Paris, Day 15
Today is a slow day, a mixture of sun streaming through my window and clouds bringing on the autumn chill, and the past two weeks are starting to blur together into escaping memories. I need to write everything down, but the words have been hesitant, I think because life has been soft and gentle these first few days in Sevran. I can feel my body and my mind and my soul returning to a steady pace again. After five years of full-time work and part-time school (actually, at this time last year I was beginning my 11-week bout of full-time school as I made my final push), I am finally experiencing space in my own head and heart to sort through it all. I have spent a lot of my time walking, listening to music, reading — allowing myself to meander through life and catch up to myself.
On Monday I will finally start French lessons, and my roommate and her sister have promised to only speak to me in French once I get my feet under me. During dinner (which is around 9 PM in this house) we have instituted a “phrase a day,” where I pick something I want to learn and Alice and Lorraine correct my pronunciation. I am finding myself even more empathetic toward our English students in the U.S. — grammar rules are rough, and learning new sounds takes energy and time. However, I have found myself picking out some words and phrases as people are talking, and that has been exciting. Yesterday, Alice said “l'eau est prête” (the water is ready) and we all did a happy dance when I understood.
These past two weeks have also been about learning the ministry, and I’ve loved every minute of it. On Thursday nights, members of the church (and other volunteers who join them) go to a park in the north of Paris where many refugees and migrants spend time or even set up camp. The first week, my roommate brought her guitar, and I ended up helping with a few worship songs, which then led to my helping lead worship this past Sunday at church. It’s been a while since I’ve played regularly, and my fingers are still sore as I type this, but getting to sing and make music again has been a real joy.
On the second week of Thursday-night ministry, I got to stretch a few more ministry muscles. I took the train alone this time, lugging a full carafe of hot water onto the metro and back (an hour each way), and was the only one there for the first half-hour as everyone else was caught in traffic. I didn’t have anyone to hide behind or speak English with, so I dove right in, stirring Nescafe into hot water and using a makeshift language of English and French and Arabic to communicate with whoever I could. Many of the people migrating to Paris are men, which is different from what I’ve experienced in the U.S., so I’m re-learning my way around cultural taboos and finding ways to communicate that are warm but boundaried. By the time I got home that night I was exhausted and full of peace. I don’t think it matters what country I’m in, I love doing cross-cultural ministry and finding ways to communicate when language doesn’t do the trick.
Me trying to keep hot water from spilling all over the RER B, the line I take from Sevran into Paris.
Church on Sundays is also a blast. Both weeks now have been translated into four languages: from French into Arabic, then into Farsi, and then into English. English is often omitted, and I’m hoping my French will be good enough for me to catch at least some of what Samir, the pastor here, is preaching. We begin with song (each in one of the four languages), and then listen to the sermon. We end with a time of food and coffee, and there is always a moment for members to share what God is doing in their life. The church is small, about 15-30 people in person and on Zoom, and it reminds me of my days as a part of a church plant in high school. Everyone does everything, as evidenced by my helping lead worship*, and worship is simple, practical, and real.
*Let it be known that I did not lead in any languages but English. I played guitar while Joanna, a beautiful vocalist, sang in every language that I could not.
Coffee time after the worship service.
Writing about the ministry is hard, though, because everything here is intertwined. No one in the church is in full-time ministry — everyone works and helps to run the church on evenings and weekends. Ministry is not just for pastors, and it is tangled up in every other aspect of life. It feels almost wrong to separate it out into Thursdays and Sundays, because everyone here seems to have a deeply integrated faith that is less about “ministry” and more about just doing the thing, day in and day out. I love that, and I’m grateful to learn from everyone here.
Other things I’m grateful for:
The slowness of life in France. Parisienne life is not slow, for sure, but overall the French do not value hustle and work the way Americans do. People work to live, not the other way around. I find that my own natural pace of life matches more with French culture than American culture in many ways.
My Navigo pass! Alice put a lot of work into making sure I had the necessary papers to get a metro card, and now that I have it I can basically go wherever I want whenever I want.
Lunches and dinners with Alice and Lorraine. There’s something lovely and comforting about the relationship and laughter between sisters, and it’s nice to be in the middle of it. Lorraine made ratatouille today, and we ate it on the roof and then laid in the sun for awhile.
Basking in a moment of sun post-ratatouille.
Things I would like prayer for:
Continued energy to put into learning new things and ways of living - especially to take in French as I start my beginner course next week.
For clarity around the discernment process. I filled out an application for a long-term missionary sending agency as a way of discernment, but I want to take a specific amount of time to really lean into prayer while I’m here. Pray that God would make it clear what kinds of rhythms/prayer-times/timeframe should be included in that process.
Until next time — au revoir!