Father Flannigan and Rabbi Ginsberg had been good friends for many years. They often had interesting theological discussions, and although their discussions became vigorous at times, they were always moderated by their friendship and mutual respect. They had no problem in "agreeing to disagree" on various issues.

Father Flannigan, however, always nursed the hope that somehow during their discussions, Rabbi Ginsberg would see the light as he saw it, and convert to Christianity. Not as a matter of winning a point, but out of concern for his friend in the Afterlife.

They took a trip together to an ecumenical meeting of priests, ministers, pastors, rabbis, and imams that took place once a year in their area. Father Flannigan was driving.

As they rode down the highway, a large semi-truck coming from the opposite direction suddenly began to veer over to their side of the road. Desperately, Father Flannigan swerved to avoid what would undoubtedly have been a fatal head-on collision with the truck.   Their car went into a skid, slid off the narrow road, and rolled over three times.

Father Flannigan found himself lying face down in the tall grass beside the road, but other than considerably shaken up, he was apparently unharmed. He muttered a quick but heartfelt prayer of thanks, then looked for his friend, Rabbi Ginsberg.

Rabbi Ginsberg was a few feet away, pushing himself up out of the tall grass, but he, too, seemed to be unharmed.

Then, the miracle happened! As the Rabbi rose to his knees, Father Flannigan saw him cross himself!!

"Oh, thank God!" said the priest joyously. "Because of our recent encounter with death, you've seen the light! You've accepted Christ as your Savior!"

"What!??" said the Rabbi. "What are you talking about?"

"You just crossed yourself! I saw you just now!"

"Crossed myself!? What do you mean 'crossed myself?' Oh! No! I wasn't crossing myself. I was just checking!"

"But I saw you! Just now!"

"No, I was checking to make sure I had everything. Spectacles, testicles, wallet, and pen!"

Don Firth