Getting in Cars with Strangers

Every morning during elementary school, my sister and I walked the tiny length of the cul de sac where we lived, crossed the street, and waited on our neighbor’s driveway for Bus #3 to take us to school.  I hated the bus.  The big kids were terrifying to me, and the daily pressure to choose the “correct” seat, one that neither threatened the power of the eighth graders in back nor cozied up to the younger ones in front, created enough anxiety in me to require antacids at a early age. 

The bus ride itself was torturous given the gasoline fumes, the unruly behavior of its occupants, and the continual lurching one way then another with every turn.  But what was merely horrible became utterly unbearable on days that it rained.

I remember one winter day in particular when it didn’t just rain.  It poured.  Sheet upon icy sheet of driving rain was no match for our drug store buy-one-get-one umbrellas.  Just when I thought I couldn’t stand it anymore, a car pulled up to us.  It was the father of Jenny, the girl down the street who got on the bus at the stop after ours.  Mercifully, he waved us into the car so we could wait for the bus along with her in his dry, climate-controlled car. 

Stranger Danger

But before I could get words of gratitude out of my mouth, there was a loud banging on the window.  I turned at the sound and was horrified to find its source.  My mother stood outside the car in her nightgown and slippers with no umbrella or raincoat.  Her clothing stuck to her shivering body, and her hair was soaked.  She was out of breath, probably due to the unanticipated sprint she had just taken as well as the abject terror only a mother can feel when she thinks her children are in trouble.  “Open up!” she yelled in the driver’s direction, still pounding the window. The look of frightened determination on her faced is etched into my memory

It was the 1970s, which must have been a difficult time to be a parent.  Adults at that time feared a nuclear attack at the hands of the U.S.S.R. as well as a nasty coup by the European metric system that would triumph over our American preference for “feet” and “inches.”  And it was the age of “stranger danger.”  Parents lectured children endlessly about the dangers of getting into cars with strangers, even if they offers candy and want us to help them find a lost puppy.  Parents feared seedy men driving unmarked vans in the same visceral way they feared soviet launch codes and, a bit les so, the take-over of unintelligible units like “kilograms” and “millimeters.” 

That was my mother.  Drenched from head to toe, scared out of her mind, my mother was going to do whatever it took – no matter how ridiculous she appeared – to make sure her babies were safe.

Of course, once the door opened and Mom realized it was Jenny’s dad, all was well.  She too thanked him for getting us out of the rain and returned to a dry home.  At the time, I was horribly embarrassed.  But today, I cherish that memory.  It’s a great thing to be loved by someone willing to pound on a car window in a wet nightgown. 

Tomorrow is the Third Sunday in Ordinary Time, and the Gospel reading tells the story of Jesus walking by Simon and Andrew as they are fishing.  He says, “C’mon, guys,” and amazingly, “They abandoned their nets and followed him.”  No “who are you?” or “where do you want us to go?”  No “we’re working now so maybe later” or “how will we feed our families if we leave our nets?”  They just drop everything and follow Jesus. 

Down the way a bit, Jesus sees James and John mending their nets with their father Zebedee.  Jesus calls to them, and sure enough, they leave dear old Dad in the boat and comply instantly without so much as a peep (Mark 1-14-20).

Really?  I mean, who does that?  Who drops everything to follow a stranger, no questions asked? 

Insanity Required

I think this story is meaningful precisely because of how ridiculous it is.  No one in her right mind would do something like this, so I can’t believe that it’s a historical accounting.  Instead, it’s a story that reveals a more important truth.  Jesus’ whole ministry was about showing people how their “right minds” were really quite wrong.  He said that the last will actually end up first.  He said that prostitutes and tax collectors were better off than the Pharisees and Scribes.  He said it was better to be poor than rich, better to be meek than exalted.  None of it makes any sense. 

It’s ridiculous to run off after a stranger.  And it’s ridiculous to be a person of faith.  From the very first page of the Gospel, we are put on alert: You will learn that everything you think you know is wrong.  You will find out that everything you cherish must be set aside.  You will discover that everything you fear the most is the very thing you must endure.

But go ahead and be ridiculous.  Get soaking wet with your nightgown glued to your skin.  Look silly as you feel the bite of uneven pavement through the paper-thin soles of your slippers.  Embrace the lunacy of running out into a rain that freezes your body because of a fear that chills your heart.  And whatever you do, keep pounding on the window.  Divine love comes with its own brand of backwards logic.  Insanity required.

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