Behind the Bright Red Door.

Behind a bright red arched door on 155th Street,

lived twenty sleepy people who shivered in their beds,

coughed up their lungs, and hung on to their coffee mugs for warmth as if it would

save them from the blizzard that buzzed outside.

Those same people also had the brightest eyes,

the loudest praise voices, the kindest words, and the most joyful laughter.

These people, were young kids who signed up for a week in the Bronx.

They did not know what to expect, but only knew to expect nothing short of amazing.

They were thrust into conversations and into deep stares with someone who needed a kind eye.

They weren't there to "save lives" but to work for the one who saved their lives.

As they traveled through the chaos and disaster of New York in a snowstorm,

their hearts were far from cold.

Sneaking granola bars in bags, conversations started by kitschy phrases,

"What a week, amirite?" or

"Where you headed?" on a one way train to Grand Central.

With numb fingers they clutched their rosaries that were deep in their pockets

and prayed for the intercession to just say something right.

To say something meaningful and loving and what that person needed.

They slowly realized that Christ was the one they were talking to.

Christ was the man who slurred his words and sat in a subway car

consumed with the raw smell of human filth.

And the bright, sunny, college students who mistakenly stumbled in the empty car took a chance

to hear the pain and suffering that the man held on to

like the heavy cross digging into Christ's shoulders.

He may not have remembered the words spoken to him that day,

But maybe he remembers the ears that listened.

And maybe God smiled that His anawim was seen.

And for second, his anawim could look into the eyes of another human

and receive the empathy that God has for him.

The week of discomfort, laughter, singing, crying, came and went.

It felt as though the little sufferings, the hiccups, the feeling of unworthiness,

the feeling of idleness, the feeling that they hadn't really done anything, faded.

The moments spent listening to the man scream at his wife in the subway,

revealed the lies that Satan thrust into a dirty and crowded car.

The missionaries on that train took no hesitation to whisper prayers under their breath so that Christ could make known his presence, even on a stinky and fogged up subway car.

Those moments, are remembered but only remembered with Christ's accompaniment

and distinct presence on the hearts of His missionaries.

And after a day full of working, the twenty would sit in comfort behind the large red arched doors on 155th street, and remind themselves that they bend to reach to Christ.

They bent to serve Christ himself.

And they continue to bend to be next to Christ.

The Bronx probably doesn't remember the time twenty misplaced college students

emerged from the subway,

but the twenty misplaced college students will forever remember

the realness, weariness, contagious joy and willing spirit

that emerged from that spring break trip back in 2017.