by Father Cezariusz Jastrzebski
It was a calm, clear morning at John F. Kennedy International Airport in Queens.
Against the backdrop of the rising sun, among steel structures and the hum of machines, stood a Delta Air Lines aircraft. Its Rolls-Royce engines were silent for a moment before takeoff — as if they, too, wished to pay tribute to the silence.
But that day was no ordinary flight.
On the tarmac rested a casket — a man on his final journey, not as a passenger, but as one returning home to find peace in the soil of his ancestors.
As the chaplain of Our Lady of the Skies Chapel, I was asked to offer a prayer.
We gathered in a small circle — ramp agents in reflective vests, supervisors, and technicians — all standing in silence, their eyes fixed on the casket.
There was no incense, no bells — only the echo of footsteps, breath in the cold air, and the gentle scent of jet fuel.
In that moment, the runway became a sanctuary, and our hands became the altar.
I began the prayer for the departed, invoking the God who is present not only in churches but wherever the human heart lifts itself toward heaven.
The words of prayer echoed softly between the steel fuselages and the concrete, and the air — filled with the scent of labor — became a place of grace.
For a few minutes, everything stopped.
No radio calls, no engine noise.
Only silence — dense, real, and full of faith.
After the blessing, the people slowly folded their hands.
Someone made the sign of the cross. Someone else wiped away a tear.
It was one of those rare moments when heaven truly touched the earth, and ordinary life became prayer.
There were no stained glass windows or choirs — only the pure Gospel: God present among people who find the sacred in their daily work.
For me, as the airport chaplain, moments like this speak most deeply about the mission of our chapel: to bring Christ where life moves quickly, where arrivals and departures mingle with human emotions, where every person — regardless of origin, language, or uniform — can feel, even for a moment, that God is near.
That morning reminded me that the Church does not end at its walls — it begins wherever a person needs hope.
Sometimes it is not the sound of organs but the roar of engines that becomes the backdrop of prayer.
Sometimes it is not candles, but the light of the rising sun that illuminates the faces of those who pray.
And then even a runway can become an altar — a place where duty turns into faith and work becomes the liturgy of life.
Father Cezariusz Jastrzebski is the chaplain of Our Lady of the Skies Chapel at JFK Airport.