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

From its inception, the Barcelona journey I took in March 2025 felt antithetical to who I’m as an individual (that’s, kind A). My associates and I booked every little thing the week of, dropping just a few hundred euros on an Airbnb and finances airplane tickets from Paris, the place we had been dwelling on the time. Aside from these necessities, we deliberate nothing for our weekend, eschewing my regular detailed itineraries for some degree 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 had been all offered out. All the identical, we determined to wing it.

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

The primary day was lengthy, sizzling, and exhausting. Working on about two hours of sleep with our enormous, mildly dorky backpacks in tow, we hiked up Montjuïc hill; spent just a few 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, nonetheless, had been decided to see the Basílica de la Sagrada Família—so, outvoted, alongside I went.

Building 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 subsequent yr, and from 1914 till he handed away, it was his solely undertaking. The church, simply distinguishable by Gaudí’s signature nature-inspired type, remains to be underneath building—a undertaking that has taken over 140 years to finish—however it’s set to be executed 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. Truthfully, American church buildings had by no means me. However the Gothic, stately, exponentially older European church was a distinct 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 building centered on the cross and, just 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 largely blind to 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 needed to go inside. However the query was, how can we truly try this? Customary tickets had been lengthy gone and last-minute excursions had been far too dear for our faculty scholar 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 airplane to catch.) Frankly, I didn’t care a lot concerning the Mass facet of all of it. I simply thought the skin was gorgeous and needed to see the much-talked-about inside earlier than leaving Barcelona. So, the subsequent day, the three of us made our approach 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 Seashore, the place we sat for most likely too lengthy (totally inappropriately dressed for the seashore—I, for one, was in a black leather-based jacket and denims, and none of us had introduced sunscreen). Finally, 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 had 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 pal went to the native Methodist church, a nondescript, one-story white constructing on the street adjoining to my suburban Pennsylvania neighborhood. I had attended together with her a few occasions, 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 obtained 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 once 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 capable of place a finger on what “it” was.

The inside was someway 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 gang, and Mass started.

To be sincere, half the time, I had little to no clue what was occurring. Some components had been spoken in English and French, however many parts of the Mass had 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 pal later informed me, was of the parable of the prodigal son. Nevertheless it was sufficient to easily exist contained in the church, in an area that prolonged to this point above and round us and appeared to buzz with tangible vitality.

Fifteen, 30, 45 minutes in, a number of teams of vacationers obtained up and left. They, like us, most likely simply needed to get inside without spending a dime—however we stayed glued the entire method 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 international locations, and stood to observe 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 all the time 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. Below the cover of dwelling stone, Mass ended. And so we went forth.