How To Register The Lord Of The Mountainãƒâ§
Among my New York Metropolis circle of friends, I am considered to be the all-time read. This is not because I am the about educated or gifted with the highest I.Q. It is because I accept the longest commute. When ane lives in the outer borroughs, every bit our less enlightened, Manhattan-centric brethren phone call them, ane tin can expect a coach or subway commute of as much as one and a one-half hours each manner. When I first moved to Brooklyn and and so to Queens, with a cursory sojourn of six months on Staten Isle in between, I came to realize that three hours of each workday that would otherwise be wasted could be better spent improving myself. I call back the first book I brought with me all those years agone: Thomas Merton's Vii Storey Mountaina book that every Catholic is allegedly supposed to read. I chose it simply because it looked hefty and would hands last me a few rounds on the subway.
It was only after many years of three-hour daily commutes that I was caught on the subway without appropriate reading material. I twenty-four hours I was running late and didn't have a chance to look through my must-read pile. I left my apartment in a flurry with my necktie in one hand and a donut crammed halfway into my oral cavity. I ran to the subway station and took the stairs 2 and three at a time.
I politely merely frenetically made my way to the turnstiles and was immediately accosted by several Jehovah's Witnesses, who smiled ingratiatingly. I write accosted, though they physically did not make a move toward me. Instead, they broke the First Commandment of New York Urban center life: Thou shalt not make eye contact with a stranger. They held out a re-create of Watchtower magazine, hoping that I would take information technology. Since I had zilch with me to read, I was sorely tempted. Only I ultimately passed up the opportunity, though I thanked them anyway. Considering how dour their theology is, they showed remarkable friendliness toward the people they hoped might cease and talk to them.
I descended the next flight of stairs into the darkened, relative quiet of the platform and was struck past how most subway patrons wait for their railroad train in total silence. Certainly there were a few conversations here and in that location; but for the near part people waited stoically, periodically checking to see if their railroad train, or any train, was coming.
When my train finally arrived, I stood in line at the door, waiting to enter. I stepped in and then slowly walked the length of the subway car, fruitlessly searching for a identify to sit. Ultimately, I had to stand up leaning confronting one of the car's doors, disobeying the injunction on the clearly posted sign. Without anything to read, I contented myself with my other favorite New York City pastime, people-watching. Admittedly, I adopt to practice that on a sunny mean solar day while sitting in an outdoor café in Greenwich Village, preferably with a friend (after all, with whom am I expected to comment on passersby?). Having no one with whom to antipodal, even so, and having zero to read, I contented myself with watching my subway-mates.
It didn't accept long for me to realize that nearly everyone else had been more successful than I in locating advisable reading material. As I stared at what one seated adult female held in her hands and tried to read its title (another pastime of New Yorkers), I realized the book had gilt edges and a thin, well-worn ribbon swaying underneath in time with the motion of the train. She was reading a Bible.
As my eyes wandered from person to person, I noticed several others reading what was clearly Catholic devotional material. Effectually me, I spied a Divine Mercy booklet. Two other people held rosaries. I personally was never one for praying the Rosary in public; I prefer my Rosary ring considering information technology attracts less attention. I began to wonder how many people were praying the Rosary without the beads in their easily.
A peripatetic Protestant minister began to peddle his own grade of Christianity the second he entered my car at the next station. He exhorted his brothers and sisters to shun sin and embrace the Lord Jesus. I listened to his homily and found information technology orthodox in its educational activity. Admittedly, I am not 1 for flagrant and unbridled emotionalism; but after all, advert majorem Dei gloriam: the Jesuit phrase meaning, for the greater glory of God.
This overt brandish of religiosity was not confined to Christianity. To be seen on the many people who shared my subway car were signs and symbols of the myriad faiths represented in New York Metropolis. Sikhs are usually identified past their turbans; just even if they choose to wearing apparel less conspicuously, they inevitably wear the traditional silverish bracelet that marks them as devout. I also saw Hassidim and Muslims silently reading from their respective prayer books. Hindus, who decorate their foreheads with the bindithe vermilion dot that is a symbol of purity and the eye that sees inwardwere among some of my young man worshipers/commuters. Yarmulkes, Magen David, the chai symbol or the Hamesh Hand identified our Jewish brothers and sisters. An embarrassment of riches of crosses and crucifixes (both traditional and Orthodox) of every size and shape hung around the necks of the Christians amongst us. Some pectoral crosses were so big and gaudy that even the almost ostentatious of bishops would pause before donning one. The 8 auspicious Buddhist emblems are piece of cake to find among the ridership, every bit are pendants with Allah's proper noun displayed on them in graceful Arabic letters. Generally, these are made of flashy, chunky white metal studded with imitation diamonds, which tend to spoil the event. A trivial style into the car stood three women dressed in chadors, the traditional Muslim total-body covering. They quietly chatted and giggled. As the train stopped in midtown Manhattan, several other women who had escaped my before find left the train. They were dressed in Tibetan garb, replete with diverse symbols of their Buddhist faith.
I has to wonder how information technology is that so many people from so many religions had mutually come to an unspoken understanding that our subway was a place in which all religions can respectfully co-exist, side past side. No matter what their previous historical interactions had been, here Christians, Jews, Buddhists, Muslims, Hindus and others rub shoulders, literally. They treat one another with the respect and reverence that our common Creator asks of all his children, praising the Lord of all, each in his or her own way.
As adherents of each religion left at different stations, I reveled in the religious expressions all around me in our mobile interfaith chapel. I wonder silently how many churches, cemeteries, temples, mosques and synagogues the city'due south trains travel beneath. Under how much land dedicated to God's purposes did we obliviously and routinely pass every bit we sped to our ultimate destinations?
Though the terminally pessimistic would insist that civility leaves us as nosotros enter this dark, subterranean world, believe me that there are many opportunities for putting into practice the lessons of love we learned as children. Only if people were that naturally inclined to loving one another, we might not have had the need for Christ'southward sacrifice. The truth is, those who use New York Urban center'south subway are neither more nor less likely to show kindness or offer assistance than those in any other social situation (other than at a church building picnic). People generally stand up upward to offering their seats to meaning women or adults of either gender who hold babes in arms. The elderly commonly need not stand for very long before some kind soul stands up to offering a seat. With so many opportunities to put into practice the lofty ideals of our respective faiths, people could dedicate their Lents to a about infinite series of acts of mercy without having to leave the subway arrangement.
One would non have presumed that the New York City subway was such a hothouse of religious fervor. Maybe the physical journey is a metaphor for the spiritual journey. Maybe it's the fact that the subway seats face each other like choir stalls in former churches. Peradventure information technology's merely that one'due south commute is the just time of day many New Yorkers take in which to sit still and walk humbly with their God - waiting their turn to residual ultimately in the Lord of all.
The subway car doors opened at my station, and I made my way to the stairs that would lead me back to the globe above. I beheld them as if they were a staircase set upon the world, with its pinnacle reaching to the life in a higher place. And behold, the children of God ascending and descending upon it. And equally I stood there while the throng swarmed around me, I heard a gentle male voice behind me.
"Hello! Are yous O.K.? Do you know that Jesus loves yous?"
I turned to see who was speaking, only to notice an elderly couple who proffered some of their literature. They were so gentle that I could do nothing but graciously accept their souvenir. I returned their smiles and thanked them. Equally I joined the souls ascending the staircase, I looked at the small pamphlet in my hand. I always savor reading Jews-for-Jesus literature. It's always full of witticisms and self-deprecating sense of humor.
I managed to make my way upward to the street and took a deep breath of the warm air of God's creation. I turned to look at the subway archway from which I had simply emerged. In the hour and a half I was on the subway between my dwelling house and piece of work, I had gotten more than church than I would on an average Dominicus morn. I felt equally if a genuflection would be somehow appropriate, but I chose instead to offer upwards my thanks for the respite, and I smiled as I remembered that the ancient Christians used to come across underground.
How To Register The Lord Of The Mountainãƒâ§,
Source: https://www.americamagazine.org/issue/510/faith-focus/faith-underground
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