Toussaint

Yesterday was yet another Catholic holiday that French people religiously observe in their own special way. And by 'special way', I mean 'in no way whatsoever related to the Catholic faith'.

For an American evangelical like myself Toussaint (All Saints' Day) can come across as a bit strange. Evangelicals don't believe there is a spiritual bond between the dead and the living. Or if they do, it just never really comes up. When you die you'll see those who went before, but in the meantime, you're on your own. And if you want to pray to someone, The Man Upstairs is the only one worth talking to.

Observant Catholics, on the other hand, commemorate those who have died and gone to heaven, maybe even praying to them. In the case of atheistic France, this tradition is inverted: the French take the day off to spend time with the living. They often relax or buy things together.

In truth, it's the buying things that crosses the line into heresy for several French friends of mine. They remember how everything was closed when they were younger, and so react with surprise and disappointment at the large number of open shops these days. The sacredness of leisure time must be protected at all costs. Death, after all, comes to us all, and the only thing between it and us that is worthwhile will happen when we're not working.

In 2006, the last time I was living in France, I took advantage of my leisure time occasioned by this atheistic transmutation of a Catholic holiday to travel over large parts of France on a Eurail pass.On Toussaint, I just happened to find myself visiting the magnificent Chartres Cathedral. When I realized there was a mass in progress, I sat down and observed it as best as I could, given the differences in language and tradition. I went as a tourist, but ended up as more of a pilgrim.

This year, unfortunately, I missed the Toussaint mass. To assert my believing credentials, though, I stopped by a church for a few minutes after lunch to pray. I noticed a few people entering and lighting candles in the corner. I had never lit a candle for the dead before, but yesterday it just seemed like a good thing to do. I though of those with faith who had gone before me. I lit the candle. I prayed a little. I'm honestly not sure what the candle means, but that recognition of those who are no longer with us--something missing from the culture I grew up with--seemed well deserved.

After lighting the candle, I left the church and walked down the street to a beautiful corner café, where I spent the afternoon reading and sipping beer. Believers can enjoy leisure time too.