TACOMA
When
Jesus told his disciples that they would be his witnesses in Jerusalem, Judea,
Samaria, and to the ends of the earth (Acts 1:8), he could have added Tacoma.
This morning I
was on Amtrak train 501 when it struck a man walking the tracks just east of
the station. EMS had to use a forklift
at the United Rentals beside the railway to lift the fence and minister to him on
the gravel.
He was alive
when the ambulance took him away. For some
of the passengers, particularly those a few cars behind mine and on the left
side, it will be a long road home after what they had to see when their
compartment came to rest right beside him.
In train
accidents, as with other forms of tragedy, there is nothing to stop us from
having to watch someone’s suffering: our mortality, or at least, in this case,
the tremendous fragility of life, comes peering into the passenger carriage
uncensored. You cannot not see
the man lying on the ballast, the dutiful conductor administering first aid,
the woman in a Seahawks sweater kneeling beside him, the lady speaking Spanish
and calling the man’s name over and over to help him stay alert.
EMS personnel
know that an emergency can happen anywhere, anytime. Pastors know this too. But it’s not always clear that our job as
Christians—all of us—is to be ready to show up on a moment’s notice,
offer a helping hand, and be the non-anxious presence of Jesus with zero notice:
for the man on the railway, for the nervous passengers in the carriage, for the
snack bar attendant with the somber, heavy expression.
“We hit a
transient,” a rider told someone over the phone. No, that’s the wrong noun. We hit a man, a person—an individual
for whom Jesus died, rose again, and is coming back, a person with a story,
with flesh and blood, made of skin and spirit, whose family lineage stretches
back in time as far as the human race itself.
There’s no
sanitizing that. And it only takes a
little stroll through the aisles of the train to realize the sobering effect it
can have on people to be confronted with the reality of life, death, and what
often feels like the “meaninglessness” (see Ecclesiastes) of the scandal it is
that humans suffer.
That’s why it’s
so essential that we claim the hope that we have as Christians—the hope that
even in this sometimes ridiculous world, we know that the story does end
well: that death and suffering do not have the final word.
But in the
meantime, you, brother or sister, will have times this week when your
devotion to Christ, and the commitment you made to live for him all the
time, will come to cash that check—and you may not see it coming. How will you be a voice of calm in the midst
of suffering, a helpful hand, a soothing voice, when the situations of life
demand it of you? Are you ready, should
the Lord call you, to act in this moment—and to remember with absolute
confidence that he is with us always, to the very end of the age? Are you sufficiently rooted in his love of
you, sufficiently practiced in the daily discipline of intimacy with him, that
you will be able to overflow his love into the lives of others around you?
We think the
man’s name was Ramon, though his speech was slurred. I pray for his life, and for the peace of
everyone on train 501 who had to see things this morning. As we pass underneath the Tacoma Narrows
Bridge on this beautiful morning with the Puget Sound so placid out my window, I
pray that you, wherever this day takes you, may be ready when the waters of
life suddenly aren’t so peaceful. May
you be ready to serve as the hands and feet of Jesus, give the healing breath
of the Holy Spirit, and overflow with the fathomless love of the Father, when your
moment comes.
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