blank pages and empty spaces

I am sitting in a mass in a cathedral at notre dame in indiana. It smells of incense and of a quaint antique shop full of old wood furniture. I am sitting behind four nuns as young as i am. The architecture and the art on the ceiling is astounding. The sounds of the voices resound. The formality of mass is disconcerting yet somehow sacred at the same time. I wonder if the guy in front speaking is going to watch espn when he gets home. I wonder if the church in all its sacred macho is genuine or simply tradition. To me, it was moving but more in a historical sense than spiritual.