Today is St. Jean-Baptiste Day, La Fête Nationale du Québec. Our reading about this holiday taught us that in the early Christian days in France, a pagan holiday close to the summer solstice, characterized by fires lit at night (by the king himself!) during the longest days, became converted to a feast day for St. John the Baptist. In New France, the first recorded celebrations of the day took place in 1638 - and they were primarily religious. After the defeat of the French by the British, the celebration of St-Jean-Baptiste Day became overladen with patriotic feeling, and was, for a time, banned. The Societe de St. Jean-Baptiste was formed in 1843, specifically to lobby for the celebration of the holiday. On June 24, 1880, that society held a gathering of the froncophone community across the province and commissioned the hymn "O Canada" (which became the national anthem in 1980.) The pope made St. Jean-Baptiste the patron saint of Quebec in 1908. Now it is a Quebec holiday similar to July 4 in the U.S. with parades and fireworks; the religious celebrations were largely ignored after the Quiet Revolution in the 1960s.
In Montréal this weekend, there are lots of ways to party: Madonna was here for two concerts, the Grand Prix takes place today and tomorrow, there is a big parade at noon and fireworks tonight, and we've received two invitations to barbeques. Early this morning I took a bike ride through the mostly-empty, holiday streets nearby, watching a few restauranteurs polish glassware and shopkeepers sweep the streets. A homeless man still slept on a park bench, and a group of boys who had clearly been out all night hung out in front of a cafe just openign for breakfast. When I rode past the huge Eglise St.-Jean-Baptiste, though, I noticed a sign advertising a "traditional mass for St. Jean-Baptiste" at 10:00 am, with an hour-long prelude on the grand Casavant organ, the mass to be presided over by M. le Cardinal Jean-Claude Turcotte, the Cardinal of Montréal. This was too fascinating an opportunity to pass up, so I came home, changed my clothes, and biked back to the church.
I've never been in this dark, huge church when there were more than a handful of concert attendees or worshipers, so I was astounded to find it brightly lit and packed. I asked if I could sit up in one of the balconies and was directed there by a friendly usher. At 10:00, the church's bells began to peal, and the congregation got to its feet: a procession of white-robed priests and bishops, and finally, the cardinal himself, smiling beneficently, entered the church from the back, while a quartet of professional singers led us in the Chant d ouverture, which I found extremely beautiful and managed to join in haltingly, in French: "Nous sommes le corps du Christ/ chacun de nous est un membre de ce corps./ Chacun reçoit la grâce de l'Esprit pour le bien du corps entier./ Chacun reçoit la grâce de l'Esprit pour le bien du corps entier." (We are the body of Christ/ each of us is a member of this body/ each receives the grace of the Spirit for the good of the whole body.) Nearly the whole service was sung by this quartet with the congregation joining in the verses and refrains.
I'm not Catholic and have only attended a few masses in my life, though our Anglican services are much the same. I was impressed with the warmth of the Cardinal and the obvious affection he has for his flock of Montrealers, and vice versa (mirrored by the use of the familiar "tu" whenever God was addressed); and touched by the sincerity of the worship: the simple prayers, the continuation of tradition which seemed to matter a great deal to the people attending, some of whom were clearly dyed-in-the-wool French Québecois, and others clearly immigrants; and the general good-natured happiness of the whole event, which felt quite like a birthday party for someone well-loved. At the time of passing the peace, I exchanged greetings - "La paix du Seigneur" - with the people around me. And though I hadn't planned to, at the last minute I took communion, even though I guess I'm technically not supposed to. The gilded roof didn't fall in!
At the close of the service, ushers bearing huge baskets of little breads came out of the side chapels and lined the front of the church. The cardinal and priests came forward and blessed the breads, while the quartet and congregation sang: "Seigneur; viens bénir notre pain. Et nourris tous ceux qui ont faim. Donne faim de justice á ceux qui ont du pain. Seigneur, viens bénir notre pain." (lord, come bless our bread. And feed all those who are hungry. Give hunger for justice to those who have bread. Lord, come bless our bread.) I was sure I was witnessing a long, long tradition. The cardinal told us to receive our petits pains at the back of the church on our way out, and to share them with others later today. I'll take mine to the barbeque this afternoon, and see if there is an appropriate moment to tell the story and break the bread with my friends, who happen to be an Episcopal priest and his wife, formerly Irish and Italian American Catholics. And then, very late, we'll join the rest of the city at the fireworks!
(Please click on the photo for a considerably larger version)
What wonderful ways to celebrate the solstice! It's a bit like Juhannus (St. John's Day in Finland). Though I've only experienced it a few times in Scandinavia, I do miss having some kind of celebration here in Canada. In my childhood, the tiny Finnish community in Manitoba would celebrate at someone's cottage or a beach. An interesting mix of secular, rooted in paganism, mixed with a saint's day. And I love your description of the Catholic service, it reminds me of many years ago attending a Christmas Eve service with Catholic friends that we were visiting. Beauty in traditions! Bonne Fête to you and J!
Posted by: marja-leena | June 24, 2006 at 03:56 PM
Sounds lovely. & a terrific picture!
Posted by: dale | June 24, 2006 at 10:14 PM