Sagrada Familia – Waiting Our Turn

We make our way through the throngs to the magnet that draws the multitudes—Sagrada Familia —the architectural wonder that Antonio Gaudi devoted forty-three years of his life to creating. It is one of the most recognizable landmarks in Spain and is the genius architects version of an Unfinished Symphony — his Magnum Opus. Work on the church began in 1882 and continues to this day.

Since we are almost an hour early for our fifteen-minute reservation-window to enter this magnificent edifice, we head for the park surrounding the basilica.

It is a race to the one empty bench, but Michael and I get there first and watch preparations for a paella feast—for someone—not us.  Many people stop by this catering truck asking when they will begin serving. The answer is always the same. The giant pan of paella is for a festival—not them.

After half an hour of watching food prep Michael suggests it is time to search for the entrance gate. When I present my phone-ticket I am told that the entrance is on the other side of the church. We wade through the streets of packed humanity—pushing, weaving—till we get to the entrance for individuals holding tickets.  Breezing through, we are instructed that only one of us can stand in line to get the audio guides for both of us.  I stand in line while Michael wanders off to take pictures of the pep rally going at full tilt on the street below.

Three Facades – Three Entrances

The Sagrada Familia has three monumental facades, each one representing one of the three crucial events of Christ’s existence: his birth; his Passion, Death and Resurrection; and his present and future Glory — unfinished.

Earphones in place, we crane our necks, looking up — up — up — to see the images on the East façade. The façade that the Spaniard speaking into my ear should be telling me about.

“Michael, I think we are on the wrong side.”

“No, there is the dove he is talking about. This is the right place.”

I continue looking at the entrance before me depicting joy—the birth of Christ—while the speaker tells me about His passion and death.  Everything I see signifies hope. The façade is glorious in its rich ornamentation and tells the story of the nativity in stone.  Fat chickens. Strutting hens.  Flowers. Adoring faces.

I know we are on the wrong side.

A Basilica Interior Unlike Any Other

Entering the Sagrada Familia, we walk through open doors of gilded bronze into a blinding rainbow of fragmented glass both surrounding and reflected on a forest of columns. The windows before me are luminous.  I have never seen so much color and brightness—vivid reds and oranges on one end transmuted to greens on the other.  I turn around and look at the opposite wall which is a symphony of blues fading to green.  The entire basilica is bathed in color. I look up and see white and light and air. How do you capture wonder on film? I cannot.  This space is soaring joy.

We sit for a long while in one of the empty seats in the middle of the basilica.  Mike snaps pictures of people snapping pictures.  I stare upward trying to absorb the immensity of the place.  The detail of the towering ceiling.

Finally, we exit the opposite door from which we entered, wind our recorders back to the beginning and listen to the story of the facade interpreting Christ’s passion—all angles and hard edges. Sorrow. Pain. Agony. Death.

There are many tourists outside the gates and I want to tell them, “The outside is not enough. You need to go inside.” For Michael’s sake, I remain silent.