One of my favorite places I’ve visited has been Joan of Arc’s birthplace in Domrémy-la-Pucelle, France. She was born there in the early 15th century, around 1412. She’s also known as The Maid of Orléans and now she’s a saint, formally canonized as a saint of the Roman Catholic Church on 16 May 1920 by Pope Benedict XV.
The patroness of soldiers and of France, St. Joan of Arc
Her history is a marvel. She was an illiterate peasant girl who said she heard voices of angels and saints and through their device guidance, she convinced crown prince Charles of Valois to allow her to lead the French army. She led the army to victory at Orléans against the English in 1429. She accomplished this critically important military feat when she was only 17 years old.
Her hometown, Domrémy-la-Pucelle, is a small unassuming village. In fact, if you didn’t know who was born there, you would likely drive through it without a second thought. That is if you were to be in such an unlikely remote place in France. Where she went next, Vaucouleurs, is only slightly larger but has the crypt where she prayed and you can view it in this video.
My wife, Joan (her name is Joan, too!), and I took a trip to France to visit Joan of Arc’s birthplace just a few years ago. It’s not the kind of place you might run into if you’re visiting Paris or another wonderful French city. It’s far off the beaten path. It’s out in the french-toast-sticks, as Joan joked (I gave her a stern look, but then I couldn’t help but laugh with her).
You must deliberately decide to visit there and then dare to venture deep into the vast and intoxicatingly beautiful French countryside.
We finally made it to Joan of Arc’s home about noon and somehow before we saw any sign stating where we were, we knew we had arrived somewhere special.
We passed only a few cars along the way, and the tiny town was practically deserted. It was just too far away from everything for casual visitors. But it didn’t feel small or distant to us. You know that feeling you get when you arrive somewhere you’ve been waiting to visit all your life? And then you get there, and you’re filled with excitement? We had that type of feeling, but it was more a sense of incredible awe.
The first place we came to was a statue commemorating Joan of Arc (first picture). When we saw the statue, it confirmed what we already felt, we had arrived. Without realizing it we parked directly across from the church Joan of Arc attended as a child and where she heard the voices directing her to do nothing less than reunite France and Crown the rightful King.
We went to the church and although we have visited many grand cathedrals, churches, and domes across Europe, including the Notre Dame in Paris and the Speyerer Dom in Speyer, this little church, so far away from any major metropolis, was the most impressive I have ever visited.
A place of history and reckoning
We found the church empty of people and thus we were thankful we had it entirely to ourselves. What a special treat it was to be alone in such a grand place of history and reckoning. I don’t recall taking as much time for any other church. Although it’s about 800 years old it’s very well maintained.
There was something else about the inside of the church that I found more interesting and captivating than anything I had experienced before. After a while of viewing the pictures and commemorations, I noticed something anomalous.
It was hard to define at first, but ever so slowly I realized what it was that was unusual. It was silence.
It was incredibly quiet in the church. There wasn’t so much as the slightest creak from the building. The silence was so peaceful and comforting that I wanted to say something about it to Joan but then decided not to as she seemed wrapped up in her own moment as well.
I tried to imagine what it must have been like for Joan of Arc so many hundreds of years ago, when there were no cars, or any of the many modern sounds we have today, and quite likely very few travelers coming through the town. The silence in the church in her time must have been tremendous, and yet, normal.
Tremendous, indeed. I had many thoughts about how someone could get caught up in the tranquility of the quietness. Although, I didn’t hear voices I didn’t find it hard to believe one could eventually hear them if they remained in such solitude and stillness for long. It’s an ideal place for prayer and meditation.
Still, the voices Joan of Arc heard were not what a young girl would normally be thinking of, or even aware of, and considering the voices were very specific and beyond her education and station in their direction of what she should do (and what she accomplished), I find it as no surprise that she became a saint herself.
“Above all, Saint Michael told me that I must be a good child, and that God would help me. He taught me to behave rightly and go often to church…. He told me the pitiful state of the Kingdom of France. And he told me that I must go to succor the King of France.”
St. Joan Own Words, p. 6.
I sat in a pew enjoying the silence for a moment longer. After all, I was sitting in history. The church was quite small, and the village population back then must have been less than a hundred considering the size, perhaps even less. And then something unexplainable happened. A door closed loudly. It wasn’t so much as a slam, but rather a firm closing of a wide-open door. Joan and I both jumped. At first, it didn’t seem odd, just a shock because of how quiet it had been.
We looked at each other questioningly. The entrance was in full view just a few feet away and no one had come in and it had already been closed, of that I was certain. There was only one other door that I could see from my view and it was locked, the picture is below.
I found another locked door around the edge of the wall where Joan of Arc was baptized. But still, no one else was in the building that I could tell and it was too small and quiet not to hear if anyone else was there.
After searching for the cause of the door closing, I gave up on it, believing there must be another room, and someone must be in there. It’s then that’s I came upon the font, where Joan of Arc had been baptized.
The area was protected with a little fence. My Joan came up to me as I was standing there. We held hands while we viewed the area. It was comforting, even though there was an odd statue holding its own head in its hands. I later discover the headless statue was of Saint Elophe, a deacon martyred in 362 only a few kilometers from Domrémy-la-Pucelle.
After a while of looking around and enjoying peaceful silence, we talked about visiting the house where St. Joan was born. We didn’t know yet where it was or how far we would need to go. Little did we know her house was literally behind the Church, maybe 100 yards away.
Before we got up from the pew, we heard distinct footsteps. They were very clear and not muffed as though from another room. No, they sounded very close, directly behind where we had been sitting.
We looked around, but no one had come in and there were no other sounds. I got chills, a cold breeze came in from somewhere, and at that, Joan squeezed my hand tightly. The footsteps stopped as soon as we stood up. But still, no one was there, and the locked doors remained closed and the entrance was still closed as well, which was so very strange.
As wonderful as our visit to the remarkable church had been, we decided it was time to go.
I can’t say that the door closing or the footsteps were paranormal in nature. I thought it could be that someone was in another room perhaps and the sounds they made in there echoed into the main chamber. It didn’t seem likely considering the doors were solidly closed, but who knows how the sounds play off the walls.
Either way, we left without any regrets. It was the most amazing church I had ever been in, and I’ll never ever forget it. Ever. There’s something extra special about being within its walls (this is the one time EXTRA before special is well deserved!), and I think I might have had a moment while in there.
The moment I am talking about is the moment when you know things are finally going to be okay, no matter what you might be going through.
It’s a wonderful church and I really hope we visit it again someday.
Honestly, though, I think it might be haunted, too. And that’s okay. I later found out that the little room in the church was so small that no one could possibly have been walking around in there, and it was confirmed that no one was in the church besides us.
The sounds certainly were mysterious, to say the least.
This ends part one of our visit to Joan of Arc’s birthplace.
PART 2 is my VIDEO of my visit to St. Joan of Arc’s Birthplace
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