Can you be happy in New York?

A few weeks ago I traveled to New York for the first time. The dynamism of New York captivated me. An Egyptian hot dogs he would tell me:

-You feel part of New York because we all come from everywhere.

Probably because it is such a busy city, I was thrilled to find St. Patrick's Cathedral unexpectedly among so many skyscrapers. It reminded me of the welcoming encounter produced by the cathedral in Granada. St. Patrick's is opposite Rockefeller Center and its famous Atlas holding the world: while he struggles to carry the whole world on his shoulders, behind the high altar of St. Patrick's you find, discreetly, a Baby Jesus holding the whole world in his hands.

In the mornings we had finance classes and, after lunch, we visited several major banks. Although the «transactional» culture of Manhattan is very widespread, I enjoyed meeting professionals who are aware that work is not everything. During those days I had the good fortune to visit St. Patrick's Child several times. The image gave me food for thought:

«What does it profit a man to gain the whole world if he loses his soul?» Can one really be happy in a city like this?

As I was leaving Norman Foster's impressive skyscraper at 270 Park Avenue, home of J.P. Morgan, one evening, I remembered that I wanted to go to Mass. It was almost 6:30 p.m. Accustomed to Spanish schedules, I leisurely looked for nearby churches. The last ones had started at 17:30. After a thorough analysis of the Mass Schedule application -very good, by the way-, I found one at 19:00, twenty minutes away by subway. Without thinking, I went to the subway and made sure of the correct direction of the train.

As I arrived at my stop and stepped out onto the street, a group of locals looked at me with surprise. At that moment I realized that I was not in millionaire Manhattan, but in Harlem: the historic epicenter of African-American culture. One of the group said to me something like:

-Nice jacket, young man.

He was referring to the jacket he was wearing, which was so out of place in that neighborhood. I pretended to be crazy and went towards the church, which was already ringing the quarters in the distance. On the street I felt observed and less in agreement with the Egyptian's theory that anyone there feels part of the city.

As I entered the church, I was a little tense. I sat in the back and listened to singing in Spanish. The blessing with the Blessed Sacrament was taking place. I did not understand anything. When it was over, several ladies were looking at me from the front and I approached one of them who was organizing the whole thing. She was frowning until I got up the courage to tell her:

-Good afternoon! There is mass now, isn't there?

At that moment, he smiled at me and said in a resounding, energetic voice:

-Praise the Lamb! He brought you to this, our St. Joseph's community in Harlem, and now you are one of us. -I didn't know what answer to give. Well, you'll help at Mass, okay? It's been a long time since we've had an altar boy this young.

Clearly I could not say no after such a welcome. The mass was in Spanish and very beautiful. The women, almost all Latinas, sang in unison and it was exciting to hear them. It was Thursday and the homily was impressive. I wish Martin Luther King had that kind of oratory. The women responded with amens and I dared to whisper «so be it» only at the end. The priest ended the Eucharist by exclaiming:

-San José!

While the rest answered:

-Pray for us and increase our faith!

They carried, like the Child of St. Patrick, the world in their humble hands. They, for free, made me feel at home. They convinced me that yes, you can be happy in New York.