A Cathedral on the Streets of Atlanta

Vaulted ceilings. Corinthian Columns. Stained glass windows. A marble altar. When I would think of the elements necessary for a beautiful Catholic Church, I would think of these things. I lamented the death of beauty when I saw beige walls, carpeted aisles, and contemporary art adorning our sacred places of worship. I was so convinced that our churches should be places of worship and of conversion, so I was surprised when I experienced the most profound encounter with Christ in an unexpected place.

Holy Week has always been a meaningful time for me. My entire adult life, I would strive to make it a sacred time, focusing on fasting, prayer, and almsgiving. I would plan my schedule around Holy Week liturgies, even picking and choosing which churches to go to to maximize my accompaniment of Christ during His Passion and Resurrection. In hindsight, I realize that I was satisfied by these exercises, but then I would go home and feel so alone.

This year's Holy Week had an entirely different feel to it, and I will forever remember it as a Holy Week that left me transformed. 2021 is the first year I experienced Holy Week Mercy Missions. I had enjoyed monthly Mercy Missions before, but I had been told that Holy Week Missions were a whole other level where I would "die and rise with Christ." Holy Week Missions take place over the Easter Triduum and traditionally include different missions to various locations in Atlanta. In the past, they have included visits to nursing homes, low income neighborhoods, and city streets. This year the version was modified due to COVID, and our activity was limited to keep people safe.

My experience started when I went with one of the Consecrated Women and a fellow discerner to the streets of Atlanta to "invite" the homeless to see us during our Holy Week Missions. I specifically remember a man named James who would sit at the corner of one of the parks we visit. We told him we would be back and asked him if he needed anything. He said he could use a backpack. We told him we had plans to bring backpacks on Good Friday, and he told us, "All right. I'll be right here." We spent a little more time with James, and we learned that he grew up Catholic, and he even told his friends, "We always see the Catholics out here...and they always come and talk with us." It was a distinction I had heard before, that many groups would come out and bring meals or supplies. But then they would get back into their cars and drive away. Our missionaries have been told from the beginning that that goal isn't to distribute all of our supplies but to encounter people and bring Christ to them.

I had that thought in mind when our group gathered at Cristo Rey in Atlanta on Holy Thursday. I saw James again that day. We were bringing the homeless ice cream, and he asked me if we had his backpack. I gently reminded him, "Friday, James. We're bringing backpacks on Friday." He nodded, "Okay. I'll be here."

Friday came and I was told that backpacks would be distributed on Saturday instead. We participated in a profound live Stations of the Cross, and I got a feel for what it must have been like as Jesus walked to Calvary. Some people took it seriously; others not so much. My team went to a different location, so I didn't see James on Friday. It felt like the longest day of my life. I was tired. I was hot. I was hungry. I felt like I had reached my limit. Indeed, I felt as if I had "died with Christ."

I woke up on Saturday with the dregs of Friday still stirring in my heart. But I knew there was still work to be done, so I got up and got ready for our last day of missions. We spent the morning listening to a young man give a testimony on not being afraid to share your faith. Then, we made sandwiches and hygiene kits for distribution. It was backpack day, and we were going back to the park that James called home. I gathered some backpacks and kept my eyes opened. And across the crowd, I saw him. James. He was sitting on the same corner, exactly where he said he would be. In a moment, I caught his eye. It was the kind of gaze that I imagine landed on people when Jesus saw them in a crowd: Intentional. It was the kind of gaze that happens after seeking someone out for a time and then finally finding him.

I approached him and handed him his backpack, "I have your backpack, James."

"You came back for me...and you remembered my name." were the words that spilled from his mouth as he received the gift he had been waiting for for a week.

"Of course, James. I couldn't forget you."

It was in that moment that I felt like I was encountering Jesus. As I looked around, I saw my fellow missionaries sitting with these beautiful human beings. Teenagers and young adults were one with the poor, laughing, crying, and even singing and dancing. It dawned on me that in that moment, God was pleased. It was a place where worship and conversion happened. A cathedral in the middle of the streets of Atlanta.

All of a sudden, I felt my heart transformed. I was humbled by Christ in a man named James. I realized it is the flesh and blood that matters more than the brick and mortar. I think that there will always be a part of me that appreciates ornate doorways and marble in a Church. Yes it is so true that we encounter Christ in our church buildings. But we encounter him even more deeply in the people He places in front of us. It's in these living stones that we are called to love. And it's that love that leads us to holiness. This is the love that he calls us to, a love that is the cross and beckons us to seek others in the same way he seeks us.

Photo by N. Santos