Impressions of Catholic France

By Thomas V. Mirus ( bio - articles - email ) | Nov 09, 2026

Usually when I’ve traveled to foreign countries in the past, I have had little social interaction with the natives—a typical tourist in that respect. But when recently visiting France for the first time, I became determined to meet some French Catholics.

If I felt particularly intrigued by our French brethren, I think it’s mainly because the orthodox laity in France seem to have an energy and initiative rarely seen in the rest of the continent—perhaps a little closer to how things are here in the United States. Feeling a vague kinship with them for this reason, and touched also by the beautiful performance based on French Catholic history that was presented to Pope Leo during his visit, I made a point of seeking out personal connections alongside my sightseeing and pilgrimage.

But I also got a taste of the chaos of secular France. I arrived in Paris just in time for the riotous weekend of October 17. At first, I obliviously avoided being in the thick of it, until I started to head back to my place Saturday evening and at each successive metro transfer I saw groups of mostly African and Arab teens, some of them masked, running through the underground like they were fleeing the police. When I got back to my neighborhood, the streets were covered in broken glass and there were police cars everywhere—the aftermath of a riot. On Sunday night, I saw similar groups running around (in one case hiding in a construction site to avoid the police). On Monday morning, I had a ticket to the Louvre, but the entrances were blocked by teens holding signs and singing songs, and the pusillanimous management decided to shut down the museum for the day.

I made it to the Louvre on other occasions, though, and to anyone visiting Paris between now and January 25, I highly recommend the current exhibit on Francisco de Zurbarán, which includes a number of extraordinary religious paintings.

That first Sunday morning, I went to the beautiful Latin Mass at St. Roch, packed with mostly young people. (Incidentally, a friend of mine who has spent a fair amount of time in Paris remarked that St. Roch is his ideal dating scene, and based on the elegant dress and natural beauty of the women there, I can’t help but agree.) Now was the time—after Mass I worked up my courage and approached a group of young adults, asked if they spoke English, started chatting, and they kindly invited me to join them at a café.

I had a very pleasant and relaxed hang with my new friends, mainly speaking with Michael, a friendly young engineer from Lebanon (raised speaking French) who became Catholic in Paris several years ago, and Fanni, a rather beautiful young woman from Corsica, a recent revert who had worked as an animator on the Minions movies (which apparently were made in Paris). (Oddly, she was not the only animator I would meet on this trip—a few days later I had lunch with Bernard, a visual effects artist at a small Catholic company which makes projection shows based on French history, displayed on large buildings and churches.)

The weekend’s upheaval was of course a topic of discussion, and many at the table seemed to agree that remigration was a necessary part of the solution to social unrest. I was assured that anyone I asked at St. Roch would think the same—though being the “trad” parish, this may not reflect the views of other Parisian Catholics.

A couple of days later, I had a more work-related meeting with retired Bishop Dominique Rey of Fréjus–Toulon. Bishop Rey is well known for his outside-the-box approach to evangelization and his willingness to encourage new initiatives within the Church. During his years as diocesan bishop, he fostered numerous priestly vocations and welcomed a variety of ecclesial communities, including those attached to more traditional expressions of Catholic life.

His Excellency is now living in Paris and anything but idle, continuing to support all kinds of pro-life and evangelization initiatives. Several years ago he helped to found the French Riviera Institute, inspired by the Napa Institute here in America.

Bishop Rey is a dynamic, open, and spontaneous character, evidenced by his willingness to meet with me, a stranger, and immediately connect me with all sorts of people working to strengthen the Church in France, including a young couple, Laurent and Humbeline, who are involved in pro-life work and organizing visits for American Catholic students. The bishop also told me that I must learn French, for it is the language spoke in Paradise—whereas English is spoken in Purgatory!

Moving on from Paris, I went for a two-day retreat at the Abbey of Solesmes, famous for the liturgical commentary of its founder, Dom Guéranger, and for its cutting-edge work in the Gregorian chant revival in the late nineteenth century (and still today). Surprisingly, the guestmaster turned out to be the son of Brent Bozell Jr., whose magazine Triumph my dad wrote for back in the day.

I spent much of those two days hearing the monks beautifully chant the Liturgy of the Hours. This would not be my only lovely experience with the Hours on this trip: a few days later in Blois, I showed up for evening Mass at the Basilica of Notre-Dame de la Trinité to be surprised by four priests chanting Vespers in Latin. Speaking to the rector of the church (built in 1949 in honor of the Three Hail Marys devotion), I learned that they are part of the Community of St. Martin, diocesan priests living in community. To my delight, the book they used to chant the Hours was the very book I had been researching and considering buying in recent months. They themselves produced the book in collaboration with Solesmes.

After leaving Solesmes, I headed further southwest to the Catholic stronghold of the Vendée, a region famous for its resistance to the Reign of Terror during the French Revolution. As my first stop, I had an emotional visit to the tomb of St. Louis de Montfort (buried alongside his spiritual daughter, Bl. Marie-Louise Trichet).

Nearby is the increasingly famous French theme park, Puy du Fou—the most popular park in France next to Disneyland’s Paris location. This place is despised by French liberals for its very positive portrayal of French history before the Revolution, including Christianity and the monarchy. It gets under their skin so much so that the disgusting display at the recent Paris Olympics was explicitly designed as a counter to Puy du Fou.

Perhaps it will seem childish to say that the most enjoyable day of my trip to France was spent at a theme park, but Puy du Fou really is an astounding place, which I would absolutely recommend to anyone visiting France. Rather than rides, its main features are live shows and immersive experiences. These shows, based on French history and legend, are at times colossal in scale, with stunning special effects, acrobatics, horse-riding, falconry, etc.—but often with the simple and charming spirit of a medieval pageant. Many of them involve Christianity or saints: one is based on St. Joan of Arc, and another is a massive recreation of a Roman circus in which Christians were persecuted, complete with a Ben-Hur-style chariot race. One of the immersive experiences (a rather surreal one) follows the life of the fifth-century King Clovis, the first French king to become Christian.

My favorite show, however, was the one on the Vendée War against the French Revolutionary government. It’s a grand spectacle, staged in a large theater in which the seating area for 1,400 people rotates 360 degrees, allowing the audience to see different parts of the stage as different sets are unveiled, with a very effective combination of digital backdrops and real physical sets and actors, giving at times a kind of tableau or diorama effect.

The story follows François de Charette, who served in the French Navy during the American War for Independence, but then returned home to France and defended the Vendée against the Terror. It’s a heroic but tragic tale, in which thousands of Catholic men, women, and children were ultimately massacred. The show is much imbued with the Catholic faith—before his execution Charette prays in the words of Christ, “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit,” and then the show ends with people genuflecting before a tabernacle. I was moved to tears.

Two of the immersive experiences also stood out to me. In one, you go down into a replica of the trenches of Verdun during World War I, the ground shaking beneath your feet, and in another you walk through the hold of an 18th-century French scientific vessel that disappeared on an expedition (and begin to feel what it’s like to be on a sinking ship in a storm). The (touchable!) set-dressing is absolutely amazing in its detail, showing a real passion for history—for instance, the Verdun set included many real items from the World War I era.

It’s quite amazing that a place with this ethos exists in 2026 France, and is successful enough to have offshoots in other countries (there is a park in Toledo, and plans for a park in the U.K. and perhaps even in the U.S.). The above-mentioned performance for Pope Leo was also put on by people who came out of Puy du Fou. All I can say is God bless Philippe de Villiers, the Catholic entrepreneur and politician who created the park. I would gladly return there, and I can say the same for France, where I hope to continue making connections with fellow Catholics so that we can find ways to collaborate for the good of the Church.