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

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 buddies and I booked all the things the week of, dropping a couple of hundred euros on an Airbnb and funds aircraft tickets from Paris, the place we have been residing on the time. Apart 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 e-book tickets to any of the highest points of interest; 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 buddies 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, sizzling, and exhausting. Operating 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 an extended, winding journey again down (albeit with spectacular views). When it was lastly time to test in to our Airbnb, we struggled deeply with the janky lock, however the struggle 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 night time. My buddies, nonetheless, have been decided to see the Basílica de la Sagrada Família—so, outvoted, alongside I went.

Building on Sagrada Família started virtually 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, continues to be below building—a mission that has taken over 140 years to finish—but it surely’s set to be accomplished in 2026, the centennial of his demise. 

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 night time, we spent an hour strolling across the entirety of the church, respiratory 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 aspect 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 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 spite of everything, there I used to be, witnessing one thing nice within the lengthy means of being made. 

We knew we needed to go inside. However the query was, how can we really try this? Commonplace tickets have been lengthy gone and last-minute excursions have been far too expensive for our school pupil budgets. After a little bit of digging, we discovered a risk. 

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 gorgeous and needed to see the much-talked-about inside earlier than leaving Barcelona. So, the following day, the three of us made our approach to Mass. 

The plan wasn’t set in stone. That night time after our exterior tour of the church, we had a  sangria-fueled late night time out, naturally. Then on the day of, we took ourselves on an intensive stroll by means of the Parc de la Ciutadella to Somorrostro Seashore, the place we sat for in all probability too lengthy (fully inappropriately dressed for the seaside—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 night time. However on the final minute, we determined to hop on the metro and take a look at. In the long run, we made it simply in time and have been among the many final to be let inside. 

Earlier than learning overseas in Europe, I had been in a church perhaps two or thrice in my life. My childhood greatest 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 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 bought to spirituality was visiting temples and burning incense on journeys to China, or maybe sporadically attempting to meditate at numerous 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 in some way 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 elements have been spoken in English and French, however many components of the Mass have been in different languages, too. Add on the truth that  I didn’t have a lot foundational data of the story being advised to start with—which, as my pal later advised 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 up to now above and round us and appeared to buzz with tangible power.

Fifteen, 30, 45 minutes in, a number of teams of vacationers bought up and left. They, like us, in all probability simply needed to get inside at no cost—however we stayed glued the entire means by means 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 observe a Eucharist we couldn’t participate in. 

It wasn’t how I pictured spending my final night time in Barcelona. It wasn’t one thing I’d pictured ever doing in any respect. I’ve at all times sought completeness, definitive data, inflexible construction. However that night time, 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 outdoors, however inside—the place we’d spent our complete lives, it appeared—the shadows glowed amber. Beneath the cover of residing stone, Mass ended. And so we went forth.