Exile On Fifth Avenue

Against all odds, we continue to gather across the street from St. Patrick's Cathedral to pray, to commune, to make our presence known and to cast our story, like a message in a bottle, across the street before the faithful that stream out of the cathedral.

There is disagreement among us about doing this. Will we make the Cardinal angry? What good will it do? Those of us who gather do it because it does good for us.

We gather with each other and strengthen a bond. The vast bronze door opens and we can see straight down the center aisle to the altar. We know that the Lady Chapel lies beyond, a modest alcove in the grandeur where people bring the pain and questions in their hearts before Marija. Our voices, such as they are, mingle, rise in singing "Marija, Marija" and travel down that aisle towards Our Lady, joining those of the many who kneel, and have knelt, before Her.

People look up at us, startled. Some of them come over to talk and accept our brochure. For nearly a year we have gathered before the colossal Atlas, who, with inanimate patience, bears the world on his shoulders as his unseeing eyes gaze down the aisle with us.

We are exiles, marooned across the gulf of Fifth Avenue. We wave our flags with pride in our heritage, but also in distress:

"Please look at us! Hear us! Understand us and help us!"

There are many hearts that resonate with these feelings. Please join us.