The Cathedral,
by Leonor Henríquez

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        The Holy Week has ended, and I confess I didn’t step foot in a church, but I did into a cathedral.

Perhaps because it was Good Friday, it seemed more solemn than usual.

The people maintained a touching silence as they crossed the threshold, but in an instant, a secret complicity was felt among all those present.

We met in the smiles, in the glances, in the serene passage of the faithful through its aisles.

It seemed like a place where there was no room for solitude, but rather a collective embrace, a kind crowd.

Let me clarify.

The cathedral I attended during Holy Week wasn’t exactly a temple, but a hospital. Nothing serious; I went to accompany a friend.

However, during the brief time that my visit lasted on that particular day, I looked with different eyes at this place where doctors, nurses, and staff in general, only offer kind care to patients and their companions. The hospital, what my doctor father called “suffering humanity”, may not be a cathedral as such, but it is a place where one perceives a very different way of praying not as devout or effusive as in churches. Perhaps because in this different context, we humans come together vulnerable and humble.

The people there join hands and pray silently, without fanfare, without exultant requests, but rather with gratitude.

Yes, any place is good to offer an invocation, but this brief visit to the hospital was a prayer; clear, simple, human.

I hope it counts  for me up there.

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