Inside the fifth-largest cathedral in the US: Quiet and light at Holy Name of Jesus
It stands on a West Raleigh hill with its dome looming over the city, a copper-colored finger pointing into the sky.
Everything about Holy Name of Jesus Cathedral suggests size, majesty, the enormity of God, from the 50 bells in its bell tower to the 3,737 pipes in its pipe organ. The seat of Raleigh’s Catholic diocese ranks as the fifth-largest cathedral in the United States, bigger than St. Patrick’s in Manhattan.
But step inside the nave and the massive church practically bursts with white light — no more intimidating than a cumulus cloud out the window of an airplane.
Profound quiet
Inside that colossal space, big enough to seat 2,000, a soul can experience quiet profound enough to hear the ticking of a wristwatch.
The feeling one gets there, regardless of faith, is of space going on forever. None of the dark corners of Notre Dame, lit only by candle. Light pours in from all sides, even through the dome.
“That is one of the things, to me, that’s so welcoming, so comforting,” said Bill Flowers, a docent there. “It is light. You don’t get that sense of darkness.”
Opened in 2017, Holy Name of Jesus still looks like a cathedral fresh out of the box, its marble altar shining white. But the cathedral contains bits of church history, especially the clerestory windows high in the nave, all of them taken from Ascension of Our Lord Church in Philadelphia.
The church left Ascension of Our Lord after low attendance in 2012, then sold it in 2014. Soon afterward, it became a gathering place for homeless people pushed out of other camps. When a priest walked through its ruins three years later, he told Catholic News Service that even in their squalor, “it looked like they were waiting for mass to start.”
Beneath the windows, the white walls of Holy Name of Jesus are lined with colorful statues of the saints, all hand-carved in Italy and nearly life-sized. Along with the Blessed Mother and Saint Joseph stand St. Martin de Porres, holding a loaf of bread, and St. Andrew Dung-Lac, the Vietnamese martyr.
Jesus among the stars
St. Francis of Assisi stands atop a skull, while St. Patrick has snakes peeking out from his robes.
At the center of the cathedral’s cross-shaped design, just below the dome, Jesus is framed on the cross by the same set of stars that would have shone on the day of his crucifixion — the constellations confirmed by a UNC professor.
On a weekday morning, the church stands empty but for two people: a middle-age man praying near the altar, and a second man praying at the rear. The second man arrived as the 50 bells pealed for 11 o’clock, and he walked into the nave wearing sandals and a straw hat, carrying a bag that may have held all of his belongings.
As he walked into the whiteness of the nave, he lowered his head and stayed for nearly an hour — becoming part of the quiet.
