XXXIGOING TO CHURCH IN PARIS
There are not many Protestant churches in Paris, because there are not many Protestants; and of the vast throng of Americans who visit Paris every summer, I suppose, comparatively speaking, only a few go to church. The average tourist does not visit Paris with the idea of entering churches except as a sight-seer. Yet the American Church of Paris with the Rev. Dr. Joseph Wilson Cochran as pastor, is a flourishing institution. The auditorium is filled every Sunday morning, and the whole work of the church in its Sunday school, Boy Scouts, classes for students, charitable enterprises, etc., is so active and successful that a new edifice has been found necessary. They are erecting a fine church in a splendid location on the Quai D’Orsay; the steel frame is already in place and by another year the building should be complete. Then there is also the American Cathedral church of the Holy Trinity, St. Luke’s Chapel, the Catholic church of St. Joseph, the Methodist Memorial church, the Baptist tabernacle, the First Churchof Christ Scientist, and the Second Church of Christ Scientist.
Now I go to church not reluctantly, because I think I ought to, or from any sense of duty, still less from the Pharasaical attempt to set an example to my less godly neighbours. I go to church because I enjoy going, because I really want to go, because the Christian church is my spiritual home.
Last Sunday I attended the French Protestant church of the Oratoire, in the rue St. Honoré. The attitude of the clergy and laity in this church is very similar to that of the Rev. Dr. Harry Emerson Fosdick and his congregation in New York. Last Sunday the big church was well filled, and the services, with the single difference that everything was in the French language, were similar to those of any evangelical Protestant church in America. There was no ritual. The prayers were extempore, and among the hymns sung was the familiar one with the familiar tune, “Lord, I Hear of Showers of Blessing,” which was just as good in French as in English.
I felt that I was among my own people, the kind with which I grew up, although there were very few Americans present. The French audience seemed to be composed of the same sortthat one sees in any Methodist or Baptist church in America. The pastor preached on the parable of the sower, and explained to the audience the significance of the evangelical Protestant church, as distinguished from the more formal and ritualistic Catholic institution. The Catholics provide beautiful music, a dignified ritual, which is very impressive, he said; “but we appeal not to the eye and the ear, but to the mind and the heart.” I do not think he meant to be antagonistic to the Catholics; he was trying to make his congregation see that there was a good reason for attending church, even though the service might have little or no appeal to the senses.
It was peculiarly interesting for me to hear this aspect of religious worship emphasised, for on the preceding Sunday in London I attended service in an Anglo-Catholic church, where the preacher was the Rev. T. P. Fry, the husband of the famous novelist, Sheila Kaye-Smith. His sermon emphasised only one thing, the Blessed Sacrament. He dwelt on its supreme importance, on its immense significance, of what it should mean to every one who partakes of it. The service was beautiful, with an elaborate ritual, and it was clear that the preacher thought of only one thing—the Mass.
The English novelist, Compton Mackenzie, has recently written a trilogy of novels dealing at great length and with much detail with the life and career of a young English priest. Mr. Mackenzie, like G. K. Chesterton and Maurice Baring, has entered the Catholic church, and while these three novels,The Altar Steps,The Parson’s ProgressandThe Heavenly Ladder, are frankly Catholic propaganda, I found them interesting and valuable, because I was brought up in the extreme Protestant point of view, and it is important for me to hear and if possible to understand something quite different. Mr. Mackenzie’s young parson says that he does not care if he never succeeds in preaching a good sermon. His only interest is to give the congregation the Blessed Sacrament.
An excellent Catholic lady once said to me, “You do not understand our religion,” I answered, “You must not sayreligion; your religion is my religion. We have exactly the same religion. What I do not fully understand is your form of worship, the significance of the various parts of your ritual.”
It is a matter of great rejoicing that the old antagonism between Catholics and Protestants has so largely disappeared. It is unfortunate that any irritation or misunderstanding shouldremain. In a world so full of vice, so full of scepticism, and above all so full of indifference to religion, there should be not the slightest shade of hostility between adherents of Christianity. We should not be divided in the presence of implacable foes.
A magnificent example of the true Christian spirit was given at the beginning of this century by one of the greatest men of modern times, Pope Leo XIII. He publicly offered prayer for the restoration to health of Queen Victoria of England. When one thinks of the historic antagonism, that was a noble and truly religious act.
Once in the cathedral at Cologne, during Mass, I sat between a devout German Catholic and an American tourist. The German bowed, knelt, crossed himself; the American used a pair of opera glasses, as if he were at a spectacular play. I should like to have given to my countryman a little pamphlet written by a Catholic priest, calledWhat Are They Doing at the Altar?so that he might have understood what was going on, and at least have shown some reverence.
There is one important thing that we Protestants ought to learn from our Catholic friends. Many Protestants go to church just to hear a sermon, and if the preacher is in bad form thatmorning, they feel disappointed, almost aggrieved, as if they had gone to the movies and the pictures happened to be poor.
Going to church ought not to be merely passive; to go and see if the minister can entertain us. It should be a community service, where the audience participates and where spiritual refreshment and stimulation may be obtained. If we go to church merely to hear a popular preacher, then we might as well stay at home and read a popular book. The feeling of actual participation is the supreme need of the Protestant church today; not more clever preachers, but a genuine hunger in the congregation for spiritual nourishment.