‘Safe Passage’

By Steve and Cora Alley

The same man who maneuvered trauma victims through hazardous environments and loaded them onto the safe passage of a waiting ambulance now drives a bus. “It”s less stressful,” he commented, as he navigated his bus through the streets of downtown Manhattan, with all the confidence of a veteran paramedic. This man was no ordinary bus driver, and his bus was no ordinary bus.

We met him on a cold night in November. We were weary strangers, standing on the corner of Broadway and 42nd Street, New York”s nexus of humanity. We had just deciphered the directions on the “bus transfer” dispenser and had found the courage to part with our last eight quarters.

We nervously flipped the tiny bus transfer cards over and over with our fingers, as though they were food stamps in a famine. We wanted to get back to our hotel, but we weren”t sure where it was. What we knew was we were tired, hungry, broke, and completely alone in a sea of humanity. All that changed when the bus arrived.

Instantly, people appeared from every direction, all of them crowding onto the bus with a sort of unspoken choreography that demonstrated years and years of rehearsal. Each one disappeared up the steps, paused for a moment at the fare meter, then proceeded to stake out some “personal space.” It was our turn to mount the steps, and we flashed each other a worried look as if to say, “What if we mess up this meter thing? We don”t have any more money!”

Sure enough, I stuck the transfer card in backwards, quickly pulled it out, ripped it, then promptly dropped it into the abyss of the pitch-black floor. There we were, two college professors from California who had met their match in a tiny bus transfer and a fare meter. We expected the sighs and impatient comments coming from those in line behind us, but what we didn”t expect was a gentle giant of a man, who swooped down from behind the steering wheel, snatched up the wayward bus transfer, and gave us a lesson in how fare meters work.

“That”s OK, take your time,” he said with a wide grin that lit up his black face. The door closed, and the bus joined a river of traffic that flowed south. We expected to be taken from one place to another, but we didn”t expect to learn what it meant to provide “safe passage.”

“Where are you headed?” the driver asked.

“The corner of First and First,” we replied, wondering how a street can meet itself at the corner.

He had us pegged as “out-of-towners” and quickly replied, “Oh, that”s tricky. First Avenue meets First Street. I”ll get you as close as I can.” We thanked him and began what came to be one of the most memorable conversations of our lives.

A Simple Mission

We learned a great deal about our bus driver as he moved in and out of traffic, gathering more street refugees at each stop. “It”s a sick world out there; you wouldn”t believe what people do to each other,” he said as he told us why he had chosen to drive a bus instead of continue as a paramedic on the streets of New York. “I saw more pain than I could fix, but here I can make a difference. I see to it that everybody on my bus feels safe and knows I”m gonna” do my best to get them where they”re going.”

Just as he finished his simple mission statement, he pulled the bus over for yet another stop. An insolent young man, who had earlier pushed his way onto the bus, leaped up like a jack-in-the-box and sped down the center aisle in a dead run. His exit was blocked by an elderly woman, who moved only inches with every step. Without missing a beat, he swung his legs over her parcels, pressed her against the dashboard and made his getaway into the night.

“You”ll be old someday!” quipped two Asian women, with all the maternal disapproval they could muster. Our driver made good on his promise and rescued the poor woman trapped on the exit steps. He gently lifted her up and escorted her safely to the sidewalk.

“Life is hard for most folks; we have to do what we can to help each other out,” the driver said as he wrapped his tall frame around the tiny steering wheel and resumed his post as pilot of the vessel. What followed was a 30-minute ride very much like the popular attraction “It”s a Small World” at Disneyland. People from every race, creed, and color ended up in the driver”s care.

Finally, it was our turn to get off the bus. He had gotten us as close as he could to our destination, and now it was up to us to follow his precise walking directions to First and First. We thanked him and then ventured into the night on foot. We knew we had met one of the best people we would ever know.

Later that evening, while quietly sipping our tea in a nearby café, we began to reflect on our bus ride. We decided we understood more about Jesus” description of the sheep and the goats (Matthew 25:31-46). What does a bus driver have to do with this passage? Quite a bit! Sheep and goats are two distinctly different animals; sheep follow, and goats consume””quite an interesting comparison when you apply the contrast to human behavior.

Goats eat everything in sight, whether tennis shoe or milk carton. The motto of the average goat would be something like, “All for one, and I”m the one!” Sheep, however, focus on the shepherd, not on themselves. Jesus isolates four categories of human need in this simple story about the reactions of creatures with opposing spirits.

Meet Physical Needs

First, sheep and goats respond differently to people with physical needs, “I was hungry and you gave me something to eat; I was thirsty, and you gave me something to drink.”

We were hungry and tired when we got on that bus, and the shady characters who eyed our belongings, made us feel anything but safe! Wasn”t Jesus deeply concerned with the physical needs of people? More times than not, he met their physical needs and then ministered to their spirits.

After all, in the words of our bus driver, “Life is hard for most folks, we have to do what we can to help each other out.” He rescued the old woman who had been run over by a goat! He saw her physical need and walked her to the sidewalk. How many people do we meet every day who have been physically traumatized for a whole host of reasons? Are we extending the helping hand of a faithful sheep?

Welcome Strangers

Sheep and goats respond differently to people who are lost, confused, and lonely. “I was a stranger, and you invited me in.” We were strangers! We were lost in a sea of humanity, and our “sheep in bus-driver clothing” invited us into his sanctuary on wheels when he said, “Where are you headed?” He met us where we were and took us where we needed to go.

Look around. Can you provide “safe passage” for a stranger who is navigating through hostile territory? It may appear difficult to reach out to someone who is estranged, but Jesus never said being a sheep would be easy. You may find yourself echoing the words of our bus driver, “Oh, that”s tricky. . . . I”ll get you as close as I can.” Can you help someone escape from a hazardous environment? You may feel ill-equipped, but what did he have? A bus! What did it become? A rescue vehicle!

Restore Dignity

The next category touches much more than the need for clothing: “I was naked and you clothed me.” Here Jesus pleads with his followers to safeguard the human need for dignity. Nakedness gives way to humiliation, and humiliation comes in all forms and in all degrees. We were humiliated when the bus transfer fell into the abyss. We felt stupid. But once again, we were rescued: “That”s OK, take your time.” Through his gentle response, he restored our dignity.

How many times do we roll our eyes at the actions of others, or skewer them with the fires of our goatish tongues? Human dignity is fragile, and most of us feel like bugs under a magnifying glass every day. Sheep know these things; goats don”t have a clue.

Help the Sick

“I was sick, and you looked after me.” Caring for the sick is another category that separates the sheep and the goats. Patching up the sick takes way too much work to attract the average goat. “It”s a sick world out there; you wouldn”t believe what people do to each other.” We began to see that our paramedic turned bus driver was still maneuvering trauma victims through hazardous environments and loading them onto the safe passage of a waiting vehicle; only this time it was a bus, not an ambulance.

Sick people are generally helpless, and they need stronger arms than their own to support them. Sheep are never bored; there”s always another casserole to send, another phone call to make, another hand to hold. Goats, however, keep their distance; they might catch something.

Accompany to Freedom

Finally, Jesus distinguishes between a goatish reaction and a sheepish reaction to those in prison. “I was in prison and you came to visit me.”

We understand prisons made of electric wires and solid concrete, but what about those who live in invisible prisons, straitjacketed by emotional, mental, and spiritual bondage? Do we go to visit them? Our driver did one better; he picked them up and ushered them to where they wanted to go. “I saw more pain than I could fix, but here I can make a difference. I see to it that everybody on my bus feels safe and knows that I”m gonna do my best to get them where they”re going.”

Do we do our best to get people where they”re going? Our bus driver had gotten us as close as he could to our destination, and now it was up to us to follow his precise walking directions. Do we get people as close as we can to their destinations? Do we prayerfully and actively give them precise walking directions to take them from bondage to freedom? Better still, do we walk beside them?

We reflected on important lessons that night. Providing safe passage for someone doesn”t mean only “from one place to another,” but it can also mean from one state of mind to another””from physical trauma to physical well-being, from humiliation to dignity, from emotional estrangement to healing fellowship.

We finished our tea, and began walking toward our hotel. We quickened our pace, and our breath turned to steam in the night air. The hotel was further away than we remembered, and the night air was colder than we had expected. Streetlights became fewer and farther between, and the environment seemed more hostile with each step. We exchanged worried looks, but we both knew that if things got too dangerous, we could always take a bus.

Steve and Cora Alley are professors at Hope International University in Fullerton, California.