only a tourist destination, but a pilgrimage site as well – both as an end, and as a beginning, as it is one of the starting points of the Camino. So it would not be surprising to see a more self-conscious outreach there:
Back in Lyon, Saint-Georges is the site of the diocesan celebration of the Traditional Latin Mass:
Speaking of the TLM – again, I don’t know the politics around the TLM in Lyon and Burgundy, but what I saw hinted at a relaxed, chill relationship. The TLM churches, including those run by the FSSP (Dijon) and ICKSP (Troyes) had lots of diocesan material around, and notices I saw that collated Mass times for an area included a TLM if it was happening. Very NBD vibe.
Also in Lyon, another candle prayer:
Now to some of the printed materials:
Of course, all the churches had materials and posters and flyers related to their own ministries and activities, but I’m going to focus on those that engaged the visitor in a spiritual way:
Daily prayer in the Cathedral – so, if you so desire – here are some suggestions to help you in prayer…
For children:
Reims Cathedral:
Saint-Georges in Lyon, diocesan TLM – standard history and description of the church, with the closing: And the rest? Are you seeking God? ….etc. with contact information…
St. Nizier in Lyon:
The best was this – produced by the diocese of Dijon (which has an office dedicated to culture and “pastoral tourism), and which I saw in several churches
. Now, this is easier in a place where the vast majority of churches were built on the same general pattern, and some of the language is little squishy – but still. I have long maintained that this sort of pamphlet should be in every Catholic church, especially now in an era when most American non-Catholic Christians have grown up going to services in cavernous spaces undefined by anything but a light show and the band placement. Help them out!
Look, I don’t have any insider information of the State of the Church in France. As is the case everywhere else, it’s a mess, with lots of tension but also signs of light and life.
All I’m saying is that despite everything else, there remains an understanding – at least in the areas I visited – of the fact that when people pop into a church, for whatever reason, God has led them there, and it’s our duty and privilege to meet them with that in mind.
I’ll leave you with a quote from a post I wrote last year. It was inspired by something I read on a #vanlife Facebook group for women, in which a member asked others what they do when they’re sad and lonely?
I never leave the same….
Email: amywelborn60 AT gmail
Charlotte was Both 