Nantes.
Wrapped up warm in my navy blue jacket with a detachable fleece inside (two coats for the price of one!), I set off for the tram stop Recteur Schmidt (really make the R as guttural as possible in Recteur). Waiting at the tram stop were some other students, mostly on my side, heading into the centre of Nantes. Getting on at the back (where there's usually more room), I looked around in vain for a seat. Never mind - it was more important that I was near the door for getting off, as the trams could get really busy at 5.30.
Jolted out of my reverie by the cheery announcement of "Saint Mihiel" (which I always thought sounded like she was saying "Holy Honey"), I squeeze past the young black woman with the huge handbag and the old biddie with the tons of shopping, repeating "Pardon!" the whole time. I really couldn't seem to lose that British way of apologising profusely for my existence.
Marching on the double, as I always seemed to cut it fine, I managed to cross the bridge when there were no cars and get across the mini-roundabout at the other side. Cutting through a small courtyard and then heading right towards Saint Clément, where Daily Mass was said at 6.30pm (the principal Sunday Mass was said in a school chapel called Saint Stanislas). Usually by this point I can hear the bells ringing 6pm, and so I'd quietly recite the Angelus as I made my way to the church.
Arriving at the church, I sit about 10-15 rows from the front. Sometimes I would sit closer to the altar if I really wanted to have a good look at what's going on. Usually, by this point there were at least 4 or 5 people already there, and sometimes when I arrived earlier I could hear them sitting in the apse, where the lady chapel was, reciting the rosary together. By 6pm, there was already one of the two priests sitting in a dim confessional halfway down the left hand side of the church. The whole church was still in relative darkness, with only a light at the tabernacle and perhaps one or two on in the sanctuary. Most of the time I would go to confession before Mass, where the priests were gentle but firm in their advice, and wholly orthodox, naturally. If there were not many there, the priest hearing confessions would come out of the confessional and sit, presumably saying the office. I always noted what they were wearing. Both priests only ever seemed to wear cassocks, and then for confession a surplice and the purple stole. Like statues of Saint John Vianney. This was particularly poignant considering that this took place during the Year of Priests.
At 6.30pm, a bell would ring and everyone would stand up for the priest to come in from the side, flanked with one or two young servers. I always loved this bit because it was one of the best opportunities to get a good look at the priest's vestments. And then Mass would begin.
Most people are at least vaguely familiar now with what a TLM is like or looks like, so I'm just going to mention the bits that really stand out in my memory.
First of all, the silence. The silence allowed by a Low Mass allows the mysteries which take place to really sink in. It is like I then had the ability to offer to God my heart of stone and for Him to put in me a heart of flesh. It also helped me to be (more) aware of the heavenly dimension of mass, in that I could almost hear the choirs of angels praising God for us, providing heavenly song. This can only be heard when we shut up.
Secondly, the sobriety of the whole thing. The priest and the servers got on with their service to God without drawing attention to themselves. Mass was worshipping God. They were not po-faced about it either, but just had a quiet determination and concentration on their face that showed they were trying to give their best in the service of God. Because of that determination and concentration, a certain joy seemed to radiate from them as well.
Thirdly, and related to the previous two things, the solemnity of the consecration. The near silence apart from the quiet sound of the priest saying the canon quietly and the gentle rustle of his heavy vestments was cut through by the dignified and laudatory ringing of the bell. Ring! The priest genuflects. Ring! The priest elevates the host. Ring! The acclamation of Saint Thomas "My Lord and my God!" could almost be heard from everyone, though perhaps no one said anything. Ring! The priest places our Lord back on the altar. Ring! He genuflects to our Lord again. And then again. Ring! The priest genuflects to the Lord. Ring! Ring! Ring! The chalice is elevated, with the servers lifting up the priest's chasuble as though it's weighing him down. Ring! Another genuflexion.
Finally, communion. Going forward and kneeling to receive the Lord, hearing "Corpus Domini nostri Jesu Christi custodiat animam tuam in vitam aeternam" and then receiving the Lord, was always one of the most beautiful moments. Yet even though I was receiving in the best posture, I still never felt fully prepared to receive. The priest always came by faster than I expected. I suppose this is normal. I mean, WHO can be prepared to receive Jesus Christ, our Lord and God??? It's unfathomable. Yet there He is, giving Himself to us weary and wandering people, whom He loves. By receiving it this way, it highlighted what everyone had just said a few minutes earlier - "Domine, non sum dignus..." In this sense, I was really able to see how kneeling to receive can make us humbler in our reception, as we realise that we are never really worthy, but since God wants us to receive Him, we should do our best to receive Him as humbly as possible.
And so Mass then finished quickly after Communion, in the same sober manner as the rest. After Mass, I hoped I could take the little experience of heaven and live it out in the world, with that strong Nantais wind blowing in my face.
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