Gerry Raymond
When my son Greg was two and a half (that was back in 1980), I decided I should make up my mind if God existed, or not, before my little one asked me a direct question.
Living in the suburbs of Paris, I knew no other Christians so decided to combine church and English for Greg’s sake. Hence, I went to St Michael’s in the centre of Paris.
There they asked me where I was from and when I answered “Palaiseau” they asked me why I didn’t go to church closer to home, at St Mark’s Versailles.
That was a discovery, and finding Grandchamps (the previous location), physically, was another. But I eventually reached the church where a new pastor, Jonathan Wilmot, was just starting. It was September. I remember two things about that first year at St Mark’s: the friendly and charming welcome, and the way Jonathan nourished my spirit, week after week. For the first nine months, I sat in the front row because of my lack of understanding of his accent coming out of that sound system, but also because I was truly thirsty.
I knew I had found a home, in the church community, and in the Lord. I still feel the same today. I have always been nourished and supported at S. Mark’s. I was there when Pont Colbert was discovered, abandoned and found again. I was there to pray over the foundations of the new church and discuss decorating. I have taken part in just about every part of church life from Sunday School to Council, through coffee, cleaning and flowers. I have come to love the people I have shared those tasks with, and have cried when the Lord has moved some of them on to new places.
Today I am feeling a push towards prayer and worship, and I am just as grateful as I was 27 years ago to be apart of a group of people who honestly struggle to understand what God wants of us today, aspiring to be right behind Him, wherever He is heading. Being stretched, stretching together. A real family.
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