“Would anyone else like to be a blessing to Hope House this morning?”
The guy in the subway car has been talking about drugs for awhile, about something called K2, and about God, I think.
“The very life you save could be your very own child.” It’s 8:45 in the morning and I just want to listen to my podcast while I get to work but he’s standing right next to me and I can hear him despite my headphones.
I don’t think he’s crazy, though, just dedicated.
You’ll often find people singing hymns and handing out pamphlets at the Fulton Street station, or standing in the Union Square near the six train platform with a large display of religious literature, smiling and passersby.
I ignore them, but appreciate their belief, which must feel urgent if it compels them to spend their time in the corridors beneath New York City pushing pamphlets on strangers.
Some are possibly crazy.
“That’s what God says,” says the guy on the six train at rush hour, “you live by the knife you die by the knife. You live by the gun you die by the gun. That means some guy is going to defend himself, he’s going to KILL you.”
I have no idea what this guy is talking about, but I can tell he really means it.
Being thoroughly ensconced in the Episcopal Church, (feeling sometimes like I’m drowning in it, to be honest) I occasionally forget the varieties of religious belief and expression out there, how untamed faith can be, how little it conforms to my rules and understanding. God is unpredictable. Death and resurrection is all about breaking rules, about turning over tables and crashing parties. It’s urgent. Life makes God hard to ignore, even through your headphones.