But the notion of flight has been degraded to the notion of escape and limited to the conquest of physical space and interplanetary travel. Also, the world is sadly mistaken in its choice of means. But be that as it may, the urge is still there—the urge to fly.

Because of this, charismatic speakers, even those who have little to give, draw huge crowds. Great halls are filled with eager, uplifted faces, intent upon the outpourings of a human voice. The urge to fly is there, even the urge towards spiritual flight. But too often the crowds are given wings of wax that melt before the Sun of Truth.

In the storerooms of Holy Mother Church are wings innumerable: one perfect pair for each human soul. Many are wasted, unused, their owners lost. Yet for every living soul there is hope; for every living soul there is available a perfect pair of wings.

In the storerooms of Holy Mother Church, these wings lie in neat rows, motionless but poised for flight. And each pair of wings bears a tag with a name. One of these names is yours.

Few are those who come. Many have never heard of this treasure. Others would rather grovel where they lie.

Others are deceived, wearing the sophisticated and elaborate plumage of many-hued thoughts. These have lost simplicity. They have lost faith; they have lost joy.

There is still another crowd who dutifully fill the churches. (At least they are there.) They are neatly aligned in the pews, well fed and well dressed, leading quiet and orderly lives. But do not speak to them of passionate love, of the wings of fire, of the Spirit of God breathing like a great wind. They will whine, "Who ever heard of such nonsense?"

And not fifty feet away, Love is burning on the altar with a power beyond all imagining, calling everyone to the storeroom of holiness, to the fluttering wings made for heavenly flight.

—Reprinted with permission from Alleluia Press, Allendale, New Jersey, 07401.