“In my youth, I went through a period where I doubted the very existence of our Lord.” He set his gaze on his cassock, almost apologetically. “Oddly, my love for architecture is what brought me to Him. You see, my father had a book of European churches. It was a beautiful book, filled with pencil illustrations of Notre Dame, the Cattedrale di Santa Maria del Fiore, St. Peter’s Basilica, Santiago de Compostela. This book was forbidden to me since it was one of the few precious things my father had brought from France and he said I would ruin it with my dirty hands. But every time I saw him climb onto his horse, I would sneak into his study and look at the pictures for hours. As I grew older and was able to read the text, I learned that throughout the centuries, theology has always been at the core of the aesthetics and construction of these Christian churches.”

He glanced at the cross on the wall with reverence. “When my mother would visit family in Guayaquil and Quito, she took me with her and we inevitably went to those impressive churches. I spent more hours than I can count in mass, but I was silently enraptured by the beauty of those cathedrals. And yet, my mother’s excessive religiosity frustrated me just like my father’s skepticism filled me with doubt.”

His words resonated with me. My mother had also dragged me to church for six o’clock mass every morning—the chocolate store had been a wonderful excuse not to go anymore. It was interesting that the two women in my father’s life had shared such devotion.

“So, I set out to disprove the existence of God,” he said, and a tight-lipped smile followed. “I went to great lengths to do this. I joined the seminary so I could learn everything I could about philosophy and religion and I could come back home filled with rational arguments to support my stance. Of course, I hid my perverse plan from all those around me, but the more I learned, the more I attempted to illuminate my mother of all my findings. And yet, her faith remained intact.” He took a deep breath. “Her death was so shocking and painful to me that one afternoon, filled with rage against this so-called God who had taken the person I loved the most away from me, I turned to the very source of my doubt and struggle for solace.”

His voice broke a little. He stared at his hands before speaking again.