IT RISES LIKE A MANY-PEAKED mountain from the heart of the city. Caverns on its steep slopes hold Bible scenes. Birds, plants, frogs, and insects inhabit this landscape too. It’s the Basilica de la Sagrada Familia—the Church of the Holy Family—in Barcelona, Spain. And it’s one of Europe’s biggest tourist attractions. I stood in a long line, clutching my ticket, waiting in the hot sun to be admitted. When I was inside, at last, the heat and the wait were forgotten. The vast interior pulsed with light in a thousand shades. With each step, breathtaking vistas opened, immense columns branching like trees in an otherworldly forest. All of it based on the vision of an astonishing genius, Antoni Gaudí.
In downtown Barcelona on June 7, 1926, a shabbily dressed old man was struck by a tram. Passersby stopped to stare at the crumpled form. Frayed trousers, threadbare jacket, much-patched shoes, unkempt white beard— one of the city’s many beggars. “He’s alive!” someone shouted. Men picked up the unconscious tramp and carried him to the closest clinic.
His injuries were far too severe to handle there. A nurse searched his pockets for identification. In one, she found a handful of raisins and peanuts. In another, a much-thumbed copy of the Gospels. Nothing else. The injured man was taken by ambulance to the paupers’ hospital, but doctors there could do nothing either. He lay on the narrow iron bed, dying, like so many in that place, homeless and nameless.
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