....because of their singing praises, I believe.

Old, young, tall, short. People from next door and people from across the world walked the same steps I did into the glorious ancestor trailed church. As I strolled into the average sized church I couldn't help but look straight up. I usually get the same feeling when entering the house of the Lord, but this time i felt touched. Touched by the spirits of the indigenous, touched by the atmosphere of the church, and touched by the beauty that cascades from top to bottom.
Arriving early was a must, according to those who have attended regularly, but even a spot standing in the back of the room is as much sought after as the first row seats. I sat next to an elder Hispanic woman and her daughter who attend the service weekly. As the father asked the congregation about locals and vacationers I was appauled at the plethora of tourists. After gazing at the non-locals I tried to imagine where they were from and if they had ever experienced something as memorable as I was at the very moment. Coming from a family who has changed religions and churches more than five times in my life, this mass was constantly reassuring my belief in Catholicism.
It wasn't hard for me to find the way to San Jose, and it was hard for me to pray in church, but I was very fearful about going in alone. I then realized that I wasn't alone, I was with my family, my ancestors, my neighbors, and the Lord.
The service wasn't boring or dragged out like I had witnessed before, but rather lively. The mariachis really added life to the hundreds of years old church by pouring their hearts and souls into the sound of their music. I stared unaware at the young woman whose voice of an angel called out to me like a strangers hand reaching across the dinner table for prayer. Looking to my left, I could see a tear fall from the eye of the elderly Hispanic woman as she engulfed the sentimental language of the song, as if she were singing it herself. Without explanation I couldn't help but shed a few tears myself as many of the congregation clapped their hands and sang along, those who knew the words.
One aspect I was so ecstatic to learn about was that the service was in English and Spanish. Being a minor in Spanish, I could incorporate my knowledge into the church service. The bi-lingual gospel was such a beautiful experience. Even though not everyone understood English or Spanish, the language barrier wasn't enough to keep them from praising and witnessing the beauty of the mass.
As we filed out one by one the mariachis sang what seemed to be no ordinary hymn, but a praise to all. I hadn't been to church in over six months, but this experience not only changed my mind about committing to attending church regularly, but also enhanced my faith even more than before.