I am back from NY as of last night, and what a rich and fruitful trip. Many reflections.
One is that we carry within us little compartments, mansions, to which the door can remain shut for weeks, months, years–and then a smell, the view down a street, a face, a series of sounds, a landscape, can open the door once again upon a long vista…
Such was my feeling about being in the Upper East Side–I’ve stayed on E 65th many times over the years, my room a perk of writing for Magnificat. To be literally around the corner from St. Vincent Ferrer is my idea of heaven. My room was in the back, overlooking the courtyard to the south of the church, its copper roofing, tall stained glass windows, weathered seemingly impenetrable walls, and behind them, the altar, the tabernacle, the candle burning behind red glass…
Waking, sleeping, praying, writing in my journal so close to Christ had an unbelievably calming effect. I felt sheltered, protected, shepherded, accompanied, loved. Not that I wasn’t in high gear, high-alert mode, as always, but to be able to walk downstairs, around the corner, up those tall stone steps and into the sanctuary of my favorite church on earth–and to me the most beautiful…let’s just say my mind began wandering to thoughts of I wonder if some rich person around here has an apartment they never use that they’d like ME to live in!…
Side note: In fact while I was there, a dear friend who lives in Chelsea offered me HER apartment for basically the month of January…She also gave me her old ipad which–people, I have never owned a “tablet” of any kind! More gear…another device…who needs it? was my thought. However, after setting it up a whole new world has opened to me of downloaded ebooks from the various libraries where I have cards. I’ve always hated reading books online but partly because my iphone 8 is about three inches wide and the laptop is too unwieldy…also I see you can highlight, save and copy text etc on kindle which is another feature that is esp appealing to someone like me who copies out a lot of quotes. The point being, my trip was larded with any number of such crazy gifts, the most precious ones being getting to see my friends…
In fact, my friend Muiereann, Dublin, Ireland, and I attended the 1 o’clock Sunday Mass at St. Patrick’s, celebrated (I’d checked in advance) by none other than Fr. Donald Haggerty who, as many of you may know, has written a series of books that it’s not an exaggeration to say have been life-changing for me.
I made sure to stand in his Communion line, and after Mass, waited behind the altar (I felt like Eve Harrington waiting tremulously outside the stage door for Margo Channing in All About Eve) and was able to press the good Father’s hand in gratitude. I will write more about his bracing homily in an upcoming column. He couldn’t have been kinder though I’m sure he is accosted on all sides by people wanting things from him, and also looks like he barely eats, i.e. is fasting, fasting… We need people like this, to inspire, encourage, set an example.
It has got to be a trial to be a priest at St. Patrick’s as the place is overrun by tourists with selfie sticks and is a bit of a circus. To have people parading around who are so oblivious to the Eucharist…while you’re saying Mass, no less…
On the other hand, what was so beautiful about Manhattan was that the churches ARE right smack in the middle of it all, as they should be, and thus all of humanity is incorporated, accommodated, swept up, invited…To attend a six pm Mass at St. Vincent Ferrer on a Monday night and have probably 75 people in attandance was wondrous to me. Students, businesspeople ducking in after work, old people with crutches and walkers, young guys who looked like they just came from the gym…I felt part of something, which is not a feeling I (or probably many of us) get regularly…I know I am, of course, but to feel it is another matter…In the right front corner in an alcove of Madonna blue speckled with silver stars stands a snow-white statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary; a lone, faithful candle glowing through the gloom near her head…I just love this stuff. The dull gold candlesticks, the embroidered altar cloths, the side chapels with St. Martin de Porres, St. T of Lisieux, St. Vincent Ferrer himself…
One day I made my way up to another of my favorite spots: Central Park’s Conservatory Garden. Part of the area is under renovation but another huge part was in full flush, and hardly anyone was there so I got to sit in the drizzle and eat my brown rice shrimp and avocado sushi and ponder how part of the Cross is that we can only be in one place at a time, we incarnate humans, and can only live one life…I’m an East Coaster by birth and deepest temperament so the decidious trees, the streams, fountains, Hudson River, general sense of water (it rained a lot of the time I was there, which after a Tucson summer, was lovely), the wise-guy zeitgeist, the pavements plastered with wet oak leaves, the hot dogs, pizza, donuts, are all so familiar to me…
The Met Cloisters courtyard garden was also a treat…
Pray for us, St. Maximilian Kolbe, whose feast day is today.
Leave a Reply