The room in the poor, teeming Paris suburb of St. Denis was bare and cold. There, before only two kneeling couples last week, a young priest celebrated his Sunday Mass. When it was over, he changed his vestments for a workman's grubby overalls, and left with one of the men to meet some friends in a workers' cafe for an aperitif and a cheap lunch and, later, a football game. His companions through the day never thought of him as a priest at all, and that suited him well enough, for he was a member of the Mission de Paris.
In Paris...
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