I keep reading that we’re in a secular age with church attendance numbers falling like a rock. As just one more senior citizen with habits difficult to quit, I meet many of my peers in church. They also look at too many empty pews and silently wonder where all the people have gone.
The answer can be as simple as turning around to find that half the congregation is sitting behind you. It could be humility, or last in, first out. Nonetheless, we miss the missing because maybe they’re missing out on new friendships and old truths.
What I do know is that in December a lot of lights are lit downtown, and in people’s hearts. Popular carols and seasonal standards are in the air. Smiles appear where they’ve been rare all year long. Childhood memories, romance, family gatherings and deep Christmas snows take center stage.
Bing Crosby’s voice lives in the air long after his last special. This holiday owes a lot to him, to Irving Berlin, and to my favorite vocalist, Mel Torme. Mel and Bob Wells wrote “The Christmas Song” on a hot Hollywood day: “Chestnuts roasting on an open fire, Jack Frost nipping at your nose.”
OK, smile, set your Apple watches back to 2008, and believe.
It was 7 a.m. when a busload of parishioners from Our Lady of the Hills along with a few friends gathered in the church parking lot on Dec. 2 to kick off the Christmas season at Rockefeller Center in New York City. Father Don Lapointe led us in prayer for a safe journey and away we went. Trip organizers Tom and Beverly Thomas thanked everyone for coming. Guides were handed out to restaurants and tourist sites in NYC.
Casual dress was the order of the day. Fifty of us settled into our seats, renewed acquaintances, drank coffee or read up on the morning news. We made a quick stop in Mount Kisco, New York, to stretch our legs. Next, our bus hit the morning commute over bridges, along the Hudson River, and on through Harlem before debarking into the crowded streets of Midtown.
Radio City’s Christmas Spectacular show kicked off at 2 p.m. We were asked to be in line a half hour before that. Time constraints called for decisions. Go around the corner to St. Patrick’s Cathedral, walk over to Rockefeller Plaza to see the ice skaters, or sit down to a leisurely lunch. Everyone made their choices as an hour flew by.
In no time we were queuing half way around the block. Radio City’s grand oversized lobby with its red damask walls, wide staircases, barkers selling expensive colorful souvenirs beneath sparkling chandeliers told us that we weren’t in “Hamp” or the Pioneer Valley anymore.
Padded leather doorways swung wide as uniformed ushers rushed to greet and seat the arriving throngs. Everything about Radio City is super-sized. Its stage is so large that dozens of dancers fit easily into scenes of wonder. The overture began with dueling organists moving into view from opposite walls playing Christmas music — raising everyone’s expectations.
Unlike Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade where Santa arrives at the end, he was our master of revels for the 90-minute show. The jolly old elf sang, danced and set a fast pace. In a leggy kickoff, dozens of Radio City Rockettes pulled his sleigh. In seamless transition from real to reel, a huge movie screen lowered, we donned 3-D glasses from our programs, lifting ourselves into the heavens. We were flying to New York alongside a lively cartoon Santa and his happy Disney-like reindeer. Santa’s sleigh’s 3-D bag of gifts seemed to overflow into our laps.
The best spirits of the season shone in scene after scene: Awesome wonder in the eyes of a child, classic toys came to life, a double-decker bus sped us and the Rockettes in a fantastical trip around Manhattan.
Any and all doubters were answered again in the Dickensian joy of a happy Christmas morning.
A living Nativity pageant portrayed the true Christmas story in its simplicity, and all of its glory. A larger than life manger scene high above the stage housed the Holy Family. A wavy-winged live angel flew above — on invisible wires.
Across the stage paraded three gloriously costumed kings and their retinue. When singing, “We Three Kings from Orient Are,” it’s easy to forget that kings refuse to travel without servants or their lifestyle luxuries. From live camels to donkeys to the readings from scripture, our eyes and ears were awed by the promise of Christmas.
God’s arrival in the form of the Christ child challenged every icon and every monarch before him. In New York City, we celebrated the day that the Prince of Peace arrived on earth, our childlike wonder undimmed over 2,000 years.
The show ended with everyone singing “Joy to the World.” We exited to its strains, boarded our bus and headed home in the lowering dark. Our little group had shared a spectacular beginning to the ever-new Christmas story.
I watch Fox News for the belly laughs they provide in every season. Right around July they tell and retell a Grinch-like lie that politically correct Democratic liberals have stolen “Merry Christmas” as a holiday greeting. At his “look at me” rallies our president repeats Fox’s silly line. Like, who asked him? Trump’s minions whoop, holler and applaud, both north and south of the Dixie Line. As the man says, “he loves the undereducated.” Apologies, I came close to losing my holiday spirit, also called hope.
Peace, Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year 2020!
Adios por ahora. Goodbye for now.
This is my final monthly Opinion column. I thank the Gazette, its readers and editors who’ve made it my privilege since 1993. Maureen and I are blessed with five children, 12 grandchildren and two greats. Every Christmas celebrates family. February marks 25 years in Williamsburg.