Riding the bus encourages teacher to speak up

Patricia Matteri

MHCC writing tutor

Every school morning I jog to the bus stop to catch the 20 heading east to the community college. The long bus ride is my transit church and on the ride I am a little superstitious about saying all of my favorite prayers from the Knights of Columbus prayer booklet, ragged now with cut out prayer bits or quotes scotch taped to the inside back cover.

Meanwhile, my parish priest, with encouragement and direction from Pope Francis, has been weaving the theme of evangelism into his homilies. We Catholics are encouraged to share our faith by extending more of ourselves and offering invitations of friendliness. Often the role of evangelizer does not connect with many of us. Take John the Baptist – perhaps the best evangelizer after Jesus himself, who baptized our Lord and devoted his life to evangelism and humble living. Yes, but he wore dreadlocks and sack cloth, evangelized in bare feet with an occasional soak in the river Jordan before a meal of grubs. Let me tell you, this does not easily connect with the Starbucks, Nikes, iPhone hipsters.

One morning, heading east on Bus 20 at 8:08 a.m., I stumble right into a better evangelist fit. Somewhere between SE 145th and 187th, I fell in love and put down my prayer book. About two feet tall, he sat on his mother’s lap and rhythmically bopped as the bus swayed, stopped and started. With laughing olive eyes he looked right into my heart. Regal in her motherhood, his mother was beautiful, too. I smiled, but unlike her son, she avoided eye contact. We were separated by our age, race, and assumptions.

Evangelize. That night, remembering the little boy’s joyful dance, I slipped three of my grandchildren’s cardboard picture books into my school backpack. Then I added another prayer to my list: Please, Lord, let me meet the mother and child again. A few days later, after my school day, on Bus 20 heading west, mother and son boarded after a few stops. I moved to a seat beside them and offered the mother the books. This time we were united in our motherhood, not separated by our differences. Now when I occasionally see her and her son, we are Bus 20 friends. She tells me the book her son enjoys the most, and I invite her to stop by the college to see me if she has time.

Evangelize. No dreadlocks or sackcloth required.  Meals of grubs optional.

Another ride. Another chance. A rider sits right behind me and makes violent, repetitive retching noises. If he throws up on my back, I wonder whether I can find a clean college T-shirt to wear when I arrive at school. No other riders look up as all eyes remain glued to smart phones, ears plugged with earbuds. Evangelize. What can I do? “Are you OK?” I ask.

He glares at me. “Are you?” he answers.

“Anything you need?” I ask.

He ignores me. I’ve learned that small steps of evangelism aren’t always successful and many attempts don’t have immediate gratification, if any at all. The rider behind me had a form of Tourette’s Syndrome (involuntary expression of sounds or expletives often accompanied by ticks). Evangelism that day was simple acknowledgment of another’s presence.

Mother Theresa wrote, “If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives. Be kind anyway. Give the best you have, and it will never be enough. Give your best anyway.”

I have ridden Bus 20 for three years now, and part of my prayer routine is often to put away the frayed prayer booklet. Sometimes my students are on the bus and I sit beside them to know them better. Other times I simply say hello to the stranger who sits next to me. Riders board with pink hair, tattoo masterpieces, ferret cages, decorated motorized wheel chairs, skateboards and Veteran of WW II hats, and on Bus 20 I see the infinite variety of God’s creation. Evangelism can begin by postponing the prayers, looking up, and saying “hello.”