All things French

When we moved from Boston to New Orleans in 2018, it was immediately clear we were not in New England anymore. Strangely, the biggest indicator wasn’t the tropical vegetation or lack of topography. It was that the English influence that undergirds American culture in most places just isn’t felt much here in the Gulf South.

History provides an explanation. This area was originally colonized as an extension of New France. When a fledgling United States purchased Louisiana in 1803, the Gulf South was home to an already developed and dynamic culture, one with French — and not English — roots.

Everything from architecture to language to religion reflects that. So does the French Quarter restaurant that occupies the 18th-century house of Mayor Nicholas Girod. In 1821, he famously offered refuge to Napoleon Bonaparte. Who knows what may have happened had the emperor not died that same year? But had he come, he would have enjoyed at least some familiarity with Louisiana state law, as it is based on the Napoleonic Code.

Suffice it to say that there is a lot of history behind the ongoing affection for France here. When President Macron visited New Orleans last year, he was greeted warmly — and it wasn’t just the temperatures.

Sometimes, however, our city’s deference to all things French takes an unexpectedly quirky and incongruous shape. The festive observances of Bastille Day here, for example, include a wreath laying ceremony and the singing of The Marseillaise at the city’s Joan of Arc statue. It’s more than a little ironic because St. Joan of Arc was a deeply devoted Catholic who led an army for the express purpose of securing a king on his throne, and French Revolutionaries banned religious orders, killed clergy, desecrated churches and executed the king and queen. Go figure.

Still, there is a lot to celebrate about French history and culture. The contributions of France to art, literature, music, dance, science, exploration, philosophy and human rights are remarkable. Add to those fashion, food, and a certain flair for living, and you have arrived at French identity — with one exception.

France has played an irreplaceable role in church history. On the threshold of the sixth century, the baptism of Clovis, first king of all the Franks, brought the Catholic faith to Western Europe. Ever since, France has been heralded as the “eldest daughter of the church.” Although she has not always been faithful, through the centuries, France has given us 16 popes and countless saints. The list is inexhaustible: martyrs like Irenaeus of Lyons, the Carmelites of Compiègne, and Isaac Jogues; visionaries like Margaret Mary Alacoque, Catherine Labouré, and Bernadette Soubirous; evangelists like Francis de Sales and Vincent de Paul; reformers like Bernard of Clairvaux; contemplatives like Charles de Foucault, and Thérèse of Lisieux; priests like Louis de Montfort and John Vianney; and lay models of holiness like Louis IX, Joan of Arc, and Louis and Zélie Martin. The history of France is inextricably intertwined with the story of our faith. To be French is to be Catholic. To be Catholic is to owe a debt to France.

All this is why the choices that were made by those who produced the 2024 Olympic Opening Ceremonies in Paris were as inauthentic as they were offensive. And yet, we should not be discouraged — not even about the state of the faith in France. An unprecedented surge in the number of adult baptisms — more than 12,000 — occurred this year in France. The annual Pentecost Pilgrimage from Paris to Chartres had a record 18,000-plus participants. And year two of the nine-year novena to St. Joan of Arc for the revival of Catholic faith in France is underway.

As Catholics, we should stand with our bishops and those around the world when they speak out against the open ridicule of our faith and the blasphemies of our times. But we should also resist the temptation to relegate any nation or people to the enemy. It is clear that God has not given up on France. We should remember to take into account all things French, not just some of them. And we can join the fray — from a distance — on our knees.

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