Singing a Prayer in a Paris-diocese.


On the way to the Canadian Embassy in Paris to get my new passport we took a little detour from the regular route and saw a golden cross on an ancient building way up high.  “Cool, lets go and take a quick peek,” I said to Patricia! Knowing how much I love looking at old churches she grabbed my wrist and put it up to her eye level to note my watch and said, “Do we really have time?” We didn’t have much time, but  I responded in a matter-of-fact manner, “Of course we do!”
We lit towards the church and saw a narrow passage, thinking it would lead to some big door to the inside we took it. The door was there, but locked shut. We followed the passage way and entered the courtyardPat'lldaArmeeniane to a large wall painting that caught our eye. I was mesmerised by it.  As I took a photo of Patricia, a young man came out of a door and asked in French, “Would you like to see the church?” Immediately I smiled and asked, “Can we?”

He unlocked the same large door we had passed, turned on the lights and explained how he was a deacon for five years in this church built around 1904. He had a quick smile and a slight speech impediment that kind of made me feel more at ease. He said on Saturdays the place would be packed. We went inside to see gorgeous carpets covering the floor and the altar area, above a single but wonderful basilica style of ceiling.

Then I saw stairs. I see stairs and I want to go up. “Can we?” I asked. And up to the second floor we went, I was disappointed that the organ was locphoto 2 copyked away. So we looked down below, chairs, lots, lonely empty chairs.  And above. Chandeliers. And a majestic fresco of Jesus.

We went down again and entered a small side prayer room. After some more get-to-know-you conversation, I said to the young Armenian man, “Do you want to pray together?” He said, “Oui.” I reached out my hand to pray and immediately he walked out of the prayer room. We followed. He grabbed a book by the altar, flipped it open and then and there without any explanation he sang, in loud baritone voice, an ancient prayer in Armenian. I bowed my head immediately. A holy moment for Patricia and I.  I knew the song-prayer was over when his long ‘Aaaamen’ slowed to a finishing low note. Without missing a beat I knew it was my turn to pray. And so I began my spoken prayer, almost a whisper, and thanked my God for brotherhood made possible by Jesus. I thanked my God for his love for all nations. I thanked the God of creation for the beauty of this young man with a voice thick with passion.

petedaArmenianAs we left through the same door that we entered I said to him, “Thanks for that moment. We truly are brothers!” He smiled largely, “They say there is only one God and therefore we all are brothers.” I thought of the profoundness of that simple faith statement. We are all brothers.