Epiphanie du Seigneur

We rose bright and early for Sunday mass because we have to take a bus to St. Pierre in Arianne. Never mind that the Dome of the Basilica towers a few yards from us and there’s a Latin mass at noon. I can follow Latin, but not French without my missel. However, St. Pierre is where we volunteer to prepare food and feed the hungry in the streets.

So up we go and get on the bus with not one native Frenchman in it. This is a 25-minute ride to the outskirts of Nice where immigrants live. There’s a lively mix of families from Morrocco, Tunisia, Algiers, etc. who look like they’re on their way to worship in one of the many mosques in Arianne. Roy said he heard 47 ( maybe more like 4-7 ). Anyway they sure outnumber the only Catholic Church in the area. The younger set who did not want to be seen with their parents tend to sit together with their iPhones and other devices, dressed like their French peers, but wearing headscarves. An identity crisis of some sort.
There was no one at church when we arrived, it was cold as all European churches who don’t want to bother heating century- old buildings are. We started looking around when here comes Pere Patrick, the saintly cure of St. Pierre. He’s short and rotund, never without a smile on his face, in spite of walking with a limp as a result of a stroke he suffered a couple of years ago. He welcomed us with two-cheek kisses like old friends, then took us to the rectory where we caught up with his dear Mama (they’re Italian) and Michelle, a volunteer we knew from the old days. From what I could gather in my minimal French, there is a new group of young members (former addicts, felons, homeless street walkers ) who now reside in the communaute. They’re rehabilitated, help in building maintenance, serve at mass, and get counseling, food and shelter. We were told that the number of clients have doubled since we were there last. But they have been blessed with generous donations in money and in kind, one of which was a bus from no less than Albert himself, the Prince of Monaco. This will replace the ancient one called Bus Chapelle which has been designed with an altar to celebrate masses on the street. By the way, Pere Patrick mentioned us at mass for coming back as volunteers for MIR. 👏. Quite humbling, really. One of the many things I noticed while learning French is the disconnect between the oral and written forms. Par example, while I was following the Lector with my French missel, I could have sworn that she compressed the entire letter of Paul to the Tessalonians in 27 syllables! There was way too much text there that I didn’t hear. When I tried to follow the hymns, they added extra sounds that were not written in – to sync with the notes, I’m guessing. It’s a bit confusing, don’t you agree?

Bear with me, as I was told by my tech support from NY, it’s not the fault of tech, it’s user-error. But hey, I was able to insert some pictures this time, not where I want them, but it is what it is.