Angels' Wings

This past weekend the crew did our annual trip to the Big Apple ,and the sights of the holiday decorations of the city that truly goes out of its way to bring in the season. Christmas in NYC spans every religion and denomination known to civilization, whether it be believers or not. Coming from a village in Central Kentucky does little to prepare one for the rich heritage and diverse customs so apparent in our largest city. It's as if a banquet of exotic food is placed before your eyes , and you don't know where to start. I always try to go into St. Patrick's Cathedral as I walk up 50th street from our hotel, and this time we went in and sat briefly in the dimly lit,vast cathedral. It seems as if God is somewhere near, or if not ,at least he's been recently. I look up towards the high vaulted ceiling and see faint shadows from the hundreds of burning candles below, thinking maybe that I might hear the soft rustlings of angels' wings as they flitter amongst the towering stone columns, much like moths above flames. Are angels drawn to the prayers and candles ? Do I really hear murmurs and angelic rustlings up near the dark, arched ceilings? Did I really see a shadow flit swiftly across the ornate stained glass rosette facing Rockefeller Center? Or perhaps the spectre was of some spirit from New York's past, seeking comfort with living bodies down in the polished pews below. I read somewhere that rough deckhands on a tramp steamer had found an angel with an injured wing in a crate of bananas bound North from below the equator, but then after seeing Michael on the vcr I think maybe the story wasn't true. I just know that the Catholicism thing is as alien to a Southern Baptist boy as Judaism or even the Muslim Religion. As I grew up in a small community it was difficult to see how picturesque and idyllic the place really was. I guess in hindsight that the ribbon that bound us all together was the Baptist Church , which like all surrounding communities, was not very tolerant of thinking very far out of the box. Every sermon ended with invitations to join and become a member of the fold. Imagery always centered around shepherds and flocks of sheep. The music was slow ,somber, and very traditional. If at times I didn't enjoy my childhood it was because I was mortally afraid that I or my family would die and go to hell. The Ministers most often spoke only in passing about a God of Love, and dwelled upon a Vengeful God who would surely send us to Everlasting damnation and torment. Neil Diamond sang of Brother Love's Travelling Salvation Show, and I was always there. I could see the Devil lurking outside the doors, waiting to snatch us away to hell. I didn't know whether the scenerio was like Hansel and Gretel in the forest with the wicked Witch, or some slick talking guy in Robin Hood attire as he played upon his flute like a modern Pied Piper of Hamlin, magic sounds coming from the flute, and occasionally seeing the glimpse of horns under his silken hood. Whatever the scenerio, we were always doomed to hellfire and brimstone as the katydids sang on those stiffling August Nights. I've often wondered how Neil Diamond, being the Jewish lad from Brooklyn,could have told of the fear and agony of poor little Protestants from Lincoln County Kentucky in 1965. How could I have been so traumatized as a youth as I walked home from church, not hearing the whipporwills or insects as they sang amongst the black velvet , sweaty night? I would only occasionally glance over my shoulder to see if Satan truly was glowing evilly, and ready to snatch me away. Sweet Jesus!! Keep him away. I was so young and my world was so centered around me that I didn't realize that Satan had a pretty big schedule , and that I was fairly low on his priorities. There was more than enough suffering around the world than in my own little realm. Maybe he should have gone after Lee Harvey Oswald, or Lyndon Johnson, or Richard Nixon, or Nikita Kruschev, or Fidel Castro, or Idi Ahmin. Just anyone but me. Back to today, I hope those angels are truly up in the far ceilings of Saint Patricks ,and thanks Neil Diamond.