Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it. (Hebrews 13:2, NRSV)
Like many, I have a love/hate relationship with social media.
I love it because it keeps me connected to old friends and colleagues and, when you pastor a church where the median age is 27, you pretty much have to be at least somewhat active to both communicate with your parishioners and be aware of potential pastoral needs. (Of course, it’s also a pretty key way to market my book).
I’m less enamored with social media because of the way it can engender unhealthy comparisons and foster divisive communication. I’ve tried to limit myself to a certain amount of time per day to it, but it can still suck me in. This is particularly true of Twitter. After spending just a few minutes on Twitter, I’m convinced that the world is ending tomorrow so I try to keep it at just a few minutes. Last week, however, on the day of President Trump’s press conference about Charlottesville, I was riding the Megabus from Des Moines to Chicago and spent a lot of the trip on Twitter, reading the responses and the responses to the responses and feeling my blood pressure rise and my anger smolder. When we arrived in Chicago, I was despondent and wondered if there was any shred of decency left in the world.
While I was immersed in Twitter during the trip, I couldn’t help but notice a woman who was sitting across the aisle from me. She had to be at least in her mid-80s. She needed a lot of assistance to get on the bus in Des Moines by two individuals and I assumed they were her caretakers, but they gave her a kiss good-bye and I realized she was riding solo. She made many phone calls during the trip and during each conversation, she mentioned that it hurt her legs and back so much to get on the bus. She and I struck up a brief conversation during our first stop in Iowa City and I had a feeling she’d need more assistance when we arrived in Chicago. I was right.
As passengers were filing off the bus, I stayed behind to see if I could help her. She asked if I could carry her bag and she slowly made her way off the bus. It was 9 pm and it’s somewhat chaotic at the bus stop because many people are wanting to get their bags and lots of cars are loitering to pick passengers up. As soon as the woman got off the bus, she collapsed against the side of the bus, her eyes shut in pain. I asked if she had someone to pick her up and she smiled weakly and said she had called Uber, but the Uber driver had not waited. The bus driver, out of the kindness of her heart, was also helping the woman while also trying to help unload all the bags from the bottom of the bus. I spied a cab about a half-block away and ran up to see if the cab driver would wait and he said that he would. I ran back to let the elderly woman know I found a cab and at this point, the bus driver had left her post and was helping the woman walk toward the cab. I noticed several people approaching the cab driver for a ride and I was nervous that he would take customers who were ready, but he kept his word and waited. We eventually made it. I lugged her enormous suitcase into the back, the bus driver helped her in, the cab driver smiled and also assisted.
I’m not sure if it matters that the bus driver was African-American and the cab driver was Middle Eastern. Normally, I wouldn’t have given that much thought, but on this day, having immersed myself in Twitter and discussions about neo-Nazis and white supremacy the last few hours, it was hope personnified. It’s tempting to simply hang my hat on this story and say, See, we can all get along! But that, of course, is short-sighted. There is constant work to be done to continue the work of eradicating racism, our nation’s original sin. But we also need moments of grace that propel us in the midst of the hard work. In those moments, a bus driver and a cab driver reminded me that love still resides in my city and in our country.