Anyone who believes in portents from above must be positively dizzy deciphering the spiritual symbolism in the recent musical miracle performed by Saint, sorry Sir, Cliff Richard.
The 59-year-old recorded a song, an ingeniously toe curling combination of the Lord's Prayer warbled to the tune of Auld Lang Syne, which was deemed unworthy of release by his record company, EMI.
But there is no accounting for taste, because the small label Papillon, which eventually distributed the record, described it as "a wow".
A happy ending was still not assured. Radio stations refused to play the song because, firstly, all hip DJs hate Cliff Richard, and secondly, the song was about God, for God's sake, and thirdly, Sporty Spice and Boyzone's record company had spent far more money promoting their yuletide offerings.
So Cliff and his marketing team relied on a different kind of messenger. They sent the single to churches, Christian groups and schools, and suddenly it began creeping up the charts. Then it was top of the pops in the UK and Cliff couldn't believe it. "I'm going to have a couple of glasses of champagne to celebrate," the virtual teetotaller declared. "Congratulations!" triumphed his pun conscious, if slightly aged fans.
Somebody up there likes him. The inescapable spiritual interpretation of these events is that Cliff Richard's Millennium Prayer is God's ultimate revenge on a morally bankrupt, Britney-worshipping youth, caught up in Y2K fever.
Chances are He was thinking something like this: "Ah, so 2000 is dawning and all you can think about is stockpiling condoms in direct ratio to the volume of Red Bulls and vodkas you are planning to imbibe on New Year's Eve and whether there will be any taxis and if not maybe you should just stay at home with the folks and snaffle the entire contents of their drinks cabinet instead.
"Forgotten that this celebration marks the two millennia since my only Son came down and saved the world, have you? Eh? Eh? Well maybe this wholesome, if turgid, ditty will jog your memory.
"Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha ha, haah haaa," (This last bit probably boomed in an uncharacteristic evil-doctor-in-the tone of a Bond movie villain type tone).
If He is any kind of discerning music fan He probably doesn't like it the song much either. But it looks like we are stuck with it, because pundits are predicting it may still be top of the charts on December 20th.
It could become the UK's official No 1, and if it is still No 1 in the first week of January 2000, Cliff's second miracle in weeks will have occurred: it would mark his sixth consecutive decade in which he has had a song at the top of the charts.
Love him or hate him, even his most trenchant critics entreat, but he has been churning out the hits for five generations of fans, and that has to count for something. This jury is still out on precisely what that is.
The bilious personal attacks aimed at Richard since the release of Millennium Prayer have stunned the perennially youthful singer, but one would think he was used to it by now.
He began school life in England being taunted in the playground because eight years in his country of birth, India, had turned him a very un-English shade of brown. His love of curry is a throwback from to those days.
It was post-war Britain in downtown Hertfordshire and young Harry Webb embraced the latest music trend - skiffle. He formed his own combo, The Dick Tague Skiffle Group, and began to perfect the snarl and hip-swaggering of a young turk from Mississippi. A few lucky breaks later he was England's answer to Elvis - Harry Webb became Cliff Richard.
For a brief period in the late 1950s Richard spearheaded the only rock 'n' roll movement that hadn't originated in America. Richard put Britain on the rock 'n' roll map. Move It got to Number 2 in 1958, and it looked as though a debauched career in rock was assured in 1958, when musical bible NME denounced his "violent hip swinging" and "crude exhibitionism", but it didn't last. Cliff was always too clean cut to be really rock 'n' roll.
The final nail in the credibility coffin was hammered home when it emerged that mothers across middle England approved of their daughter's hearthrob. From which point, of course, there was nowhere left to go but straight down the Middle of the Road. Cliff has never looked back. The mid-1960s saw him embrace Billy Graham's brand of evangelical Christianity. There have been romances: Sue Barker and Olivia Newton John to name two. He has said himself that he has only ever had one lover, and when he confided that titbit to Irish journalist Joe Jackson, the woman promptly sold her story to a tabloid, including the fact that she had aborted their baby.
Other low points in his career included being narrowly beaten into second place with wedding anthem Congratulations! in the 1968 Eurovision Song Contest by the Spanish entry La, La, La.
The highs have brought every kind of award: record-breaking sales, sell-out concerts, a string of hit singles and albums including such singalong favourites as Young Ones, Living Doll, Bachelor Boy, Summer Holiday and I Could Easily Fall.
Each decade has seen another Richard revival: and the 1970s were particularly fruitful, spawning Miss You Nights, Devil Woman and one of his biggest hits, We Don't Talk Anymore.
Christmas time has always been a huge money spinner for Cliff, Mistletoe and Wine and Saviour Day being among the more, er, memorable hits. His own New Year's Eve celebrations take place in Birmingham, where he is offering his services free for a charity concert, and the proceeds of Millennium Prayer are going to the charity Children's Promise.
While he says he is planning to take 2000 off, only returning to the limelight to attend a memorial concert for his murdered friend, television presenter Jill Dando, Richard has no intention of quitting the music scene, despite the fact that he turns 60 on October 14th next year. "The word retirement is not in my vocabulary," he has remarked. Someone give that man a dictionary. Please.