A Death on the Highway

A. Unabashed Pacifist:

The odds of securing a retirement income by winning the lottery are far greater than the odds of securing peace by winning a war.

B. Unabashed Christian:

Holy One,

When did I begin to love you?
When I moved in my mother’s womb?
When I felt the love and care of my family?
When I saw grown-ups giving praise to you?
When I heard Jesus call me to Him?
When I heard His words about your care for the poor, the outcast, for justice and peace?
When He taught us about your forgiveness and our need to forgive ourselves and one another?
When you connected me to Alice and we created our family?
When you gave me an interesting and sensible (I think) life?
When did I begin to love you?
Perhaps in the moment I knew I had the privilege to live on Earth as your child.
Amen

C. Un-quoting Jesus:

“I still don’t get it. You understand these things, Judas. Tell me: should I buy term life or whole life coverage?”

[Either? He had great coverage, but didn’t say this.]

D. Blog: An Accident

It happened on I-85, the stretch going from Spartanburg to Charlotte.

Cars and trucks backed up for miles. Numerous sirens of emergency vehicles that make their way to the scene. Drivers turn off their engines, get out of their vehicles, make cell phone calls to explain why they will not arrive on time, strike up conversations. A rumor from the front says at least one person was killed. At that news, the annoyance at having to wait seems to dissipate.

By now hundreds - perhaps thousands - of motorists wait while the accident scene is examined. Someone up ahead died. A life over. Probably other lives altered for years because of this one death…

Passing in the other direction. Drivers speed along, wondering what’s happening, because trees in the median had blocked their view of the scene. I suppose that, like me when I’ve been on the other side of a backed-up highway, they are grateful to be headed in the opposite direction. Occasionally, one of these fortunate drivers will honk his horn, either in sympathy for our plight or to say “ha-ha, you’re stuck in traffic and I’m not.”

A man died.

A trucker behind me takes out his lawn chair and makes himself comfortable on a pleasant summer morning, his headphones piping his favorite music into his ears. An elderly couple get out of their minivan to walk their elderly retriever so it can relieve itself. I also notice when a man sneaks off into the woods at the side of the highway. We all need relief.

A man died. Life goes on. Eventually we move on toward our destination, even after a man died.