Oh brother (and sister) in Christ, where art thou?

As I’ve written before, the “fellowship” aspect of my Christian walk is sorely lacking these days. I mean, REALLY. Before my departure, I thought I’d be okay with just the one-on-one God time in Paris, but as it turns out, fellowship really drives me. I THRIVE on interaction with other believers; we don’t even have to be deep into the Word, but the joy in their lives inspires me.

I woke up early this morning to worship at the American Church in Paris, an interdenominational, English-speaking church. The Web site tells me that the church was the first American church established on foreign soil, begun in 1814. The current chapel on the Quai D’Orsay (yes, right next to the Musée D’Orsay) was built in 1930, and it is SO ornate. It really rivals Notre Dame: GORGEOUS stained glass, intricate woodwork, and superb Gothic architecture.

Though entirely impressed with the church building, I was a little disappointed with the service. It was VERY, VERY formal (and at 2.5 hours with no A.C., it felt very, very LONG). It was so full of formal ceremonies, and they followed a really rigid agenda, and the pastor only spoke for a few minutes… I don’t know, it all felt a little sterile. I guess I was hoping for something more sincere and in-depth.

You know, I also happen to like it when church is FUN (whoa). It doesn’t HAVE to be a laugh fest all the time or anything; seriousness DEFINITELY has its place in the church. I take Christ’s gift of grace to me very seriously. But the love of our Lord for us is CERTAINLY something to REJOICE about! The Christian life is about living ABUNDANTLY, which in my mind means it’s okay to crack a smile once in a while. I don’t think many people I was worshiping with got the memo.

There was this one neat part during the service when the pastor was trying to baptize this baby, and the baby’s mother was holding him (the baby, not the pastor), and the little guy would NOT stop crying. Then as soon as the pastor held the baby and began to pray over him, he instantly stopped crying. I don’t know, I thought that was cool.

Less neat was the time I mistook the formal “Peace be with you” ceremony as “Say ‘hi’ to your neighbor” time. Apparently I was just supposed to know that when the pastor said “Now greet others with peace” and motioned for us to rise, I wasn’t ACTUALLY supposed to greet them. I turned to the austere Asian man to my left, stuck out my hand, and said loudly, “GOOD MORNING, I’m Katie!” to which he merely said, “Peace be with you,” and shook my hand really timidly and loosely, like I was Germ Queen or something. I mean, I guess he said something really nice, but I felt like I had been dissed. And it didn’t help that EVERYONE around me decided to then glare at the loud girl (me) who didn’t know that “Greet others” didn’t actually mean “Greet others.”

Also, if I ever start a church, I will never, EVER do the “New people stand so everyone can stare at you” ritual. I HATE it when churches do that! I’m sure whoever came up with that idea had the best of intentions, and it would work well if church members actually did come up and welcome you after the service, but in my experience, no one ever does.

So alas, the church search continues. It will be really easy to say “Eh, I’m only here for three more Sundays, is it really that important to go to church?” so if you don’t mind, pray that I’ll stick with it. And pray that I’ll be successful and find a vibrant church in Paris.

Peace be with you,

Kate