Родители в Франции молятся святой Аполлонии о облегчении боли при прорезывании зубов

Teething rings not doing the trick? A centuries-old French Catholic tradition offers parents another source of help. One of the hardest parts of being a parent is watching your baby suffer. And when those first teeth start coming through, oh, how they suffer. Those ruddy, grainy cheeks, swollen gums, funny little tummies, and the unmistakable look that says: "Help me, mommy." It's horrible to see your little one in so much discomfort, especially when there is so little you can do to help. Babies, of course, have an extraordinary talent for finding relief in the most unlikely places — a cold spoon, a rubber giraffe, their own fist, your finger or even your chin! Unfortunately, none of those remedies seems to work for very long, particularly during the night, when teething somehow feels even worse. For centuries, however, Catholic parents in parts of France have had one more place to turn: St. Apollonia. The third-century martyr is best known as the patron saint of dentists, but for generations she has also been the saint many parents have quietly asked to intercede for teething babies. Her connection with teeth comes from the brutal way she was martyred. During the persecution of Christians in Alexandria, her persecutors broke or pulled out her teeth before threatening to burn her alive if she refused to renounce her faith. Instead, she freely embraced martyrdom, and Christians soon began invoking her intercession for those suffering with toothache. And over the centuries, that devotion took on a particularly French flavor. A Mass that welcomes noise! In villages across southern France, parents have traditionally brought babies to churches dedicated to St. Apollonia, asking the saint to pray for children struggling with painful teething. The custom has survived for generations, quietly passed from one family to the next. One of its best-known homes is Notre-Dame de Bernac in the Tarn. On the first Sunday of each month, the entrance to the little church turns into a car park for strollers as families arrive for Mass from all over France carrying babies with sore little gums. During the celebration, cries regularly echo around the church. Far from being a distraction, they are almost expected. As Fr. Michel Bousquet joked with La Dépêche, after his voice was once drowned out by the infants: "The concert is beginning. The babies have covered my voice again. That's a good thing." Then comes the moment everyone has been waiting for. Families come forward one by one as a volunteer gently touches the reliquary, containing a tooth and fragment of St. Apollonia's jawbone, against each baby's cheek while parents quietly pray for the saint's intercession. It is a simple gesture, repeated month after month, generation after generation. For any parent who has ever apologized because their baby cried during Mass, the scene must feel wonderfully liberating. Nobody is turning round to see whose baby is making the noise because, quite frankly, almost everyone's is. It almost sounds worth the transatlantic flight. Even if your baby came home with exactly the same number of teeth, spending an hour surrounded by other parents who understand precisely what you're going through must be a blessing in itself. However, if you're imagining something mystical or magical, the locals are quick to put that idea to rest. "It's not magic, but it works," is the phrase often repeated by those who welcome families each year. Rather, it is an expression of trust in the Communion of Saints and the belief that Christians in heaven continue to pray for those on earth. And if asking St. Apollonia to pray for a teething baby sounds wonderfully specific, that is because the Church has always had a canny way of noticing the sorts of worries that can get overlooked. Not just wars and famines, but hailstorms threatening a harvest, bedbugs invading a home, snake bites, breastfeeding difficulties and, yes, the sleepless nights brought on by a baby's first teeth. St. Apollonia belongs to a tradition that quietly insists no corner of ordinary life is too small to be entrusted to prayer. Suddenly, a saint for teething babies doesn't seem quite so unexpected after all. And while you can certainly ask for her intercession from the comfort of your own home, a return flight to France does sound rather tempting indeed! And while we're on the subject of French Catholic traditions, why not take a look at the items you'd no doubt find in the homes of Catholics in France: