What queer place is this, a pattern of heaven, a blueprint for demons,
a chorus of saints, a drama of hell?
“Most assuredly it is heaven”, he said, “these comely young ladies are as angels, they dance on thin air, they dress in all white, please try not to stare”.
“Are you blind to the proud, the gossips, and boors, this place is of hell, I can take it no more.”
“But see the happy fathers, with generosity galore, as chivalrous as knights, giving the sweet angels in love, nothing more”.
“Can’t you see those bejeweled women so rich and so proud, so false and pretentious, I want to scream it out loud”.
“Yes, the ladies they smile, but with gloves on their hands, their good manners
derive from the gospel, even in these obscure, strange, false, foreign lands.”
“Those hens how they cluck, those snobs, how they look down,
their manners won’t save them”, he said with a frown.
“All manners are patient, all manners are kind, all manners insist but on love to mankind. On this great green earth, even where the brokenness abounds, the Author of Love, the Giver of Hope, the joy of the Christ Child can nonetheless be found.”
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