Most days, when I'm not wearing some other neck-based accessory like a tie, I like to wear a small, upside-down cross on a chord around my neck. It's made of pewter, and bears a simple, elegant design on its face. I bought it from a small independent jeweler in Florida, and it has become one of my most cherished possessions, despite its humble appearance and low monetary value.

As you might imagine, wearing an upside-down cross has led to a pretty wide range of reactions from the strangers that I have interacted with while doing so. Many do not know the symbol's meaning, and have become offended or even upset when they see the humble pewter hanging there, thinking that I am being somehow disrespectful to the Christian faith (though when I had the chance to meet archbishop Desmond Tutu a few years back, he knew what it was right away). 

In Christian legend, Saint Peter was visiting the faithful in the city of Rome during the reign of Emperor Nero. He was in the city during the Great Fire of Rome, which burned for six days and caused massive devastation and damages. The fire was blamed on the Christians and used as an excuse to begin the first large-scale persecution of Christians by the imperial Roman government. As a result, Peter fled the city, fearing his imminent execution.

As Peter was on the road, the story goes, he saw a vision of Jesus carrying a cross and walking back toward the city. Peter asked him, "Quo Vadis?", Latin for "Where are you going?" The Lord replied to him, "I am going to Rome to be crucified again," which gave Peter the courage he needed to go back, comfort his brothers and sisters in captivity, and face his own martyrdom. He was, as one could expect, captured and sentenced to by crucified, whereupon he made a remark that to die in the same manner as Christ was an honor of which he was not worthy, and so the Romans chose instead to crucify him upside down.

 Now of course, invariably when I'm sharing this story with others, I let them in on a little private joke I have, which is I think Saint Peter was secretly a genius. I mean, if you're crucified upside down, all the blood will rush to your head and you'll pass out before the worst of the agony! If you're going to be crucified, that's probably the way to do it ;)

But jokes about brutal executions aside, I have always consciously worn this symbol for an educational purpose. I seek, little by little, to reclaim the symbol, and by sharing Peter's story with others I'm feel as though I am fighting ignorance and keep the tradition alive. It is of little surprise to me that in this new age, when the core tenets and true theology of Christ are so poorly understood, many angry and foolish people have taken to displaying the upside-down cross in an attempt to mock the church, or display their anti-religious sentiment. All I can do is chuckle to myself, as I know that they are instead spreading an ancient Christian symbol, and keeping the example of Saint Peter alive for me. This is generally what I would call the "real" answer to the question, "why is your cross upside-down?"

But lately, I've realized that there's more truth in my little tension-breaking joke than I might have thought. When I look down, it's right-side up. I picked the cross of St. Peter because in many ways I've always empathized with the man. Peter is just a tad bit headstrong,  arrogant, and full of himself. He tends to think that he has it all figured out, just before the Lord shows him that he's not quite there. His heart is in the right place, and he's earnest in his desire to do the right thing, but he just doesn't always know how.

Saint Peter's cross acts as a reminder to me to be a little more humble when I think I have it all figured out. When I try to look down on someone for thinking differently than I do, there's the cross staring back at me. If I try to look down on someone less fortunate than I am, there's the cross staring back at me. If I try to look down on someone because I think I'm better than they are, there's the cross staring back at me. When I look down, it's right-side up, and I am very grateful for that.

​Almighty Father, who inspired Simon Peter, first among the apostles, to confess Jesus as Messiah and Son of the living God: Keep your Church steadfast upon the rock of this faith, so that in unity and peace we may proclaim the one truth and follow the one Lord, our Savior Jesus Christ; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

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A few weeks ago there was a thread on /r/christianity that asked its readers whether they felt that they had ever been visited by an angel without knowing it. There have certainly been a number of times in my life where I have felt, at the very least, that I had met the exact right person at the exact right time, but none more so than a young man that I met one night almost 15 years ago.

I've only recently started telling this story to anyone, and even many of you who are close to me may not know this, but one night, back when I was 12, a friend and I were beaten up for being white. We were walking back to his house after visiting a mutual friend, and it had started to get dark. As we walked along, we saw a small group of black teenagers having a conversation on the sidewalk. We didn't really think anything of it, and kept on walking and talking to each other. As we got close, the group decided to move and block our path. They started laughing at us, calling us names, and refused to move aside and allow us to pass. We attempted to cross the street and find another way to get where we were going, but the group decided to follow us, and when they saw that there were no other people around they attacked us, beat us, and called us all manner of racial slurs as we attempted to flee. I was bigger than my friend, and tried to take the brunt of the blows myself, but they made sure to spread them out between the two of us. Eventually we made it to a brighter area with a major street, and they finally relented and ran off. It was an incredibly harrowing experience, and one that I wouldn't wish on anyone.

To my surprise - and incredible fortune - we actually made it through the incident fairly unscathed. My parents took me to the hospital, but I turned out to just have a bruise or two; nothing too serious. Looking back on it, I don't think they really wanted to hurt us, or had anything against us personally. I've made it through my adolescence now, and I understand how turbulent those feelings can be, and can only imagine how it must feel to be a black adolescent in America, and experience the habitual and institutional racism that they do. They were angry, we were there, and we symbolized everything they were angry about.

Far more worrying than any physical harm they may have done was the potential psychological harm. Remember, I was just 12 years old, and I was scared. I was worried that it might happen again; that another black person might attack me for the color of my skin.

Not more than two weeks later I was walking alone along the edge of a park in my own neighborhood, and again it had started to get dark. Up ahead I saw a lone black teenager walking toward me on the sidewalk. He appeared, I think it is fair to say, to be the culmination of every stereotype there is: he was wearing baggy clothing, a large black jacket, nice well-kept sneakers, and a beanie, and he walked with a bit of a swagger. I'm fairly sure he even had a few gold chains around his neck (though my mind may be exaggerating the story just a little bit).

Just an aside, to be ultra fair, I was a walking stereotype myself, ha ha! As you imagine him, I want you to also imagine me as the epitome of the chubby white nerd.

Anyway I saw him walking toward me, and I felt myself tense up. I started thinking about perhaps turning around, or crossing to the other side of the street. I was worried about what might happen. I was afraid of him. I could have done any of those things, but in that moment I told myself that everything would be fine, and I kept walking, my heart pounding in my chest.

Just before we passed each other, I watched this young man stick his hand out, palm up, facing me. We made eye contact, and he just sort of looked at me expectantly, without saying a word. I realized what was going on, and stuck my hand out just in time. He took my hand, gave me a brief but firm handshake, nodded at me, and went on his way.

In that moment, all of my fear and anxiety just melted away. I understood, fully, that what had happened to me had been the action of a few individuals; that it was not reflective of the whole. I cannot possibly tell you how grateful I am to that stranger.

It's easy to see how the first incident might easily have turned me into a racist. I could have allowed it to confirm the stereotypes that I had been fed by TV news, and withdrawn myself in fear of people who were different from me. If I hadn't already been fortunate enough to have parents that raised me to respect and honor human diversity, I may well have been lost before that man even came along. Instead, here I am, an advocate for love, equity, and the dignity for all people. If I have entertained angels without knowing it, certainly that man was one of them.