I am an Atheist—however Going to Mass on the Sagrada Família Modified My Life Perpetually

From its inception, the Barcelona journey I took in March 2025 felt antithetical to who I’m as an individual (that’s, sort A). My associates and I booked every part the week of, dropping a couple of hundred euros on an Airbnb and finances aircraft tickets from Paris, the place we have been dwelling on the time. Aside from these necessities, we deliberate nothing for our weekend, eschewing my standard detailed itineraries for some stage of barely uncomfortable spontaneity. At this level, it was a lot too late to ebook tickets to any of the highest sights; Parc Güell, the Picasso Museum, and Sagrada Família have been all bought out. All the identical, we determined to wing it.

The Friday morning of our journey, I sacrificed six of my treasured eight hours of sleep to take a 3 a.m. Uber to Paris Orly Airport. By 10 a.m., my two associates and I have been within the coronary heart of Barcelona, the place we’d be for the following 50 hours.

The primary day was lengthy, scorching, and exhausting. Working on about two hours of sleep with our enormous, mildly dorky backpacks in tow, we hiked up Montjuïc hill; spent a couple of hours within the Joan Miró Basis; and took a protracted, winding journey again down (albeit with spectacular views). When it was lastly time to verify in to our Airbnb, we struggled deeply with the janky lock, however the battle was ameliorated by a scrumptious meal of black paella at Restaurant Palermo. Afterward, I used to be greater than prepared to show in for the evening. My associates, nevertheless, have been decided to see the Basílica de la Sagrada Família—so, outvoted, alongside I went.

Development on Sagrada Família started nearly a century and a half in the past, in 1882. Catalan modernist architect Antoni Gaudí took over its design the following yr, and from 1914 till he handed away, it was his solely mission. The church, simply distinguishable by Gaudí’s signature nature-inspired type, remains to be below development—a mission that has taken over 140 years to finish—but it surely’s set to be finished in 2026, the centennial of his dying. 

After I visited, Sagrada Família was lacking its tallest central spire, the tower of Jesus Christ. And but, it was nonetheless a formidable sight: a stone behemoth in ivory and beige, impossibly intricate, breathtakingly tall. Actually, American church buildings had by no means me. However the Gothic, stately, exponentially older European church was a special beast—and Sagrada Família was in league of its personal. That evening, we spent an hour strolling across the entirety of the church, respiration it in, letting the unanticipated chilly seep previous our insufficient layers. Regardless of our greatest efforts, photos captured nothing. 

We started in entrance of the Ardour façade, a skeletal, shadowy development centered on the cross and, slightly below it, the crucifixion scene. Then, after strolling across the unfinished Glory façade, we reached Nativity. 

This facet of Sagrada Família was darker, rounder—as if stained and eroded with time. With rippling shapes and mosslike florals, it’s ornate, natural, and acutely Gaudían. We spent most of that hour in entrance of the Nativity façade: three upward-tilted chins, six unblinking eyes. 

As a lifelong atheist, I used to be principally unaware of the tales behind the biblical imagery on every of the church’s sides, but their uncooked, historic energy struck me all the identical. The unfinished nature of Sagrada Família solely added to its impact. In any case, there I used to be, witnessing one thing nice within the lengthy strategy of being made. 

We knew we wished to go inside. However the query was, how will we truly do this? Customary tickets have been lengthy gone and last-minute excursions have been far too dear for our faculty pupil budgets. After a little bit of digging, we discovered a chance. 

Each Saturday at 8 p.m., Sagrada Família holds a world Mass. All are welcome, and it’s free. (There’s additionally Mass on Sunday mornings, however we had a aircraft to catch.) Frankly, I didn’t care a lot concerning the Mass facet of all of it. I simply thought the surface was beautiful and wished to see the much-talked-about inside earlier than leaving Barcelona. So, the following day, the three of us made our solution to Mass. 

The plan wasn’t set in stone. That evening after our exterior tour of the church, we had a  sangria-fueled late evening out, naturally. Then on the day of, we took ourselves on an intensive stroll by way of the Parc de la Ciutadella to Somorrostro Seaside, the place we sat for in all probability too lengthy (completely inappropriately dressed for the seashore—I, for one, was in a black leather-based jacket and denims, and none of us had introduced sunscreen). In the end, we agreed that it will be okay if we didn’t have time for the Mass that evening. However on the final minute, we determined to hop on the metro and check out. In the long run, we made it simply in time and have been among the many final to be let inside. 

Earlier than finding out overseas in Europe, I had been in a church possibly two or 3 times in my life. My childhood finest good friend went to the native Methodist church, a nondescript, one-story white constructing on the highway adjoining to my suburban Pennsylvania neighborhood. I had attended along with her a few instances, for some occasion or the opposite, and it hadn’t left a lot of an impression on me. Rising up, the closest I ever actually received to spirituality was visiting temples and burning incense on journeys to China, or maybe sporadically making an attempt to meditate at varied factors in highschool. However after I walked into this church, for the primary time, I started to really feel like I understood what it meant, but I wasn’t fairly in a position to place a finger on what “it” was.

The inside was one way or the other extra spectacular than the façades. It spiraled upwards, with deceptively easy, tree-like columns and dizzyingly excessive ceilings. It felt like an enchanted forest of white stone, all heat lights and arches and rainbow-dappled glass, not a proper angle to be discovered. I had the sense that the basilica was rising, and I with it. As we took it in from our folding seats, heads raised, lips parted, a hush fell over the group, and Mass started.

To be trustworthy, half the time, I had little to no clue what was occurring. Some components have been spoken in English and French, however many parts of the Mass have been in different languages, too. Add on the truth that  I didn’t have a lot foundational information of the story being informed to start with—which, as my good friend later informed me, was of the parable of the prodigal son. But it surely was sufficient to easily exist contained in the church, in an area that prolonged thus far above and round us and appeared to buzz with tangible vitality.

Fifteen, 30, 45 minutes in, a number of teams of vacationers received up and left. They, like us, in all probability simply wished to get inside without spending a dime—however we stayed glued the entire manner by way of. We strained to listen to talking and singing in languages we couldn’t perceive, turned to greet our stranger-neighbors from totally different nations, and stood to look at a Eucharist we couldn’t participate in. 

It wasn’t how I pictured spending my final evening in Barcelona. It wasn’t one thing I’d pictured ever doing in any respect. I’ve at all times sought completeness, definitive information, inflexible construction. However that evening, surrounded by a collective eager for religion and connection, I let it take me—the fantastic thing about one thing unfinished, unanswered; the ever-unfolding realization of a centuries-old design.

An hour later, it was darkish exterior, however inside—the place we’d spent our entire lives, it appeared—the shadows glowed amber. Beneath the cover of dwelling stone, Mass ended. And so we went forth.