le messe, more appropriately "the mess"

I've been trying to go to church for the past month and have failed miserably. Paulina was in the same boat as me and we made it our mission to get to Sunday mass. She had found a church just down the block from us, which means it is hidden down a European side street where you could quite possibly never be able to find it again.

The mass was scheduled to start at 10h, but when we got there the doors were locked. I knew no one in France really went to church, but I was thinking "Really, they just STOPPED having a mass here?" We decided to give it a few minutes, and during our wait a woman walked up with her children and went through the same bizarre attempt to enter as we did.

We asked her what her plan of attack was and she gave us directions to the cathedral. Through the park, tous droit, tous droit, tous droit. We had no idea how long of a walk 3 "stay straights" equaled, but we headed off in what we thought was the right direction. After about five to ten minutes, we can across what was clearly a large, stone, Catholic church. Definitely the cathedral, right? What else could it be, since we followed the directions?

The woman had said that mass was slated to start at 11h, so we sat down to wait for the doors, which were also locked, to open and begin letting people in. No one came. 10h50. No one. 10h58. No one. 11h. Un petit vieux couple français. The couple was too cute and too old to have ever learned Engish (the case with most of the people in our town- it's perfect). They explained that the cathedral was having a special internation mass this week, and it must be the only one for the day. Waaaait, this ISN'T the cathedral?

Oh, no, the man explained, it's just around the... and before he had finished his thought, he'd opened the car doors and ushered us inside. We were explaining why we are here and listening to an old French woman yell at her husband for his driving before we really understood where we were headed.

When we arrived at the cathedral, it was clear that there was no way we could ever have continued straight enough to find it. The front is completely covered in scaffolding, the back is hidden by buildings and there are no signs. It is, however, right by the pub we frequent, so finding it again will not be a problem. I can imagine the true soccer supporters stopping by before the final last night.

The inside of the church is beautiful, but completely painted by an impressionist to appear decorated on the ceiling and walls. It was distracting through the mass, as was the fact that the French was spoken at warp speed. I managed to snag over half of what was going on, and I'm anxious to get back and read the gospel and the readings on my own, to see how much I really understood.

I can't wait to see what religious adventure we have next week. That effort should earn me some brownie points with the big guy, right?

closing note: the sign of the cross is so much cooler in French. le père, le fils et l'esprit sant (not sure on the spelling. i'll get back to you.)