If asked what I love best in New York City, it would not be the city’s museums or its music halls, wonderful as these are, but its splendid churches: the neo-Gothic glory of the Church of St. Vincent Ferrer on Lexington and East 66th Street; the somber grandeur of the Church of St. Ignatius Loyola on 84th Street and Park Avenue; the breathtaking beauty of the Church of St. Jean Baptiste on Lexington Avenue and East 76th Street. All these testify to the vitality of the Catholic faith in New York over the centuries. Yet the church in which I rejoice most is the Church of St. Agnes, on East 43rd Street, next to Grand Central—the quintessential city church, to which I have gone over the years not only to attend Mass—and plunder the bookstore—but to baptize my children and give thanks for my blessings.
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Cities can be hard, cruel, unforgiving places. It takes a city church to remind us that, ultimately, it is the people of cities who matter most—something the devoted priests of St. Agnes never forget.
Random stuff I find interesting and you may not.
