Every time I go down Mallorca Street, I can hear the hustle and bustle of the people, the tour buses, the construction equipment. But I can't yet see it in it's full splendor. I have to actually cross Sicilia Street in order to see the spires. And when they come into full view, you can't help but feel small.
Perhaps that's what Antonio Gaudà wanted. To make you feel the grandness of God. The awesome spires reach out to heaven.
If the sky is gray, they almost seem to plead. If, on the other hand, the weather is good, they seem to be reaching up in praise.
So often. When I feel a little down, I go all they way to the other end of the city to look at them. The Twelve Apostles (only 8 built so far). When I think of them this way, and not as towers, then it's not so much earth reaching to heaven, but Heaven reaching down to earth and giving us that Divine Inspiration that some of us are so much in need of.
I have never really taken a look at what apostles each tower represents. It just makes me happy to know that they are here. And that one day, for domes, taller than the spires will be built, representing the four Evangelists. And then one taller than those four, representing our Holy Mother. I expect I will not be around to witness this, but my son will. How joyful to have this representation of Blessed Mary look over the city where my son lives. And finally, that tallest of the domes, with a giant cross perched high above it will represent Jesus. No words.
No words come out of my mouth as I stand in the plaza directly in front of the Passion facade. I just look, and pray and sometimes cry. And all around me flashes go off. I hear people speaking in foreign languages, some I recognize, some I do not. I may not understand what they are saying, but the tone is that of amazement at what stretches out before them.
And I sit in silence and revel my smallness.
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