A Tale of Two Churches

I regularly attend mass at two churches that could not be more dissimilar in architectural style and atmosphere.

I started going to them when I moved about eight years ago. You are never far from a church in São Paulo and I was spoilt for choice with six churches within walking distance of my home. I ended up with these two as they are conveniently close and I can be there in 10 minutes.

The first is in colonial style and would not look out of place in somewhere like Ouro Preto or Salvador which are filled with Baroque churches. It has an enormous elaborate central altarpiece, two small side altars, stained glass windows, carved wooden stations of the cross, paintings on the ceilings, blue tiled walls displaying scenes from the life of St. Theresa of Avila, arches, statues and a balcony for the choir. Despite this it is relatively small and the early morning weekday masses are held in an atmosphere of intimacy with a congregation of 20 to 30 people, most of whom are regulars.

I remember one morning there was an electricity blackout and the sun shone through the windows casting a prism of colors across the worshippers. The natural light and the murmur of the faithful as they followed the mass made me think the early church must have been like that.

The church has a long association with an adjoining Catholic university and often hosts ceremonial occasions. It shows itself to be the perfect location for solemn masses when it is packed and resounds to the sound of prayer and music. Despite this, it needs a thorough renovation as the stations of the cross are in a bad state, the paint is chipping in many places and there are a couple of ominous cracks which I assume pose no structural danger.

So after lavishing all this praise why are my loyalties divided with another church?

My relationship with the other church got off to a bad start. First of all it is an enormous white building made of concrete with a hideous “modern” statue of St Dominic at the entrance. Long windows allow in natural light but they are too narrow and too few. The church is run by Dominican friars and is intended to be simple. It can hold up to 1,300 worshippers – yes 1,300! How can that be simple? It reminds me of a convention center for political rallies rather than a place of worship. The ceiling is so high you strain your neck looking at it. It is as bare as a Protestant church, devoid of statues, paintings and anything aesthetic. Some stations of the cross were put up recently but they are so small and badly hung that I´m sure most people do not even notice them. Behind the altar is an enormous beige stone wall like an Aztec temple into which a cross (not a crucifix) is embedded. There is also a small shrine to the Virgin made of plaster that looks as if it has been bought in a garden center. A life-sized carved statue of St. Dominic has recently been installed at the front of the altar but is swallowed up by the vastness of the church.

I thought it was horrible and avoided it in my first few months, only going occasionally. However, as things turned out it was the very size that started to appeal to me on Sundays. I quickly learned that Sunday was not a good day for the older colonial style church as it gets packed. This makes it cramped, uncomfortable and noisy, the opposite of the weekday mass. The congregation generally consists of families who only go to mass on Sundays and, as there are few familiar faces, I wonder at times if I am really in “my” church. In contrast, the sheer expanse of the modern church means I have room to myself and do not feel claustrophobic. I can breathe and relish the space and light. Most importantly I can pray as well there among the glass and concrete as I can in the cozy gloom of the chapel.

Another one point they have in common and which should be highlighted is that they are places of welcome. In both places I was quickly invited to read the Liturgy and join in the saying of the Rosary.