Buenos Aires was a last-minute decision. The only plan I made in advance was a hotel room. So, I did what you do when you have no idea what to do. I asked the hotel concierge to find me a guide. They chose Angie.
The Buenos Aires native spoke perfect English, a gift since I know about 20 Spanish words - if you include taco and burrito.
As Angie took me past the Pink House (Argentina’s version of the White House) and to La Boca with its tourists and colorful painted buildings, she pointed out sites and mentioned churches along the way, including one she had attended growing up.
Gradually, we both shared small details about our faith with its ebbs and flows that pushed us toward church and pulled us away again. It was enough to open a door.
After the official guiding was over, we talked in my hotel lobby, each curious about the other’s life and faith. Then she pulled out two mini rosaries she had made from small plastic beads, each with a tiny cross dangling from it.
“These are for you and your husband,” she said, explaining that she started making them after not having one of her own for a retreat.
I thanked her and asked if she could wait while I ran to my room and then returned with a box of toffee from my hometown. I didn’t usually bring giveaways, but this had been a last-minute impulse buy. As I handed it to Angie, I understood why.
In turn, she handed me an envelope.
“A few more rosaries. For someone you meet along the way,” she said.
And there we were, two strangers connected by Spirit- strangers no more.
“There’s a special service at my church tonight, small and intimate,” Angie said before leaving. “Would you like to come?”
Four hours later, she led me through the side door of Santo Domingo Basilica of Our Lady of the Rosary. She introduced me to the Dominican brothers and priests who passed us in a back hallway. One from Canada. One from California. Another from Chile. All there to study, to grow. All greeted me like a sister who came in from the cold.
The gorgeous Basilica was dark except for the area behind the altar, the intimate space for vespers, an evening contemplative service. A handful of us joined the Dominican friars and priests who gathered on the choir benches lining both sides behind the altar. I’d guess there were 30-40 of us in all.
In the dim quiet, song lifted prayer. Voices on one side of the space alternated with those from the other, like a call and a reply, a Psalm in Spanish. I understood none of it, but I closed my eyes and felt all of it.
Afterward, Angie and I talked for a long while with Brother Michael from California. We deep-dived into faith, and I asked him difficult questions I hoped he could answer. Then, we prayed together - me alongside a man devoting his life to God and a chance guide - on a night that felt like it hadn’t been chance at all.
After hugs and farewells, I made my way back to the hotel in the quiet of this clear, winter Buenos Aires night, filled with the certainty of several things: God’s love, the importance of fellowship, the kindness of strangers, and that sometimes, arriving with no agenda leaves space for the best agenda of all.
