TROLLEY
FR. TERRY RYAN, CSP
Luke 18: 9-14
October 28, 2007
When I recently arrived in San Francisco, I had to get fingerprinted in order to work in the Archdiocese. I had to take public transportation to get to the fingerprinting office. I bought a subway/bus map. I was to go to 16th and Church Street for my appointment. I heard that the trolley to take is the N Judah. So I went to the station and checked with the ticket agent. All seemed OK as I descended the stairs to the underground train. The first train that came along was the J Church train.
The word “Church” on the train sign made me panic. Fear confused me. I double-checked my map. I became more confused. I was wearing my priestly clothes, but did not think about trusting in God, or offering this adventure to God, or even believing that God held me in Sacred Hands.
Instead, I ran back up the long flight of stairs and confronted the ticket agent with my confusion, N Judah or J Church. He calmly motioned me to come back through the turnstile and go to his office where he showed me another map and said either train would take me within two blocks of my destination. So I went downstairs again and chose the J Church, since it had the word “Church” on the sign.
The train comes. I get on. I have my map opened. I check it against each stop we make. All seems well. Doom is dissipated. When we get above ground and I see the sign for Church Street, I realize that there is a stop right on the corner of my appointed address. I pull the cord for a stop. I get up and stand at the rear door because we are not supposed to get off at the front door, where passengers get onto the trolley. The trolley stops. People get on. My rear door does not open. No other door but the front door opens. I panic. My brain stops. I see no sign giving instructions for door opening. The trolley continues. We are pulling away from where I have an appointment. We are entering wilderness, confusion. I am a prisoner of a San Francisco trolley. I will miss my appointment. I will not get fingerprinted. I will become a renegade priest working here without official permission. Oh, the scenario and drama that my mind created in that moment.
I ran to the front of the trolley. There was another stop, and I got off at the front door as people tried to push by “the priest” to get onto the trolley. I hurried to my appointment. I was early. I got fingerprinted and now have official credentials to work in the Archdiocese of San Francisco. But I am supposed to teach spirituality. I am supposed to teach people to trust in God, to have faith, to surrender, and rest in the Divine Presence. Did I do any of this? No! I was an idiot, with no trust, no prayer, and shallow faith.
Thank God for this Gospel. The tax collector brings his faults to God. This sinner knows his mess, but, though he may feel shame, guilt, and embarrassment, the sinner does not avoid God, but rather finally trusts in God’s mercy and comes to God in honest humility. God has compassion on the tax collector, and on me when I admit humbly that without God, my life seems to get very messy. Without my trust in God, life’s difficulties are made worse. The Pharisee prayed to himself. He acted as though God owed him something. The Incarnation, Cross and Resurrection are not owed to us. All are gifts from a compassionate, kindly and merciful God.
By the way, I found out that to open a trolley door I had to reach down and touch a handrail bar to the side of the door. Trolleys don’t have stairs on which to step down. On buses, I have to step down on the stair to get the door to open. I am not yet a real San Franciscan.
