Joie de Vivre Moment #4 - Église Saint-Martial de Cazenac (Saint-Martial Church in Cazenac)

Serendipity . . . 

. . . of the soulful kind. . .

. . . deep in the heart of Perigord. . .

. . . in France.

Sundays on the road usually mean missing church. Tom and I usually set out for parts unknown on those days, just to see where God might take us.

One early sunny summer morning, after buying bread and pastries from a charming Beynac boulangerie-pâtisserie (bread and pastry shop), Tom and I decided to drive the long way home. We meandered down country roads, exploring, as curious vacationing people tend to do, eyes ever-scanning, taking it all in.

Cazenac, which is Beynac's neighboring village, was of particular interest to us. On this adventurous day we noticed  a directional sign pointing up a woodsy hill. It simply stated l'Église de Cazenac. 

"Église means church," I explained to Tom. "Let's check it out."

Tom steered our huge van up the hill on the narrow, winding road. The shady lane offered sun-dappled coolness under a leafy canopy, the air scented with moist soil, warm foliage, a fresh welcome.

Upon reaching the top of the hill, a grand vista presented the Dordogne Valley in her Sunday Best. Silence, but for the ruffle of a shy breeze, invited us to park our car, to set foot to history, to linger.

On the hilltop stood a tidy cluster of massive stone buildings and old walls guiding our eyes down a narrow drive which sloped away from where we stood. Dominating this little village, and anchored to the earth right in front of us, stood a tall church.

Built between the 12th and 15th centuries, l'Église Saint-Martial de Cazenac, made of cream-colored stone, stood behind huge locked gates, the sun shining through the bell-cutout high in the peak above the door. What a shame we could only photograph and view the exterior.

Undaunted, we let the rest of the village show us what she had to offer. No other people around, we had the run of the place. We began by reading the headstones in the church cemetery. Families, founders, and no doubt friends buried, their graves lovingly tended, immaculate.

Only our footfalls softly clapping on the pavement interrupted the tranquility. Ancient buildings next to the narrow road looked like they had stories to tell. One with double doors high in the gable looked like a barn, another like a tradesman's shop, tightly closed and going nowhere. A fig tree with ripe fruit tempted us, but we resisted, just in case there were eyes peering from what looked like a residence on the other side of the road, its tiny terrace with lush potted flowers revealing recent human care. 

The stillness, serenity, and aromatic breezes lulled and rejuvenated us. Simultaneously. Energy flowed, fueled by curiosity. Feeling ourselves unwinding, we held hands as we explored further down the rue.

At last, we decided to return to our family in Beynac with our breakfast pastries and bread. The baby should be up by now, her parents ready for treats.

We strolled toward the car, one last lingering look at the graceful church, wishing we could have gone inside.

Buckling our seatbelts in preparation to leave, we noticed a man in an SUV speeding up the hill. He parked near our van. Peppy and pleasant looking, he hopped out of his car, pulled a set of keys from his pocket, and proceeded to open the gates. Then, he dashed over to unlock the church door, all smiles and gentility.

"Tom! Tom! I think maybe he saw us up here and decided to open the church for us."

Upon leaving the sturdy building and returning to the gate, the gentleman made eye-contact with me.

"Pouvons-nous entrer, s'il vous plaît?" (May we come in, please?) I timidly asked.

"Oui! Oui! Entrez et bienvenue!" (Yes! Yes! Come in and welcome!) He waved toward the church with a big smile while holding the gates open for us. What a nice man! 

"Merci beaucoup!" (Thank you very much!) 

At that, he nodded with great pride and satisfaction, nodding his head as we passed. He encouraged us to look around, then left us there alone to explore. We were giddy at this unexpected surprise.

Always respectful of new places - especially sacred ones - Tom and I courteously entered.

The first thing I noticed upon reaching the church door was the stone threshold, its surface worn into a deep smile-like curve by centuries of parishioners' shoes and boots stepping onto it when passing through. This heavy smooth stone spoke history. What history, I did not know, but it was clear this place had a vibrant past.

The next aspect to catch my attention was the coolness and that delicious unique smell of Europe's ancient buildings. If you've ever been blessed to enter one, you know the fragrance I describe. Musty, fusty, venerable. I love it! Natural light filtering in through the door and windows added to the ambiance. No electric lights were visible, if there were any at all. Warm gold-hued stone walls, a simple ribbed vault ceiling overhead, a rickety wooden staircase leading to an upstairs door, slender stained glass windows, and simple wooden chairs in neat rows invited wanderers to stay awhile, to reflect.

Speaking in muted tones, and joined by another couple our age, Tom and I separated, our interests piquing in different directions. Cobwebs in the corners and along the high windows informed that this is a visited place rather than a regularly used one. Well-kept and friendly, this tucked-away sanctuary exuded lovingkindness.

Soon, Tom and I found ourselves together again, sitting in the second row of brown seats next to a multi-colored reflection on the floor, vividly mirroring the window and sunshine from which it was formed. Tom looked as tickled as I felt by the colorful merriment on the cold surface near our feet.

"It's Sunday, you know. How about we have a little prayer meeting?" I suggested. Immediately agreeing, Tom held my hand, leaned forward, took a silent moment, then began whispering prayers.

We prayed for our kids and grandkids. We prayed for our brothers and sisters, aunts, uncle, cousins, nieces and nephews. We prayed for our friends. We prayed for our country, and the world, for wisdom, love, and understanding. We prayed for the other couple in the building with us, and thanked God for the kind caretaker who let us into the church.

Besides being a joie de vivre moment, this was serene serendipity. God provided the setting, the humanity, the sacredness, and the love for Tom and I to share His presence and peace in a nearly one thousand year old église where prayers, worship, celebrations, and sorrows intermingled, creating testimony that God's Truth turns hearts of stone into hearts of flesh in the lives of His people.

"I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh." ~~ Ezekiel 36:26

Joy and pensivity. Together. From a tiny church on a hilltop, under a golden arch, on a rustic wooden chair, my hand in my husband's, our prayers earnestly shared, we communed with God that Sunday morning, in rural France. He is never far from us.

"For where two or three gather in My name, there I am with them." ~~Matthew 18:20

". . . the kingdom of God is within you." ~~ Luke 17:21b

Joie de vivre. Exuberant enjoyment of life.

Yes.

2022 Photos by Cherie, all rights reserved. Thank you! Enjoy.