Friday, September 29, 2017

Pierre de Mareuil, chaplain extraordinaire

Catching up with a friend after 20 years at the conclusion of a 9 hour Seattle/Paris flight is a lesson in humility. I am always pale and crumpled when I come out of such flights, and tired enough to feel I am floating inside my own body… And I have not got any younger, obviously, since the end of the last century, which is the time I was a student with Pierre at the Faculté protestant de théologie in Paris.

Pierre is a chaplain at the Charles de Gaulle airport and he looks surprisingly like the Pierre I knew. Same bright smile, same slender figure with long legs that now allow him to walk by lost souls and guide them to their boarding gate and/or the shore of spiritual solace. We arranged our meeting via Facebook messenger.

" You did not change at all!" he declared, establishing in one sentence that he was both a tactful gentleman and a heck of a liar.

We sat together for  breakfast in the vast cafeteria reserved for staff.


Pierre is fluent in English. Irvin explained his work with the Presbyterian church (USA) where he supports Native churches in the country. Pierre asked us if we knew about the Toba Indians.

Pierre spent a year in Argentina as a student and that’s where he learned about this Native tribe. They discovered the Gospel through a travelling missionary who shared his passion for Jesus with them.

The missionaries that came later expected to teach those Natives everything they should know. Instead, they were welcomed with very specific requests. “We are already organized in parishes but we need to learn more about the Bible.”

“The Tobas are our missionaries. We learn about the Gospel from them!” commented one of them, impressed by their faithfulness.

Pierre wrote his Master dissertation on the Tobas, and in English! Irvin and I are looking forward to reading it.

Pierre is not on his own in this airport that covers 25 miles. An imam, a rabbi, a priest and several pastors team up to look after the travelers and those who work there, sometimes walking miles and miles so they can be where they can be supportive.

Knowing they are present every day in the midst of stress, worry and possible dramas is comfort in itself. 

Thursday, September 28, 2017

The North Wind and the Pendleton blanket.

Being the pastor officiating at your niece’s wedding provides unbelievable privileges! For instance, you get to present your gift during the ceremony!

Ok, it is not exactly the way it happened….

Irvin and I concluded the ceremony with a Native tradition: a Pendleton blanket that is being wrapped around the young couple, a warm symbol of the comfort they bring to each other from now on.

Credit Doug Crawford


Then Irvin and I blessed them with a prayer said first by Irvin, that I translated in French afterward.
  
Now for you the North wind does not blow; You are shelter to one another.

Now for you there is no hunger; each brings what the other needs.

Now for you there is no darkness; You have learned to see with the heart.

Now for you there is no loneliness; Two have become one.

Credit Marie-Laure Mourier 


The blanket is made of thick wool. Before we headed back to the US, Julie and Quentin told us they tried it and appreciated how warm it was. 

“It is true, the North Wind does not reach us anymore, commented Quentin, tongue in cheek. We have the blanket now!”
 

Sunday, September 24, 2017

I was in France.

I was in France.

Rain was supposed to dominate the day and flooding risks had been mentioned. However, a bold sunshine was breaking through, transforming faces and the light around us.

My niece was standing in front of me – she had just come in with her Dad. She smiled to me. The pews of the Protestant church surrounded the altar. So many familiar faces around us, many smiles, a few movements.

A moment of absolute clarity, simple, pure. The fresh smile of a very young and wise couple.

I was dressed in pastoral authority, black robe and red stole. Yet, I understood two things.

I would not be able to speak without crying – but could not stay silent either.
Also, I was living one of the most beautiful moments of my life.

I was in France.

My roots, my maternal language – and the shift of not being “at home” anywhere – and yet, also at home, more than ever.

In Paris, in Burgundy, in Champagne, with the joy of the reunion, I was also catching up with myself and somehow was “re-membering” myself.  

I was in France.