Regina Pacis

Regina Pacis (Queen of Peace) says the statue of the Virgin Mary in front of the cathedral in Hanoi, the former Cathédrale Saint Joseph, a remnant of the French colonial presence in Vietnam.

“Remnant” is a misnomer: there’s nothing dead, decaying, stilted, or immobile about the large Catholic community in Hanoi and throughout northern and southern Vietnam.

Sunday evening, 6:30 pm, last week (June 7). As every Sunday, there is open-air mass in the cathedral, and on the plaza in front of it. The esplanade up the stairs at the entrance of the cathedral is crowded with people. They sit on small red or light blue plastic stools. Two women beggars are seated on the ground on either side of the gate’s entrance. Their conical hats are propped up on the ground in front of them. People bend down slightly and drop 1,000 dong bills in their hats as they walk in and climb the stairs to the church. The face of the younger woman is horribly deformed by a goiter, which results from lack of iodine in the diet. This can be easily treated, though it's still somewhat frequent in remote areas in the northern Vietnamese countryside.

The loudspeakers broadcast the melodious voice of the officiating priest over the plaza. A large video screen projects his image to the faithful as he stands at the altar. His sermon discusses the love of the Father: with this love one is never alone, regardless of one's actual family situation or social status. But one also has a duty to others in Christianity.

His amplified voice is loud and clear. This is very different from the usual terrible quality of loudspeakers in Vietnam. No “noise” in the transmission here, so to speak. I am struck by the comforting tones and reassuring warmth of his voice. At first I almost cannot figure out which accent he speaks in because his voice is so "round" and neutral, and flows so easily. He’s clearly trained his voice. His rhetoric is flawless and he modulates his delivery with ease. He speaks slowly and eloquently. This is fairly basic rhetoric (about love, mutual support, and duty) but also a powerful speech.

As I listen to the priest leading people in reading the scripture, I cannot help the blasphemous (or, preferably, ecumenical) thought that this sounds a lot like the voices of the faithful chanting sutras in Buddhist temples.

People sit quietly and listen. They admonish their children to play without making noise, they draw the little ones closer to them and absent-mindedly stroke their hair. There are a lot of people on the plaza beyond the cathedral's gates, too.

Traffic seems quiet in the surrounding streets, for once. Night falls quickly. The sunset is radiant. The clouds light up and glow, orange and purple. Then everyone stands and people begin to sing. It is a strange scene, but also a quiet one, somehow, which is rare in Hanoi, or urban Vietnam more generally.

At the end of mass, people quietly leave, and speak in hushed tones. They walk home pensively, or get back on their motorbikes, which were parked along both sides of the plaza. Traffic gradually returns to its usual high decibel levels, punctuated by the impatient bleep of motorbike and car horns.