God Just Outside My Door

At any time of day God’s not too far away for me, especially considering the 600 year-old Gothic building sitting literally right outside my door. The Iglesia de Pi is a “small” Spanish cathedral built in 1398 in what used to be the center of Barcelona, the Gothic Quarter. The building is a somber, sacred place smack in the middle of the constant Barcelona tourist chaos. Stepping into the chapel is like stepping into another level of enlightenment. Like you’re stepping into a religious center of 14th century Spain.
Most used the cathedral to fill their travel albums with pictures of the antiquity of Barcelona, but a there were a few who used the church for what it was what it was intended. Faithful Spaniards, circled the altars, drew imaginary crosses over their bodies and mumbled prayers to each one of the saints as they lit candles to honor them. I’m not Catholic, but I felt the same homage they paid.
Outside was the incessant roar of touristy mobs and a beggar jingling change in a used Starbucks cup and chanting “hola” to everyone who passed. A few other of his beggar friends sat outside asking for alms in front of the church without shame.
Inside the silence was like warm honey save for the obnoxious cameras of tourists. The walls were lined with 12 altars for saints I’d never even heard of with 18 stained-glass windows with more colors than a rainbow.
The altars were locked behind iron bars making the idols look more unreachable than ever. Not just anybody could touch them, or even light a candle in their shrines. The saints appeared as glorified as God himself. Some with mini-golden temples and cherub posies with them. Many had their own aura of candles glowing red, green or blue.
There is an overwhelming sense of being overwhelmed when you’re in this place. Like seeing the Grand Canyon for the first time, or realizing just how minute we are in the scheme of life. It was like a constant feast for the eyes; a column here, a mosaic of stained glass there, the paganistic- looking altars of dead saints. The faint smell of burning wax circled the room like second-hand smoke.
For the first time since I’d been in Barça I felt absolute peace. Something that the saturation of my senses could not bring. Something that traveling miles to live in another world would never bring. A peace you only get when you step away from the tired quick-fix prescriptions for peace. Finally, I’d found it… and then I fell asleep on the pew where I was sitting.