Reflection On Bravery and God’s Protection
My daughter is a pain in the neck, and other parts of my body! A few years ago, she gave me a present that was nothing but work. She purchased a one-off book that included questions for me to answer. In answering the questions, I shared stories from my life that the publisher compiled in a book, which she and my grandsons would have after I'm dead. After age 60, your children start worrying about the time you have left. Some questions were fun, like "What television programs did you watch as a child?" Others were serious, like "What have you changed your mind about over the years?" Because I am a long-winded pastor, the questions ended up being a 118-page book. The following was my answer to the question, "What is one of the bravest things you've ever done, and what was the outcome?" It has more to do with my naivety and the bravery of another person.
There is a fine line between bravery and stupidity.
It was March or April of 1985. I was serving a bilingual Latino congregation in Little Village, on the Southwest side of Chicago. It was difficult because the Latin Kings, the Disciples, the 2/2s, the 2/4s, and several other gangs were making money faster than they could hide it. Crack was cheap, available, and was an epidemic in the country. The gangs manipulated children into joining the gangs to run and distribute the drugs. The Reagan administration was cracking down on drugs, with long prison sentences. An unintended consequence of the crackdown was that the gangs started using children to handle the drug distribution because children could not be incarcerated as adults.
Several of my young group kids were vulnerable, and a few joined gangs and the drug life. Parents often couldn't speak English, so the children had too much interpersonal power in the family unit. Further, the parents, even if they had jobs, were often still at the poverty line. Now, these children were offered real money to help their families. Gangs promised a family structure for the children with inadequate parental support. It was my responsibility to foster a strong familial bond within the church, aiming to prevent at least some of the children from squandering their lives.
So, one day, I found out one of my vulnerable kids, Benny, broke his leg badly and was in St. Elizabeth's hospital in Chicago. St. Elizabeth's was just a couple of blocks from the infamous Cabrini Green neighborhood. Cabrini was one of the most dangerous blocks in the country at the time. Between the drugs and gangs, it was incredibly violent. I felt it necessary to visit Benny at St. Elizabeth's.
I took the bus downtown, where I picked up the L train. It dropped me off just short of Cabrini. I had to walk three blocks to catch the bus on the corner of Cabrini Green, which would take me within three blocks of the hospital. When I got on the bus, the gruff bus driver said, "Father, sit right behind me." I always wore a clerical collar when working in the city. The next block, a crazed man tried to get on the bus. He was screaming obscenities and was out of control, so the bus driver grabbed a considerable lead pipe and threatened the man, and stepped back off the bus. As I left the bus for the hospital, the bus driver said, "Watch yourself."
My visit with Benny went well, and he was indeed alone. As far as I know, I was the only visitor he had at the hospital. We talked, prayed, and watched a little television for about an hour. Then, with trepidation, I left his room. My trek was only half over. I still had to make it home again. I walked the few blocks, and then, as I approached the bus stop next to Roberto Clemente High School, all hell broke loose.
Across the street, and four houses to the left, a series of gunshots rang out. Almost simultaneously, five or six police cars pulled onto the street, and gunshots went back and forth. I froze! The school, my only cover, was closer to the shooting. They were not shooting at me, but a stray bullet or a ricochet was a real possibility. Just then, the real brave person arrived, the bus driver. He had other passengers on the bus, and her could have sped past me to safety, but he pulled over. "Father, get the hell in here, and keep your head down." I dove in, and he hit the gas before the door even shut. Everyone was on the floor, and I crawled behind the bus driver.
I only had to ride the bus a few blocks and was safe again. When I hopped off the bus, I thanked the bus driver profusely; he just rolled his eyes and smiled. One more L ride, and because it was too late for the express bus, I had two more bus rides in tough neighborhoods. When I got home, I fell into bed. A few weeks later, Benny was finally back to church and on crutches. He came over and gave me a hug, which was not like him. I moved to another church a couple of months later, so I don't know what happened to Benny. However, I like to think he made the right choices, as the church people loved him without any strings or drugs attached.
Now it is your turn. Write down one brave moment in your life and share it with someone in your family. Then, prayerfully thank God for carrying you safely through the challenging moment with the courage to keep moving forward. Sharing your life with others models God's care and is permission-giving, so others will learn to share their life with you and others.