Street Crossing

I made a business trip to New York City a couple of decades ago. Four and a half days there and, believe me, I was ready to come home. The smog and, to me, foreign surroundings made me homesick after I hadn’t been there an hour. Not that there weren’t certain aspects of my visit that I enjoyed. Great food, great museums, skyscrapers and a penthouse on Broadway with a marvelous view of the Chrysler Building.

Oddly enough, one of my favorite things about New York was the cabbies. I was told to take only Yellow Taxis. (This made one guy in a black cab angry when I refused to ride with him.) Now, everything you’ve ever heard about New York cabbies is true. They were worth the trip in and of themselves. They were brash, bold, brave and bullying. If they could get the corner of their bumper into traffic, nothing would stop them from squeezing into the stream of oncoming vehicles. One guy I rode with, upon being blocked by construction, simply and nonchalantly pulled up onto the sidewalk, drove about ten yards down the pavement and just as coolly pulled back onto the street. It was all great fun!

Yes, traffic here in God’s Country is bad, but nothing compares to what I saw on the fast streets of Manhattan Island. And Heaven help the pedestrians! I feared I’d meet my Maker on more than one occasion trying to pass through that dangerous current. I was yanked out of the way of onrushing vehicles at least once. Yes, I was fortunate to have someone beside who was paying more attention than I.

In related thinking, It has always amazed me how most Christians view our walk with God. We spend our lives living in the dangerous intersections and busy thoroughfares of life. We have no hope of successfully crossing to the other side. Traffic is too fast, the vehicles are too numerous and the drivers care entirely too little. Stepping off the curve is dangerous enough, but you can’t even trust many motorists to stay on the road. (Remember the New York cabbie?) There is no place safe!

Can you recollect when you weren’t allowed to cross the street? If you did cross, you were required to hold the hand of someone who loved you. It was the only safe way.

Crossing the street holding my father’s hand taught me many things. Namely, he was in charge of watching out for cars, I was easily distracted, paying more attention to crawling bugs and chirping birds, and he had a really, really strong grip. Truth be known, I was often less led across a busy street than dragged across it. Another important point: no part of my journey was dependent on how strong my grip was; it mattered not if I held his hand. Dad was completely in charge of all the hand holding. And as far as allowing me to escape into the river of oncoming vehicles or taking off on my own under such dangerous circumstances, well, I’d have had to break his arm off, (or, more easily, my own,) to get away from him and, as I said before, he was much, much stronger than I.

I might suppose that too many of my fellow Christians didn’t have the big-handed, strong, in-my-business, protective father that I did. Maybe that’s why they can’t quite conceive of the security I enjoyed while in his grip. Maybe that’s why they see themselves, though they’d never confess it, as better parents than even our Heavenly Father. Maybe they actually are better parents than what they had.

Too many Christians think that their Heavenly Father is either an absentee father or an ambivalent one. They preach and teach that our relationship, (which is, remember, a familial term,) is ours to maintain. Even those who believe we can do nothing to affect our salvation believe that our relationship and/or fellowship somehow must be maintained through our own mental, moral and spiritual strength. They reason that by the power of our own will, we can somehow preserve our relationship with the Father of Light. Even more bizarre, they see no contradiction in that line of thinking whatsoever!

I’ve even had one or more try to argue with me with words like, “Oh, we can choose to leave. He won’t force us to stay.” What sort of a parent takes that absurd attitude? We force our children every day to eat their vegetables, come inside before dark, do their studies or take their baths on Saturday night. Yet, we think our Father above doesn’t want to, perhaps, “cramp our style” or “restrict our self-expression.” That sort of “logic” makes my head want to explode! My God, my Father, my Abba, is completely capable of protecting His children, His sheep, from harm from any wild beast. He is even more than willing to protect us from ourselves, if need be.

I’ve heard that shepherds will use the crook of their staff to take hold of the leg of a sheep about to stupidly wander off a cliff or into some other danger. The story goes that they’ll hook its leg, even going so far as breaking it if necessary, to keep them from being devoured, destroyed or destroying themselves. Yes, the good shepherd keeps his sheep and does not lose a single one!

I heard at least one preacher make the claim that God is a gentleman and won’t force Himself upon anybody. They site the scripture, “Behold, I stand at the door and knock…” Well, yes, I would agree that my Savior is a gentleman…WITH STRANGERS! Where His own children are concerned, though, He has no interest in etiquette, politeness or civility. His only concern is our survival. He holds no qualms about hurting our feelings or cramping our style to protect our precious souls.

Try to imagine, if you will, while crossing a literal, busy street, your small child looking up at you and saying something to the effect, “O, father, I no longer wish for you to hold my hand. I can cross the street on my own and, should I not make it safely o’er, well, isn’t that my choice?”

Have you stopped laughing yet? How absurd! Yes? Of course! You would only tighten your grip and keep your eyes peeled even more. If the little one tried to escape, you’d likely take him in your arms and carry him across. He’d have absolutely no choice in the matter! And if you were my dad, he’d give me a little something to teach not to be making such asinine remarks to him.

We think we are so big! We delude ourselves into thinking that, once we give ourselves to God, we can somehow renege on the deal. We think of Him as a weakling that can be robbed by His own servants. We have somehow convinced ourselves that we are co-equals and, even, partners in this relationship. That it’s very much like we tell married couples today…fifty-fifty! Excuse me, but if it isn’t one hundred percent Him, then it’s nothing at all!

Yet, our pathetic over-active egos constrain us to believe and desire that we play a role, however small, in either our salvation or our relationship or both. (Usually the latter.) It’s manifestly stated in the scriptures that Jesus Christ is not the way-maker, He is the Way!

You may say, “If I am free to do as I please, without fear of repercussions or consequence, then why serve God?” If you have to ask that question, no rational or explanation could ever convince you that what I say is true. If you ask that question, your problems are bigger than you realize!

Hebrews 6:13 “For when God made promise to Abraham, because he could swear by no greater, he sware by himself” Hebrews 6:13

My Guardian Angel?

Some years back, I made my only journey to New York. (I used to quip that it was the only time I ever left the country.) I was ready to go back South after forty minutes, much less, four days, but it was well worth the trip and my time there was full of adventure and education.

It was an interesting sojourn, filled with museums, fine food and New York cabbies. (Everything you ever heard about them is true.) It was ostensibly a business trip, but, since I quickly discovered that I was only a fifth wheel on this little excursion, I decided my time was better spent out of the way, taking in the sites and sounds of the City That Never Sleeps.

It was great! I saw the Empire State Building, walked the deck of the U.S.S. Intrepid, and visited the Metropolitan Museum of Modern Art where I stood inches from “Starry Night.” I even, yes, saw the twin towers of the World Trade Center. (I erroneously supposed nothing less than the finger of God could bring them down.) Most everything I saw was within walking distance of the Jacob Javits Center where the “business” I was involved in was being conducted. Yes, many interesting sights and experiences happened while there, but the one salient, though, almost incidental event was the time I met an angel.

I don’t particularly recall where I was headed at the moment it happened. Was I leaving the Center or returning to it? I do recall walking on the sidewalk when, I noticed a subway. Well, hillbilly me had never ridden a subway before. I had some time to spare, so I made my way across the street, swiftly approaching the entrance that descended into the apparent darkness of the subway access. That’s where this most peculiar, perhaps, miraculous thing happened to me.

While making my way to the entrance, I halted, my attention being caught by an unfamiliar voice speaking behind me. I turned to meet the gaze of a man who had apparently been there on the sidewalk, heretofore unnoticed by me. He stood nearly close enough to touch me.
I truly, and disappointedly, remember next to nothing about him. I would describe him only as Caucasian, no older than what one might call middle aged. Perhaps his hair was dark and he, though I’m unsure if he was suited or not, was definitely not poorly dressed.

I think I said something to the affect of, “Excuse me?”

He responded, “You’re not going in the subway here, are you?”

Well, I suppose I hadn’t thought much about it. I would say that I had been very myopic and tunnel vision ruled my actions up to that moment. It was then that I looked around and realized that, although the area near the dock where the “tourist” area seemed to be was well groomed and pleasing to the eye, the subway side of the street was a grotesque ghetto like you might see in a really bad movie about the gangs of New York. I was so prepossessed by the prospect of riding a “real” subway, that I hadn’t actually noticed my surroundings.

I looked at the man who was staring back at me as if he was expecting something. It was one of the few times in my life I was speechless. I only shrugged my shoulders returning his gaze.

He spoke, calmly, but purposefully, saying, “That’s the last thing I’d ever do!” He then turned and simply walked away.

Well, at that point, I didn’t have to be told twice. I took another swift look around the area, perhaps as a reminder of the potentially grim situation I was facing or perhaps in shear awe of where I was and what just happened. After checking the traffic, I strolled back across the street, finding other, safer, ways of amusing myself.

I’ve often thought about this incident through the past couple of decades. I’ve even related the story on occasion to those who cared to listen. I’ve often pondered the serendipitous arrival of this friendly stranger that day. I certainly am not arrogant enough to believe that a backwoods country boy like myself would have necessarily been prepared for whatever fate might have befallen me there.

Now, I’m not one to go off one crazy mental tangents or flights of fancy. I view myself as being well grounded and even skeptical of the “crazy” stories that I’ve heard many people relate with wide-eyed wonderment. Still, that man and that particular incident have haunted me lo, these many years, and haunt me still.

Was he just a kindly stranger who happened to notice a young man totally out of his environment? Was he a city dweller who happened across me at just a most opportune moment in time? Was he a visitor from another town or city who was there on business when he and I crossed paths that day? Yes, I finally dared to ask myself, “Was he an angel?”

I don’t know. I’ve told people that perhaps he was if for no other reason than to see their reaction when I used the word. (Yes, I’m a little stinker!)

Maybe, just maybe, he was exactly what I have on occasion supposed him to be. I’m not such a “big boy” that I no longer believe in miracles. Even so, I may not know who or “what” that man may have been, but one thing is for sure, he was, to me that day, a friend.