As the sun comes from behind a cloud, an intense shaft of light pierces the cathedral diagonally, running all the way from a window in the cupola of Michelangelo's spectacular dome to the crypt of Saint Peter far below. I watch a continual stream of people stuff bills into offering receptacles strategically placed throughout the church. As I observe the smoky beams of light cut like lasers through the incense filled air, it becomes apparent to me that all religions are nothing more than nuances. When you get right down to it, it isn't all that different than the choice of a blueberry or a cherry in bottom of my Manhattan glass. All these myriad denominations and sects are just different ways of expressing that we as humans are weak and still afraid of the dark.
T here is something grand and terribly melancholy about the Basilica.
A slow and stately procession of over a dozen stooped and arthritic priests, followed by a phalanx of angelic looking alter boys and a single cardinal in his red miter seem to sum up the state of the church today. As the liturgy continues, I start hearing other music in my head. For some reason I start humming the lyrics to a popular song softly to myself. I know I've heard this song many times, but I can't for the life of me remember the name or who recorded it. I ask several people later in the day, and many more later in the month, but nobody else can remember either.