This morning I went to mass at a beautiful ancient church in the Ciudad Vieja called Iglesia Matriz. I decided to walk the 2 miles or so through the practically deserted Sunday morning streets and showed up really early for the 11 o’clock service. I walked a bit more in the old city and got myself lost. An old, hunched over women in slippers and a bulky red sweater was walking near me and I asked her where the church was. She said “vas contigo,” come with me, then “Americana?”

When I gave her an affirmative nod, she began to talk to me in English, asking me all about my studies, how I liked Uruguay, all sorts of things. When we reached Iglesia Matriz, she asked me if I was Catholic. I said no, just Christian. From that moment on, she took me under her wing. She brought me to sit right next to the stage, and tried to explain things. She pointed at the huge crystal chandelier above us, the gold encrusted statuary, vaulted painted ceilings and said, “this is beautiful, but I don’t like it. Just Jesus for me.”

The Priest was so gentle. his voice rolled fluidly and calmingly through the church like music, and so clear, I could understand practically everything. his hands performed the sacraments, pouring the wine, folding a towel, offering the bread, with such practiced perfection and smoothness, it was like watching art. So beautiful. Growing up in a basically non-denominational home, I have never encountered very much religious ritual. I used to actually scorn the idea and think it was an antiquated sort of control game, but I think I was wrong. My first mass was a very spiritual experience for me.

After a shower of “la paz contigo,” The peace with you, from all of the people sitting in the little close side area with me, Susana, my new 75 year old friend, and I walked out into the warm afternoon air. I kissed the priest in the doorway as we left. He smelled fresh like soap, then hugged Susana goodbye. She said, “Amanda, don’t be afraid,” and hobbled away to sit in a plaza and watch the day go by.