Saturday evening, I attended the final season performance of the Centre de Musique de Chambre de Paris, a kind of experimental concert concept in chamber music. The warm and intimate Salle Cortot was packed. The music was great, the animateur was funny, the audience festive and responsive. We ended the evening with everyone singing a French tongue twister from the Offenbach operetta La Belle Hélène (at least my tongue was twisted). A French audience and one crazy American all singing about Agamemnon. What a hoot. My seat neighbor told me that these recitals were like a community event, and that the audience/benefactors and young performers were a kind of family. God was up to something at the Salle Cortot that evening, and I was glad to be a part of it.
Sunday morning, on my way to Eucharist, I saw a half-dozen people still dressed in nightclub attire getting into limos. I’m not sure how Paris nightlife works (in Rome some clubs are open all night), but I did wonder what God might be up to here. What stories might Jesus have listened to on the street, in the limos, that morning? The best I could offer was prayer around the question as I continued to church.