The Priest
A man was struck by a bus on a busy street. As he was lying near death on the sidewalk, a crowd of spectators gathered around. "A priest. Somebody get me a priest!" the man gasped. A police officer checked the crowd and yelled, "Is anyone a priest?"
Out of the crowd stepped a little old Jewish man of at least 80 years of age. "Mr. Policeman," said the man, "I'm not a preacher. I'm not even a Christian. But for 50 years now I'm living behind the Catholic church on First Avenue, and every night I'm
overhearing their services. I can recall a lot of it, and maybe I can be of some comfort to this man." The policeman agreed and cleared the crowd so the man could get through to where the injured man lay. He knelt down, leaned over the man and said in a solemn voice,
"B-4, I-19, N-38, G-54, O-72. . ."
Out of the crowd stepped a little old Jewish man of at least 80 years of age. "Mr. Policeman," said the man, "I'm not a preacher. I'm not even a Christian. But for 50 years now I'm living behind the Catholic church on First Avenue, and every night I'm
overhearing their services. I can recall a lot of it, and maybe I can be of some comfort to this man." The policeman agreed and cleared the crowd so the man could get through to where the injured man lay. He knelt down, leaned over the man and said in a solemn voice,
"B-4, I-19, N-38, G-54, O-72. . ."
posted by Unknown at 1:18 AM
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