This post may be a litle hard for even those who know and love me to digest.

I was reminded about what you are about to read(if you are brave enough to continue) while reading a book on Christianity in Trump America. The premise of the book (Separation Of Church And Hate by John Fugelsang) is that many so called Christians forget what Christ actually said.

The book rekindled my own thoughts on Christ and two specific memories came to mind.

I was brought up as an Irish Catholic in the Bronx in the 50s. Like all my siblings, I went to Blessed Sacrament Elementary School. I also went to a Catholic High School, Catholic Undergrad and Graduate School and, eventually, Catholic Law School.

Along my journey I taught in Catholic elementary and high schools. When my parish on the East End of Long Island was in need for an eighth grade teacher for their CCD (Sunday School) program, I volunteered and continued teaching on Sunday mornings for ten years.

I bought into the Catholic program.

When all the scandals erupted and virtually destroyed Catholicism, I got mad and frustrated with the Bishops and other church leaders and remembered that Christ did too.

I realized that my faith was not in the leadership of the church but in Christ. Fortunately, I had many friends who, by their own grace and observance of what Christ taught, inspired my continued faith in Christ.

That wasn’t too bad, was it? Many of you may have had similar experiences. But, here it comes now.

I commuted from East Quoge via Speonk on the Long Island Rail Road as part of my trip to work up to 168th Street and Broadway in the Washington Heights section of Manhattan. It was an arduos ordeal to say the least. I started commuting in the early 80s. There were no iPhones, no iPads, in fact we were a decade from having the internet at our disposal. So, in order to obtain my monthly LIRR ticket I had to get it at a ticket booth in Penn Station.

Trying to get it in the morning was impossible. I was already running late and hundreds of my fellow commuters were attempting to get their ticket. One time I decided to go down at lunch time rather than risk missing my train in the evening while stuck on a line.

The 8th Avenue A train was fast and convenient making it possible to accomplish my task during the lunch hour, but I had to hurry.

I caught the subway right away and soon arrived at Penn Station. I am running from the train and down the stairs making my way. through the turnstile and had my ticket booth in sight. All of a sudden I am accosted by a homeless woman asking me for money. I had no time for this and rushed past her and said I had nothing to give her.

I am now on the end of a fairl long line but the tickety agent was up to the task. I soon was second in line when this same homeless woman renewed her plea for money. Again, I just wanted to get my ticket and get back to work without being late. I don’t have anythin to give you, I protested.

Finally, I got my ticket and soon to be up on the subway platform waiting for the northbound A train. But, of course, just as I am putting my token (remember it’s the 80s and no Metro Cards or Apps) when the old homeless woman once again demanded me to stop what I was doing and give her some money. (Actually, she never made any demand but beseehed me for some help however little it might be).

I am now on the other side of the turnstile and realize what I have done. I turned around, frantic, hoping to see her but she disappeared.

At that moment I realized how appropriate it was for my mother to make my middle name Peter.

That woman was Christ and , like Peter, I denied her three times. Whatever you do to the least, you do unto me. It wasn’t just a story. It wasn’t a recommendation. It was a commandment. Worse than not giving Her any aid or sustenance, I failed to recognize Christ in Her.

I met Christ that day for the first time. It would be a few years before I saw Him again. Ironically it would be in New York’s other train station.

Ten or so years after this first encounter with Christ I, as I always seem to be, was rushing to get to work. This time I was working on the East Side and had to take the Flushing Subway to Grand Central to the northbound 6 train.

As I came up the escalator to get to the stairway down to the 6, I entered a world of mayhem with no ssemblance of order. Just getting from the escalator to the concourse was like swimming in a rip current. There was this one guy who had absolutely no tolerance for other people and merely smashed his way through the crown disregarding whether or not he ran over people or not. I was one of the people he tried to run over. It was like being a running back and he was a middle line backer. While I didn’t get knocked down I did get knocked into.

I was now thinking and muttering all the hateful things that came to mind. I may have made up a few along the way. Finally went down to the platform for the 6 and a northbound train sonn arrived. The best part of this journey was that the train woul be virtually empty…or so I thought.

I entered a subway car, still seething from my ordeal of getting knocked about. There was hardly anyone on the train as the northbound trains at that time of the morning did not have to transport as many commuters as they would later have to once the work day ended.

I am quietly sitting, not making any eye contact in case there were any eyes attempting contact. I had my subway face on… no smile, looking down, and giving the appearance that I am either sleeping or reading a book. But this was not going to work on this day.

It wasn’t long before I felt a presence. I tried as hard as I could to ignore the person standing right over me but, it was obvious that this strategy would not be successful.

I looked up to see this youngish man looking down at me. I said, YEAH?

Then it happened.

He had this smile as he asked me if I was a teacher. At that very moment, all the hatred and rage that I haad been feeling only seconds before was gone. He then went on to say that I reminded him of his favorite teacher who was so important to him I told him that I was a teacher in the past and knew that I met Christ once again but this time to remind me that my hatred and rage that I was feeling was not who I was.

I was a teacher and it did not matter that I was no longer employed as one.

My friend on the train forgave me and, in so doing, I forgave the linebacker who took me out while getting to my train

Compassion and Forgiveness were the lessons I had forgotten as the cornerstones of Christ’s teachings. A homeless woman and a young man on a subway who was not too bashful to teach this. teacher.

Too often we expect (if we expect anything at all) that God will come to us in a burning bush or a James Earl Jone voice from the sky. This is the Cecil B DeMille School of Theology. But, God AKA Christ,

is alredy here, in us. We just have to recognise each other in this way. Compasion and Forgiveness are the first steps to overcome fear and loathing.

I am not sure how you feel about my encounters. I only know they have served me well in this world begging for Compassion and Forgiveness.

Peace and Love.