The Doyle Engaging Difference Program - Georgetown University

My last five months in Lyon have been nothing short of thrilling. Looking back, the standouts on my highlight reel of memories include the spontaneous day trips, picnics at the park, and the four-week-long exam period spent sympathizing with other students as we worked through our 3,000-word French papers. Writing this from the comfort of my favorite Prêt à Manger in the city, I fondly remember the different spaces and communities that became an integral part of my study abroad experience. When I wasn’t frequenting cafés to “get some work done,” I was transferring tram lines to get to fencing practice (an activity I picked up in January), sharing restaurant recommendations with other Hoyas in my cohort, or reading Scripture at my local Korean church.

The French care a lot about the activities they engage in outside of work. The spaces they belong to—including sports gyms, labor unions, and the people they surround themselves with—shape and contribute to their individual identity. At a higher level, this culture encourages individuals to form stronger, but mostly separate, communities. How does history explain this distinction, where do we observe this separation in French culture, and how do I see it shaping community-building?

Religion in France is certainly one such aspect of individual identity, but its practice appears to be kept mostly behind closed doors. Rarely entertained in conversation outside of religious settings, one’s individual faith is considered a personal decision with no place in political discourse or the culture of the nation at large, and it is legally kept away from the public eye. France itself carries a deep history with religion, specifically in its relationship with the Catholic Church which officially came to an end with the legal separation of church and state in 1905. In fact, the principle of laïcité (secularism), as written into the constitution of the current Fifth Republic, is considered fundamental to the assurance of religious freedom for French citizens.

At its creation, the principle of laïcité was founded with the goal of establishing a united, distinctly “French” cultural identity. In theory, by keeping religion private, preventing personal beliefs from seeping into political decisions, and passing laws to prevent the domination of one religion over the others in the public space, the country would be able to encourage the unity of its people under the umbrella of a national identity. In its application, however, the principle has struck controversy with religious minorities. The bid to create a unified country threatens to gloss over the diversity of its people, their interests, and the cultural aspects of religion that fundamentally shape their identities.

Although the state maintains its strict position on distancing religion from current public affairs, Catholicism holds undeniable roots in French cultural tradition and history. During my spring semester here in France, I had the opportunity to experience (and taste) the fruits of a longstanding tradition, sown by the religious history of the former “eldest daughter of the [Catholic] Church.” Currently, France recognizes 11 jours fériés (public holidays), six of which celebrate Catholic traditions. The majority of businesses are closed on Sundays, reserved as non-working days according to the labor code. Though this phenomenon may reflect how work is regarded in France, it also speaks volumes about the norms that have been established as a result of tradition. Religious, spiritual, or non-religious, it is routine for families of young children to dust off the crêpe pan for La Chandeleur (Candlemas), bite carefully into pieces of Galette des rois (a puff pastry King Cake) on L’Epiphanie (Epiphany) in the hopes that their slice would hold the prized porcelain trinket, and hunt for Nutella chocolate eggs for Pâques (Easter). In the month of May alone, a jour férié fell nearly every other week; the streets of Vieux Lyon (Old Town) were packed with French tourists visiting for the weekend, and our dear host families themselves went backpacking in the mountains or drove out to the countryside to visit extended family.

Another aspect that indicates France’s historical ties to the Catholic Church is the prevalence of church-built architecture in the form of grand cathedrals. For international visitors, the country’s oldest cathedrals remain prominent tourist attractions thanks to their reputation as historically rich architectural marvels. Open to the public, these sacred spaces are landmarks for believers, living testaments to history for curious visitors, and a place of solace for local churchgoers. However, despite their popularity among tourists, these establishments, acting as private religious institutions, may impose their own policies on visitors, particularly in prohibiting the wearing of non-Christian religious symbols.

As each religious community celebrates its faith differently, I also observed visible differences between France and the United States. First, while French politicians do not involve personal faith in their campaign platforms, religious values appear to have only increased in importance with regard to political issues back home. Second, it was particularly interesting to see how each language addresses and refers to God. In English translations of the Bible, God is referred to with a capital “H” (“He,” “His,” and “Him”) to denote respect. In France, I was told that Christians address God with informal language (using tu rather than vous) because “we are closest to Him in faith.” As a Korean-American, I was further intrigued by how this contrasted with the Korean practice of using deeply formal language when referring to God.

From my first to last day in Lyon, I found myself surrounded by the loving community I had found in the Korean Presbyterian Church of Lyon. Once only strangers, it was bittersweet to say goodbye to the friends I had made over the last five months, give my last hugs to the sweet toddlers, and imagine I wouldn’t be taking the bus out to the countryside to lunch with Charlotte’s family again. Initially, joining a Korean church was a way to maintain an anchor to my cultural heritage. However, I learned so much more about myself and the importance of my religious identity to my growth as an individual. I will always value the semester I spent abroad, the unexpected friends I made, and the change of pace I found in the French lifestyle.