100 Churches 100 Sundays: Church #40. St. Joachim Cathloic Church. Palm Sunday 2015.

This is a church I have know about for a while. Even from the outside, I could tell that it must have a beautiful interior. It was conveniently located off the LRT line, and does not require you to be there for 8 am. It is technically just out the front door of my friends apartment. So you may be asking, why I have not featured this church sooner? One reason. All the sermons that are done at this church, including the Sunday one, are entirely spoken in French.

No English.

I went to church and didn't understand a word.

But that doesn't mean I didn't learn anything.

It only took a few steps in, to realize my suspicions were right, this place is amazing!

I am sure it must be comparable to the churches in Europe to some degree. It was just phenomenal!
And of coarse me being the absent minded person I am, forgot that today was Palm Sunday.

So not only have I never been to a palm Sunday service, I have no idea what it means. So after I went home a Googled it.Thinking back on this, I do remember reading about this in the book of Mark when I was in bible study.I am not normally one to go for referencing wiki, but I think they give a fairly detailed and interesting explanation as to what happened to Christ on palm Sunday, and how it is now celebrated. Enjoy.

Palm Sunday-What is it?

I can also tell you that I was not the only one there that did not speak french. That was apparent to me when I approached the basket of palm ferns that were take-by-donation. I could hear the little old ladies behind me asking each-other "What do we do?". I also noticed my share of people, that were also just kind of "going with it", and likely not understanding what was being said.

Some of you are probably wondering why I would go to a church where my language is not spoken? There is a few reasons.

#1. I wanted to get an understanding of what it might be like to be an invaded people having a new language and religion forced on them. I wanted to know what it is like to sit in a very strict and complex church service and not understand a word. Would one find any spiritual value in such a disconnected environment?

#2. I also wanted to draw attention to the fact that there are many people in this world that are forced to learn another language to know the salvation of Christ. There are thousands of dialects in the world but only a very small percentage of them have a bible in their language. Printers and translators have much more motivation to produce a bible in a language that 100,000 people speak vs, 5000. My old bible study leader, actually has a grandfather that has devoted his life to translating the bible into different languages. His ultimate goal is that all people, may one day be able read the word of God in their own tong. If you feel the need to support this cause, this is a link to at least one group that it working on it.

Global Bible Translation Initiative

#3. Some of you my be surprised to know this, but the third and final reason I took this on was to get a better understanding of what it must have been like to be my mother when she was a child and going to church. And yes, you guessed right, my mother spent years in a church with services that were not in English. Sadly I think she understood just as much from them as I did on palm Sunday here.Not much at all.

"Allez tout droit! Puis prennez à gauche!"

I am so lost....

Any who...

So this place still had a few surprises. It was pretty full, but not to the brim, about 100-125 people by my count. Most people came dressed for the event, many ladies in nice dresses and some old men in tuxedos. What took me by surprise was that a noticeable percentage of this churches attendants were African Canadian. Including the priest. Who was a large built man with a round face, and a jolly personality wearing decorated red and white robes. This man stood before the church and delivered a fantastic service in full francophone French.

The service began at the back of the church this time. The priest first blessed the remainder of the basket of palm leaves with holly water and said a verity of prayers. Then he and his clergymen walked in procession up the isle, splattering and blessing the crowd as they went. I enjoyed the experience despite the fact that it forces me to take off my glasses to remove the water drops. I find it to be very personal, to me that kind of experience makes me feel like I am blessed.

There were children at this service, counted roughly 18 heads, all very well done up in their Sunday best. And mostly of African Canadian ethnicity. It is apparent by the look on the Priest's face, that he is a man with a soft spot for children. But of coarse kids never really stop being kids. And as one can image, being 6 years old, being told to sit threw a catholic church service and being given a long pointy palm furn, swatting fights between siblings were inevitable. Thank God my mother didn't take me and my younger siblings to something like this when we were young. Between the three of us it would have been pure mayhem!

One of the nice parts of this is that it gave a lot of time for personal reflection and prayer. You got a lot more time to actually meditate and reflect vs trying to keep up with the service.

There was another interesting character I noticed. There was a man likely in his 50's and sitting in a back pew, all by his lonesome. Amongst all the well dressed attendants, this guy looked like he just cleaned the twigs out of his hair, and the wood chips off his jacket, and wondered into town for church. Or off the Game of Throne's film set.One or the other. He was a thinner man with a rough thick salt and pepper beard, hair was the same way but grown long and tied back into a ponytail. His jacket was oil skin hide with edges of fluffy shapera sticking out where the thick slabs of leather were stitched together. He wore blue jeans and light colour pointed cowboy boots stained by the salt in the melting snow. I watched him sit there in his relaxed and attentive silence. I can only imagine that this must being back some kind of memories for him, maybe that of his childhood? despite not getting a full view of his face at any point in the service, you could tell this was special to him. I am sure that until the end of my days never fail to be amazed at the people that the Lord calls.

When I walked into church today I made the decision that I was not taking communion. Nope. Not after what happened at the last Catholic church. Also considering the fact that I am in an environment that doesn't speak my language, It was far to risky. Yet when the time came, I didn't really have an option. At this service every pew stood up and went up to the front, in an almost assembly line type fashion. When my pew stood up, I was closest to the isle. The train was moving and I was going with it, weather I liked it or not! I managed to receive my rice cracker and white wine without issue. I found Pino Grigio to be an interesting choice for the wine. Not what I expected.

Communion was not the only awkward close call I had. There was also that part of the service where you are supposed to get up and shake hands and greet everyone. People were talking to me in full blown french and I just did the nod and smile. That and there was a moment after the service when I was taking photos, and a little girl run up to me and ask me something in french, I just stood there for a moment, and then she ran off to ask someone else.
Speaking of photos.