Parlez-vous francais?

In 1973 I was offered a position as Finance Director of a French subsidiary of the company I was working with in Australia. At the age of 42, I considered it an opportunity to travel and live overseas. Fortunately the family agreed and were ready to move. Only I had been overseas, and then only to New Zealand, so we felt very much like Abram: “Leave your country and your people and go to the land I will show you.” 

Once we settled into our apartment in Neuilly, we looked for a church. At this stage our French was far from adequate (French happened to be the only subject that I failed in the Leaving Certificate!), so we looked for an ex-patriate church. We found one at the English Methodist Church in 
Rue de Penthieve near St. Augustin in Paris. This church came under the missionary arm of the English Methodist Church. It was built in the 
19^th century and from memory could seat with its gallery around 300 people. When it was built there was a large British ex-patriate population. 

These days with quick flights from many parts of the UK the ex-patriate population is small and there was the Anglican Church attached to the British embassy. When we attended the Methodist Church 20 people would have been a big congregation. 

There would not have been more than a handful of permanent residents; most were transients, mostly students or tourists. Of the permanent residents some were English some were French and they all had stories to tell. Other residents came from Mexico or Africa. During the Second World War the church building had been taken over by the Gestapo. Some of the older female residents had been involved in the Resistance. One French lady we came to know very well became very ill. We visited her in the hospital (that was a visit not to be forgotten, but that’s another traveller’s story). She died and we intended to attend the funeral service. We expected the usual half dozen of resident members only to find the church packed with old soldiers with their flags and medals. 

During our stay in Paris there was a plane crash that involved an English football team (Manchester United). There was a memorial service at the Embassy church. Nola and I went as representatives of the Methodist Church. It was an occasion for the British expatriates to come out with their official gear. As well as military uniforms, kilts, monocles and mantilla lace were very much in evidence. 

The minister at first was a Fred LeNoury who came originally from the Channel Islands. Later on he returned to England and his place was taken by an ex missionary from Africa. We had difficulty coping with the replacement as he had become influenced by Roman Catholics and we found his scrubbing out of the chalice hard to swallow (forgive the pun). Another problem was that the building was collapsing from the traffic on the cobbled streets. One Sunday we found the cross from over one of the doorways lying on the footpath. Inside the building had to be propped up. Another problem was the small number of permanent residents to maintain and support the activities of the church. There was a proposal to sell the building for development, just keeping a chapel for continuing services. 

As it looked as though we were going to stay in France for an extended period we looked around for a French church. There were three Baptist churches in Paris. We tried one but really did not feel at home there. Then we attended the Baptist Church (Eglise Evangelique) at Avenue du Marne in the 14^th  Arrondisement (Monteparnasse). Though this was some distance from Neuilly we adopted this church as our spiritual home whilst we lived in Paris. Everything about the church congregation, except for the spoken language, (though not the form of the language) reminded us of our home churches (Epping and Carlingford). The conduct of the services, the prayers, the sermons, the people made us feel at home. We found also that singing the hymns in French improved our understanding and expression in the language. 

After five years in Paris the firm moved to Orleans-la Source and we built a house in the forest in the Village of Yvoy-le Marron. Once again we were faced with the question of a spiritual home. We were fortunate to find another Baptist Church at Orleans. This church had been built just after the Second World War when there was a large American army camp at Orleans. When the Americans left the church was given to the French Baptist Union. There was a small congregation, but once more we felt at home. It was an interesting experience. The Pastor was a Dutchman Leo DeLepper. 

We even had a service conducted by a group of Gypsies. They parked their caravans in the church grounds, to the alarm of the locals. I also delivered a few sermons in French! 

As you will know, France is a preponderantly Roman Catholic country. There are more Muslims than Protestants in France. Whilst not pretending to be a religious expert, the Roman Catholic Church is pretty moribund, though there is a small vibrant Pentecostal group. There are other schisms also including some who continue their services in Latin. 

After centuries of persecution the French Protestants (Eglise Reforme) are pretty discreet except in business. Baptists would represent an insignificant percentage of the population so we were fortunate to find Baptist Churches in the vicinities of where we lived. With the exception of the Roman Catholic Pentecostals, Baptists were the most lively Christians in France and in particular sang well, particularly the black Africans in the congregation. To hear the Africans thumping out Edmond Budry’s hymn (in French of course): 

  “Yours be the glory! Risen conquering Son:
Endless is the victory over death you won.”