THE FUSE

The other evening, I went for a walk through Barcelona. I passed the crowded tourist areas, crossed the football fields, and was heading back home when I came by the Church of St. Francis of Assisi. On impulse, I went in. A mass was taking place. The priest was distributing the body of Christ. For a moment, I considered joining the line, but I felt like I would be intruding — like entering something intimate that was not mine. Instead, I sat down. As I settled, I began to notice the atmosphere in the room. There were perhaps 30 people — mostly elderly, along with a few young families and some teenagers. What struck me was not devotion, but density: a quiet, shared weight of lived suffering. Not dramatic or loud — just present. Many faces seemed marked by difficulty. I had entered seeking calm. Instead, I encountered vulnerability.