La petite paroisse

Every year, Yseult's parish, Saint-Hélier, has an evening to thank everyone who belongs to and helps the church throughout the year. Some parishioners have been there for three months, others for over thirty years. I went to St. Hélier the very first Sunday that I was in Rennes. It was one of the most beautiful Masses I can remember, where children were dressed in alter robes down to the floor, incense billowed up to the rafters, and hymns were sung in French and Latin. So since I have become what Yseult calls her poussin (little chick), I willingly went with her to this parish dinner. Sixty-five degrees is considered warm weather in Brittany, so everyone carried chairs and lace table cloths out into a small, rain-ladened garden behind the "presbytère" to enjoy the evening. It never ceases to amaze me how hardy Breton people are, nor what wonderful times I have with Yseult, and this night was no exception.  

The first order of business: assemble the apéritif table. Out came bottles of cidre, tiny sea salt crackers, and pistachios, everyone flocking to them so that conversation could officially begin. 

Before all cups were filled, the Curé, Père Paul, announced his joy in seeing everyone and how deeply grateful he was for the love and time poured into Saint-Hélier by each parishioner. Just as people began reshuffling themselves to mingle, another voice piped in, "Attention! On a un petit jeu pour vous tous..." It was the voice of Père Frédéric, the young vicaire with a gentle, playful face who says we are going to play a game. Everyone must pick from a bowl of names, find the person whose name they receive, introduce themselves, and become friends. Yes, tous. Everyone. Even me. I have to find Bruno. 

       

Luckily though, Yseult and I discover him under a tree with his circle of friends, already engrossed in a lively conversation, a look of pleasant surprise washing over his face to see my unfamiliar little self wandering over. Yseult introduces us, and I am greeted by his friends with several "bis," a light two-cheek kiss that is the equivalent of an American hand shake or a hug. Yet someone calls Yseult away, and so there I am, under a tree, with a group of perfectly fluent Frenchmen. Somehow though, by a grace that I am certain flowed from the general direction of the church, the next hour passed by in what felt like five minutes. 

It was wonderful how interested everyone was by the United States. They asked me what it was like to be an American, what our founding was like, and where religion factored in our present nation. After a while, I stood there for a moment thinking about how beautiful it is the way human beings are really so connected to one another. We may be separated by cultures and the different circumstances of our lives, but even all the way here in France, in an obscure little garden, we were able to effortlessly share the ways we looked at life.

  

It began to lightly drizzle and mist, a normal occurrence here that within ten minutes passes. Père Frédéric comes over and introduces himself. He has only been at Saint-Hélier since 2013 and tells me that he knows what it is like to be the newcomer. He notices I do not have a name tag and without thinking about it, takes off his own and gives it to me, letting me write my name on the back. "Bon, Now you are a part of us," he says.

   

Meanwhile, a young girl wove in and out of the garden with platters of food that her mom was cooking inside the kitchen. She told us that this was the sixth year they had cooked for this gathering, and now it seems to be becoming a tradition.  

Speaking of tradition, Bretons love their desserts. I do not think I can remember one night where I have not been served some sort of sweet. So once the rain stopped, another table appeared laid with cannelés, tarte aux pommes, and salted butter cake. I have learned that you need to move swiftly, or else it will all disappear. When you first taste Breton specialties though, you understand why! 

       

The wind soon kicked up and the temperatures dropped quickly, meaning it was time to head home. Père Frédéric told me profusely how thrilled he was to have a young American find Saint-Hélier, and that he would see us again on Sunday. I cannot express the warmth that was shown to me from this parish, nor how much it meant to be with them in their hidden, peaceful place. It was beautiful in a way that I believe can only spring from what is simple and humble, and it was filled with a goodness that is untouchable even by a chaotic world.