July 17: "Chansons" in Church, and Fleeing the Flea Market

We try most Sundays to maintain a habit of attending church. Beth sourced out that Hillsong has a church planted in Paris, and they have a midday service that includes English translation. The church meets in a space that doubles as a concert and theatre venue, and has capacity for at least 300 people.

Beth asked the greeter straight away how the translation worked, and we were directed to a desk in the foyer area, where we signed out some portable devices with headphones. (They were very much like the devices we were given when we attended a huge church in Bogotá, Colombia with the McLean family in 2019.) With these we could hear the sermon translated, although the kids were not impressed with the audio quality.

The music was loud and rocking, in the Hillsong style, with songs presumably composed by the Hillsong machine. Each lyric on the screen included the English translation. My suspicion is these were composed originally in English, and then translated into many other languages including French. (Thane and I had some prior exposure to this when we travelled to Ukraine in 2017; we recognized the Hillsong melody, but the lyrics were in Ukrainian.)

Sermon based on Matthew 7 - end of Jesus’s sermon on the mount, where He told a parable about wise man building house on rock, while the foolish man builds his house on sand. From Proverbs, a foolish man is the one who says there is no God, whereas wisdom begins with fear (reverence) of the Lord. Just before this parable in Matthew, Jesus talks about those who will call out “Lord, Lord!” and state “didn’t we prophesy and cast out demons in your name?”, but Jesus states “I never knew you”. In Luke’s version of this parable, there is an added line that the wise man had to dig deep to reach the rock foundation. It seems that ‘digging deep’ in our relationship with Jesus - to know Him and be known by Him - is the key to wisdom. It is that depth of relationship that will help us stand firm through the inevitable storms of life.

There’s lots to appreciate about Hillsong, and at the same time, likely a few things to be uncomfortable about. With upbeat contemporary music and atmosphere, they know how to draw a crowd, particularly of young people. Thane and Luke felt very attracted to this place. For the most part, the lyric content and the service seems theologically sound too, although we have talked to people back home who challenge whether we should be singing Hillsong music due to alleged ‘false gospel’ teaching. Deliberate time spent corporately praying for specific prayer requests during the service is wonderful, although is it necessary to have it emotionally ramped up with soundtrack from the band? And the weekly altar call, where the pastor asks all to close their eyes while inviting those to start a relationship with Jesus to raise their hand to identify themselves as new Christians, is there really a hand raised every week? The pastor always seems to say “I see you, thank you” to somebody…

The church/theatre was located within a larger mall. We found some snacks there: some more baguette chicken sandwiches plus some smoothie/shakes. Beth peeked in another dress shop - more upscale than in the neighbourhood of our flat, they even had change rooms. But nothing seemed to be the right fit; the search for a summer dress continues.

One of the curiosities Beth had identified when doing her Paris research was the Paris Flea Market (“Les Puces de St-Ouen”). It claims to be the largest antique market in the world!

We decided to check it out. While I suppose one could find the odd treasure here, it turns out it was a sprawling area of stalls hawking mostly junk and/or knock-off clothing (trying to be passed off as original brand name items).

We did buy a cheap pair of sunglasses for Luke, considering he had misplaced two pair already during this trip. We’ve got an unexpectedly high budget line for sunglasses so far. As of this writing, in addition to Luke’s lost ones, Faith has had two pair broken.

Lots of touristy places in the world have spots like this - “same-same, but different” - with stall after stall selling much the same things as each other. They are usually operated by relatively poor folks who don’t have much other opportunity to earn an income. However, these people who run the stalls are not the poorest souls. The stall operators at least have some real estate for their flea market shop. On the periphery of the stalls, many folks simply lay a blanket on the sidewalk to display their wares. Some blankets have an organized presentation, others not so much.

One hard to shake image was of a family - kids in tow for hours of heat wave, surrounded by garbage - sitting beside a blanket with a pile of disorganized, used, probably dated or broken electronic devices and pieces, presumably for sale. Where did the stock come from? Would they even know what the stuff is for? Will they make a single sale today? It seems to me such folks are one step away from panhandling.

The market was an assault to the senses and overstimulating. To some extent, that is a good summary of the Paris experience; it’s a city of extreme contrasts and complexities. One moment you are struck by the lavish beauty of preserved architectural works of art, of manicured gardens, of quaint narrow streets with inviting shops and cafes. Another moment you are struck by the filth of cigarette butts and smoke everywhere, of graffiti, of overflowing garbage cans, of vendors of ill repute trying to make a buck by acknowledging nothing as sacred. One moment you appreciate the ingenuity of so many alternate modes of transportation to driving, including bicycles, scooters, mopeds, trains and buses. Another moment you’re frustrated by when one or more of those systems stops working, or when you’re packed tight inside a Metro car like sardines. One moment you’re blown away by the dazzling array of food options available. Another moment you’re wondering how so many are begging for the means to pay for the food that is all around them.

Leaving the flea market, we buoyed ourselves with some cherries from a fruit stand, and we made our way back towards Montmartre from the north side. Up the long stairs again, we peaked at the Place du Tertre, famous for many artists doing portraits for tourists. Very tempting to take one up on their offer, but concluded we could hire a friend back home (e.g. John Vooys or Thane’s girlfriend Amelia) could do this for Faith instead after we get back. Thane got to see the Sacre Coeur Basilica after all, at least from outside. We confirmed our love lock is still in same place.

Beth and Reid had a date night while kids stayed behind at the flat to watch a sibs show on TV; eating pizza and pasta. We initially stopped at a local brasserie - the French version of a pub (the verb brasser means ‘to brew’ or ‘to mix’), but the setting felt too cramped and we were sick of tobacco smoke. We walked a couple more blocks and found a Chinese hot fondue pot place called “Fondue9”; not really classic French cuisine, but super yummy, and we ended up with our own private dining room!