A man was struck by a bus on a busy street in New York City. He lay dying
on the sidewalk as a crowd of spectators gathered around. “A priest –
somebody get me a priest!” the man gasped.
A policeman checked the crowd–no priest, no minister, no man of God of any
kind. “A PRIEST, PLEASE!” the dying man said again. Then out of the crowd
steps a little old Jewish man, at least eighty years of age. “Mr.
Policeman,” says the man, “I’m not a priest. I’m not even a Catholic. But
for fifty years now I’m living behind St. Elizabeth’s Catholic Church on
First Avenue, and every night I’m listening to the Catholic liturgy. Maybe I
can be of some comfort to this poor man.”
The policeman agreed and brought the octogenarian over to where the dying
man lay. He knelt down, leaned over the injured man and said in a solemn
voice: “B-4. I-19. N-38. G-54. O-72.”
~~
Dr Bob, www.grif.net
1 cross + 3 nails = 4 given