My Life with St. Joan and St. Thérèse - Chapter 1 (Third Edition)
How I met St. Joan of Arc
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All that stood outside the chapel was a small statue of a young medieval warrior, but I was transfixed. I had just graduated from high school in Guymon, Oklahoma, and our graduation trip took a small group of us to Mont Saint-Michel, the island stronghold off the coast of Normandy. It was our last day in France, the final day of a six-week cultural and language immersion program during which each of us had lived with families in Brittany, a region on the west coast of France which juts into the Atlantic Ocean. We would soon leave for Paris, spend one night there, and then fly back to the States.
Mont Saint-Michel is one of those places any traveler interested in history and culture would love to go, and our plan did not disappoint. The millennia-old monastery on top of the hill seems like a castle floating on the water, creating a dream-like glow when it is lit up at night. The spirituality of the place is something one feels in the air, having been fostered since the early Middle Ages.
For the record, Mont Saint-Michel is important from both a spiritual and military point of view. Its strategic location in the southern English Channel made it a fortress since ancient times. Its defenders in the 14th and 15th centuries put their stronghold to good use during the Hundred Years War between France and England. Although the alliance of the English with the Burgundians had solidified the English rule of Normandy and large parts of northern France, Mont Saint-Michel was never conquered.
By the dawn of the 15th century, the pressure from England on France had risen to a maximum. The French Dauphin withdrew to the south of the Loire, staying at the city of Chinon in search of protection within its walls. For the English, Orléans was now a high-value target because it was one of the major cities on the north bank of the Loire that remained loyal to the French Dauphin. Its capture would indeed open the way for the English troops to defeat the French forces and achieve ultimate control of France.
The fall of 1428 saw the English take siege of Orléans. The Dauphin was about to flee to Spain or allied Scotland. Defeat was in the air, but fate had another plan, for the French won a miracle at Orléans, and the English were forced to break the siege. They followed it up in turning the English away from the entire Loire Valley and by the coronation of Charles VII, the Dauphin, as the King of France in Rheims on July 17, 1429, only nine months after the English had been poised to win at Orléans. Throughout this period, Mont Saint-Michel, amidst English-occupied territory, remained unyielding. Accessed only by a land bridge at low tide, the fortress was almost impregnable, and its history is colorful and exciting.
Standing in front of the statue, I felt my passion was unique among the visitors that day. Our French teacher, Linda Bowling, was all over the place enthusiastically making sure our group was in order. Though everyone was active, I stayed with my eyes glued to the statue.
My interest in the figure overcame me, however, not from a denominational or religious angle, as most of the French Catholicism was lost on me. I grew up Protestant in the Bible Belt of the United States, and our family's religious roots went deep in the Methodist Church. My dad, an avid angler, had a fishing buddy in our Methodist pastor, and many were the rods and reels strengthening their friendship on their expeditions. The two of them even owned a boat, affectionately called the "Louie boat,” after the pastor’s first name.
Most of my friends belonged to various Protestant denominations. Guymon housed almost every Protestant church, with independent evangelical churches springing to life in the 1970s. The largest was the First Baptist Church, directly across the corner from our United Methodist Church. With all the variations, we didn't think much about denominations. Sharing church youth groups and occasional retreats were our social activities.
There was a little Catholic Church, but it existed on the fringe of my reality. I dimly recall being in a service (or Mass, as I later heard it called) there in sixth or perhaps seventh grade. The thing I remember most was the people getting in line to take communion, something we only did occasionally in the Methodist church. However, not even the mystery of the Catholic communion line had struck me as hard as the statue in front of the church at Mont Saint-Michel. I didn't know who it was, what it was, or why it was there, but the part of me that wanted to know needed to know.
"Who is that? " I asked Ms. Bowling, who had come up beside me.
"Ah, c'est Jeanne d'Arc! " she answered spiritedly and ran off to herd the team.
I kept staring at the statue.
"Joan of Arc," I said to myself. I knew the name, but the facts eluded me. Burning at the stake—that, I recalled. But then, the other part, it all seemed blurry. Six weeks in Brittany had not prepared me for this French history examination.
I shrugged and rejoined the group without knowing how important Joan of Arc was to French history. She led the French to victory at Orléans, changed the strategic momentum against the English, and made it possible for Charles VII to be crowned. Without question, Joan of Arc preserved the independence and Catholic faith of France, thereby shaping the nation-state we know today. That was who Joan of Arc was.
Little did I know that the historical, religious, and spiritual significance of Joan of Arc would soon reverberate deeply within my life. Joan of Arc had saved France. Little did I know, she would save me, too.