The Underground Railroad

            One of the most captivating parts of American history to me is something that took place during the dark days of slavery. The Underground Railroad became the road to freedom for hundreds of slaves fleeing their southern slave-owners. The network of clandestine paths and hide-a-way stations was manned by compassionate, brave souls along the way, who risked their own lives and the safety of their families, to see their fellow human beings gain freedom.

            The secret routes were challenging and difficult to follow. Slaves were guided by markers, for example, special quilts left hanging on clotheslines which signaled which direction to go. Migrating north under the cover of night, navigating deep rivers and treacherous terrain endangered the lives of those seeking freedom. What a testament to the bravery and heroism of those who traversed the “railroad” and those “conductors” and “station masters” who assisted along the way.

            Perhaps the greatest tribute of all belongs to Harriet Tubman, a former slave. Known as the “Moses of her people” she was instrumental in the operation of the Underground Railroad, returning hundreds of times, to help lead others to the “promised land.”

            The Bible is full of those like Moses who led captives to freedom. Some were held in literal slavery like the Israelites in Egypt. Others were shackled in the belly of a sin-laden sinking spiritual ship like the pagan Corinthians, but all required the strong will and fearless grit of someone screaming, “Let God’s people go!” So, why are those of us who have been set free from the chains of spiritual bondage not willing to return, like Harriet Tubman, to help others still trapped? Have we developed some sort of spiritual amnesia and forgotten that someone who found freedom before us left markers we could follow? Those signposts allowed us to find sanctuary at the foot of the cross. How is it that we have become so self-absorbed, so off-center, that we’ve forgotten the heart of the gospel?

Jesus’ gospel drove Him to fraternize with sinners, much to the chagrin of the corrupt religious system which had written off all but the self-righteous. The religious hypocrites were willing to leave the enslaved behind to languish in the chains of hopeless servitude. Jesus, the Great Emancipator, sacrificed His own life to leave a marker; the cross, which points the way to freedom. His insistence that every person was valuable and worthy of freedom got Him killed. When this is the message we preach, it will likely make us a target too. But whatever the danger, isn’t our own liberty precious enough to spur us into action; to do whatever it takes, to be light in the darkness, a signpost placed at a strategic location, pointing others to the dignity and worth that deliverance brings? Isn’t it time to take our places on a spiritual underground railroad, to risk all that we are and all that we have, to make sure that others have an opportunity to know the Truth and allow the Truth to set them free?

The Amazing Race

            One of the few shows on television I enjoy (some seasons more than others) is The Amazing Race. There are lots of reasons I like the show but perhaps some of the most appealing to me are observing how people deal with pressure, how they do unbelievable feats which require an immense amount of bravery (or stupidity) and how relationships between two members of a team, and between teams themselves develop over the course of the race. 

            One of the details of the show which I find most “amazing” is the almost manic mood swings when couples get irritated with each other during difficult tasks and five minutes later are embracing when they find they are not eliminated. When frustrated with a challenge you’ll often hear a contestant say, “I quit!” Yet, they never do and almost always find the strength to carry on. 

            I wonder how many times today, or this week have you thought, “I quit!” Maybe your frustrations revolve around a particular problem like not having enough money to pay the bills or a rebellious child who’s going to end up in jail if he doesn’t straighten up. Or perhaps your troubles run much deeper than that…a bad marriage, a terminal disease or the sudden loss of your job. You may be facing more than one of these issues and you’ve just felt like throwing your hands up and yelling at the top of your lungs, “I quit!”

            Me too! Yep, me too. There is a part of me which always thinks things will get better. My heart still believes there’s some green grass out there somewhere and most of the time I’m up for looking for it. But there’s also a part of me that gets tired, frustrated, fed up and burnt out. There are days when I think I might want to quit. Just sit down, give up, “cross-my-heart-and-hope-to-die.”

            But then, like a frustrated, manic Amazing Race contestant, somewhere deep inside there is a voice…no maybe…a pulse, that negativism and hopelessness had almost drowned out. I feel it beat a steady rhythm, I hear it call my name. It starts somewhere deeper than my heart though, it has a source of life all its own, not connected to circumstances or outward stimuli. It is other-worldly, not conditional on my five senses, somehow powered by something which has a source of energy “off-the-grid.” Although my body, mind, situation…my sight and the rest of my senses cry stop…Amazing (G)race will not let me. I keep running, climbing, hoping, looking for the next “pit stop,” knowing that “this too will pass” and there is a prize for those who run the race well. The answer to my Amazing Race challenges is Amazing Grace!

Through many dangers, toils and snares
I have already come;
'Tis Grace that brought me safe thus far
and Grace will lead me home.           

The Ultimate Mistaken Identity

            He slowly opened his eyes and saw nothing. He struggled to hear something beyond the sound of his own beating heart. Beneath and beside his hands he felt the splintery coarseness of rough-sawn planks, but there was little room to move any of his extremities. His lungs ached from trying to breathe, and the only scent was that of musty earth. His brain was frantic and yet eerily numb. He tried to decipher what his senses were telling him, and then he froze. He stopped feeling and smelling and seeing. In an instant it flashed across his consciousness like a meteor across the sky…he’d been buried alive!

            He had heard stories. At the time he thought they were only myths, just legends of the ultimate mistaken identity, when the living are erroneously taken for dead. He tried, without success to take a deep breath and scream, but there was not enough air for screaming. Fear crushed him. Panic immobilized him. Somehow, even though he could see nothing, some kind of blackness seemed to be creeping over him like thick ink. He was going to die.

            He had been to only a handful of funerals in his life. He had never really given much thought to the nightmarish possibility of being buried alive. He did, however, have a vague recollection of stories about cords being tied to the presumed corpse and attached to a bell above the ground, making it possible for the “almost dead” to let those above ground know there was still life left in the old soul. He wondered…

            He felt around the best he could, hoping to find the lifeline. Where would it be attached? His hand? His foot? Was it even there? In the cramped quarters of his coffin he used his last remnants of energy to grasp, to gasp…nothing. He collapsed in absolute fatigue like he’d never felt before, but as his hands fell to his side, he felt it. A cord, not as big as a rope but larger than a string. A cord. He grabbed it as tight as he could and began to pull and release, pull and release, much like you would ring the bells in a steeple. The phantom strength with which he pulled the cord came from a place inside him he didn’t know existed, but he pulled and pulled and pulled. He could not speak the words with breath but he could beat them out with pulls and tugs…And so he continued to yank, to ring the bell, and in so doing shouted… “I am not dead yet!”

            Have you ever felt so crushed, so weighed down by life, so immobilized and unable to move that others might have mistaken you for dead? Have you ever felt tossed out, sidelined, kicked to the curb because others felt you had become useless? Has there ever been a time, maybe because of your age, your appearance, your weight or your failures that you were tempted to throw in the towel, give it up, call it quits, retire from life? What about a time when you too, felt that some sort of darkness was overcoming you, making you invisible to those around you? Perhaps you have felt what St. John of the Cross called “the dark night of the soul.” I’m not necessarily talking about suicidal thoughts. I’m talking about feeling buried alive, interred too soon, mistaken for dead.

            Reach for the cord! Find the safety net. Ring the bell. Shout out as loud as you can… “I am not dead yet!” Death you can’t have me. Despair you can’t win. Discouragement be gone. I’m not dead yet! Get up, move around, get a vision, make plans, don’t just lay there and die…ring the bell, for cryin’ out loud, Ring The Bell!