In my forty-plus years of having an Oklahoma connection—and many more years, spiritually, having an even tighter Catholic connection—I’ve never pulled the car over to see the religious ecstasy that this holy infant can supposedly inspire; I like to say it was out of consecrated fear, which sounds better than the truth, which, honestly, is apostolic laziness.
However, looking for the most monotheistic-inspired altered states of human vulnerability as of late, a friend and I took a pilgrimage to the shrine last weekend, just to bask in the statuesque toddler’s divine greatness, behind the heavy red doors of the supposedly protective dwelling of the Lord.