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Worshipping in ParisThe service began to a low-key roll of drums. It was a song of praise led by a well-rehearsed musical group. It was an amazing service. I looked around and the age bracket was 20-35 on average. These people were obviously 'high-fliers'. My father, who is 86, and I, were two of the oldest people in the congregation. We were taken through an informal liturgy which generated a sense of reverence. The hymns were contemporary and every now and then the odd hand would be raised in adoration, but there was nothing at all which offended my Reformed sensibilities. This was not a happy-clappy-fall-around-as-you-like charismatic service. On the contrary, I felt a profound sense of the presence of God. 'When we got to the creed, I was surprised to hear the congregation recite the Athanasian Creed . . .: 'God of very God, light of light'. It was a beautiful and moving thing to hear these young people proclaiming their faith together. Then came the sermon. As a professor of theology, I was ready to grade the speaker, as if he were one of my students in our preaching classes. Above all, I would note any departures from Reformed doctrine. This is a deplorable attitude to have in church, I know, but it is almost second nature to me. The readings from Revelation 20 and John 5 boded well. Surely no liberal would take texts like this! Then the young pastor got up and told us that he had preached in the preceding weeks on heaven and on hell and that now he was going to speak to us on judgment! The message was direct and lacked any fuddy-duddy language. The outline of the sermon was screened by an overhead projector. John 5.16-30 in three points: 1. others judge Jesus, 2. Jesus judges others, 3. Jesus is the final judge. The message came over loud and clear: we can think what we want about Jesus and God, but the important thing is what he thinks about us. Where do we stand? By our response to him now we know the outcome of the final judgment. From the start of the sermon, I had stopped being a professor of theology and I had become a Christian, confronted with the final outcome of my own life. The preacher gave illustrations of those who had given their life to God in Paris - St. Denis and Calvin! My father and I left the service realising that here in the heart of Paris we had heard the gospel and we were glad. We walked past the Versace boutique next to the church and down the Faubourg St. HonorŽ, past the displays of Yves St. Laurant, Coty, Guerlain, etc. Perfumes, dresses and shoes were selling for thousands of francs - we could tell that because the prices were not marked! But it all seemed so futile next to what we had heard about the glory of the risen Saviour. That was a price that was marked up for all to see - God paid the price for our salvation with the life of his own Son, the Lord Jesus. Secret griefAnd I, who have been teaching theology in France for 30 years now, carried a secret grief in my heart. A mourning and a yearning at the same time. Why, in Paris, were these English and not French young people? Why did this have to happen in the rue d'Agusseau at St. Michael's Anglican Church? Why not in a French Reformed church? Why could I not preach a sermon like that without becoming an object of hatred in the French Reformed churches? Where are there Reformed churches in France which worship with such reverence and such feeling? Why are my former students not building churches like this? My heart bleeds for France and for her people. Why? Oh why? Lord, will you not convert France? France is such a proud nation and always wants her own way! This spirit of pride - we do not need or want God - is what stops the advance of the gospel in France. It is bred into the soul of every French kid, Catholic, Muslim, Protestant or whatever, who has gone through the French educational system. I know it because I have helped my kids through it and they have been able to surface. We have to hope that Islam does not break this pride before the freedom of the gospel does. Paul Wells, © Evangelicals Now - February 2001 |