R Train Jesus

Riding in this morning after a sun-drenched work-week in Southern California, I was reminded -- yet again -- of why I belong in only one place in the world. All faces down, noses in books (thank god! -- books), when the between-cars door at the rear of the uptown R local opened and three middle-aged black men entered the train. The leader of the pack announced his intentions, and then in a glorious, triumphant baritone,  began singing "This Little Light of Mine." His trio joined in, a capella, accompanied only by the rhythmic clapping of their hands. I do not exaggerate: every head in the car turned, smiles materialized, scuffed boots tapping along, as NYers paused for a ray of musical sunshine on their way to work on a cold February morn.