Stepping Out of the Boat

Easter Sunday came a few days after our adventure on Pico Duarte, so we were still recovering, in a way, and we were dragging a little bit. Rebecca and I both had a bit of an upset stomach, but we thought it was worth it to be in such a historically significant church on Easter Sunday even though there are few bathrooms to be found in the Colonial Zone.

We arrived to the Colonial Zone by 9 a.m. only to find out that the service started at noon. We were three hours early, and paying to take a taxi home and back to the church was not an option. So - we decided to sit around and waste three hours waiting for the church to open. Everything was closed, so we couldn't look around at stores, but there was one cafe that was open. We decided to have some fresh tropical fruit juice and some brunch. Then, we sat there and watched people for a very long time. Becky and I had tummy troubles from the end of brunch until we left the church.

We had waited around until 11:30, when the sun was starting to turn the city into a sauna, when we were feeling pretty uncomfortable and ready to go home, and we decided that it was silly to wait all that time just to wimp out a half hour before the service, so we stuck it out. Around that time, a man with a cart came around selling toys for kids. None of the toys were quiet, and some parents near us bought their little kids some ear-piercing whistles which were the bane of our existence for the last brutal half our of our waiting time. Parents here don't care if their kids are obnoxious in public.

Finally, the gates of the church were opened at about five till noon, and we went in. We decided to stay for only a little while since a) we had upset tummies, b) we couldn't understand a word of what was being said in the service, and c) Dominican masses are VERY long, and we had already spent three hours there. The time we were there in the service was definitely worth the wait, the discomfort, the incredibly shrill and unsettling whistles, and the oppressive heat.

While we sat in the church waiting for the service to start, I tried hard not to think of the complete historical significance of La Catedral Primera because it made me sad to think of how many native people died building it and of how the priests and other Spaniards who were overseeing the building were the only representation of Christ that those people had. It didn't work. Sitting inside the cathedral, looking at the hand-carved stones and the pieces of coral in the walls of the church, I was infinitely sad for the entire race of people who were killed off in a fairly short amount of time by the Catholic Spaniards who came to conquer the area.

Then I started to think about how many generations of people had worshiped God in that very place, how many songs of praise had echoed and reverberated through the long hall and out the heavy gates into the city. I thought of the countless priests who had given their lives to serving God and people in that church. I took in the aesthetic beauty all around me - the classic architectural style from centuries ago, the ancient paintings, the richly dark and heavy wood altar contrasting with the cool light color of the stone and coral in the walls, the slightly primitive stained glass windows high above us, the new and fresh flowers (bright red and yellow) adorning the isle and altar whose light fragrance occasionally wafted by my nose, the doves who had nested high up in the unreachable corners of the room looking down on us, the shafts of light shooting in through the tiny octagonal grates up by the ceiling and cutting through the dust particles to give the light a shape, the perfectly cut symmetrical slabs of coral that made up the ceiling, the mathematically sound patterns and arches criss-crossing all over the arched ceiling ... and I saw how all of those things came together to give praise and pay homage to God. How beautiful, and the service hadn't even started yet.

I appreciated the coolness that the stone building provided, the protection from the hot sun, as we sat and waited for the service to begin. A small and shabby-looking choir filed in at the front. I knew they were the choir because they were all wearing matching (and slightly dusty) polyester choir robes - really heavy dark red and beige ones. They lined up close to the front of the church, the first notes of a very old pipe organ sounded, and then, it seemed, I was transported to another dimention...

As the powerfully simple melody of the organ began to play, those polyester clad choristers transformed into a small heavenly host belting out a delicate yet passionate melancholy melody with intricate harmonies and counter melodies weaving in and around the soulful tune. Their voices filled the cathedral, resonating and reverberating so that it seemed I was breathing, touching, utterly surrounded by the full and magnificent song to God. It consumed all of my senses, and my imagination flew to the heights of heaven where I hope I get to hear and sing songs like that for eternity.

As the choir sang, some doves fluttered to and fro above us as if to say, "We agree! Sing on!" It was really a magical moment... sitting in that ancient church, thinking about how many people had sat where I was and witnessed a glimpse of heaven on earth in the form of song. How many thousands of times had that very song been sung by an equally shabby looking choir to produce such transcendence? I realized again (like I had at the top of Pico Duarte) my relative insignificance in the grand scheme. It's rather comforting, really.

As soon as the pipe organ ceased and the choristers were silent, a powerful echo and a holy silence filled the church. Then, the spell was completely broken, the transcendence removed, as a man walked up to the old poor-quality microphone in the front of the church and began to mumble into it. He was speaking Spanish, but even if he had been speaking English, we couldn't have understood a word he was saying. Shortly after, we decided to head home.

There you have it... Easter Sunday at the first church in the "new world" - we were really only in the church for half an hour, but it was spiritual and awe-inspiring.