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The Transforming Power of Love
The shadows were long and the sky a dark orange as
the sun slowly edged down below the tops of the hills. Only a few cars now rolled along the two-lane highway high atop the steep bank of the river, and even fewer boats inched their way around the gentle curve downstream from the town.
It had been different earlier, of course. During the day both roadway and waterway had been alive with traffic, barges, and trucks hauling their loads to and from the city. But now it was evening, and evening meant a gradual ceasing of the day's activity.
The man in the small wooden shed leaned back in his chair, stretching arms and legs and back to shake off the effects of having sat so long, reading the tattered paperback book. He checked his pocket watch. Only a little while now until the last train of the day would roll through. Then his work day would be over, and he could go home.
The shed, perched atop the steep riverbank, was his lonely workplace. From here he could see the railroad tracks as they wound their way through the hills, then across the river and on into town.
Getting the trains safely across the river was the man's job. From his wooden shed he controlled the rickety old turntable bridge that controlled all the traffic up and down along the river. Most of the time the bridge was turned so as to run parallel to the river. That way, the river was open for the various boats and barges to pass freely, and the cars on the highway could move freely through the railroad crossing.
But when a train was coming through, everything changed. Then the man would engage the big motors underneath the bridge, which would rotate until it linked up with the tracks on either side of the river. The man would lock the bridge into place and the train could cross the river safely, while the boats on the river and the cars on the highway waited.
It was, all in all, an extremely routine job. Sometimes the man's little boy would come by the shed in the afternoon. For a while he would play around the shed and watch the big bridge turn, slowly and noisily, across the river and back again. Then he would grow bored and scamper back home. Most of the time, the man was all alone.
He was alone now, as evening fell. Soon the last train of the day would come through. Mostly freight trains used these tracks now. But twice each day passenger trains rolled through, carrying their riders to the bigger cities farther down the valley. The last train of the day was one of these. It wasn't as big as in earlier times, when railroad travel was much in fashion. But its passenger load was steady. There would be three or four cars, counting the diner, between the engine and the caboose. After crossing the river it might stop in town just long enough to drop off a rider or two before continuing on its way.
The man snapped the watch shut and slipped it back into his pocket, then reached over and tripped the switch that started the bridge motor. Far in the distance he could hear the whistle of the passenger train: his signal to begin swinging the bridge into position. He threw the rest of the switches. There was a low groaning noise as the bridge began its slow turning. He could feel the floor of the shed vibrate and then, after a few moments, the familiar jolt as the bridge swung into place. He heard the whistle again, closer this time: the train would be just a mile or so away now, making the last winding curves before it emerged from the hills and crossed the river.
It was then that a little red light on the control panel caught the man's attention. A flash of fear shot through him like an electric current. The light meant that the bridge's automatic locking mechanism had failed to engage. If the tracks on the turntable bridge were not perfectly aligned with those on either side of the river-and if they were not properly locked in place-the train would jump the rails and plunge into the river below.
Fortunately, there was a manual locking mechanism that could be used when the automatic system failed. On each side of the bridge was a large steel lever. By setting the lever in the proper position, the bridge could be locked in place. The man bolted from the shed and toward the bridge junction on the near shore. It took all his strength to move the huge lever into place, securing the near end of the bridge.
Now the man hurried across the bridge to secure the junction on the far side. His heart was pounding as he grasped the lever in his hands and braced himself to pull it into place. The whistle sounded again, very close by. In just a few seconds the train would be upon him.
Just at that moment the man heard a sound that turned his blood to ice.
"Daddy! Daddy! Where are you?"
The child's voice came from the other side of the bridge by the wooden shed. His four-year-old son had come to watch the last train rumble across the bridge and then walk with his daddy back to the house for supper. Now he was on the tracks, stepping carefully from one railroad tie to the next, making his way out onto the bridge.
"Daddy? Where did you go?"
The man's first instinct was to cry out, "Run! Run!" But he realized immediately that there was not enough time. The tiny legs would not carry their owner fast enough. His next instinct was to race across the bridge himself, grab the boy and fling him to safety in the bushes along the far bank. But then, he knew, he could never get back in time to set the locking mechanism. The terrible choice was all too clear. If he left his post to rescue the child, the train filled with passengers would plunge into the river below. If he stayed, he could still save the train, but he could do nothing for the child. Either the passengers on the train must die, or his little boy must die. He could save one or the other, but not both.
In one horrible instant, he made his decision. Eyes blinded with tears, his hands gripped the lever. His legs and back strained as his powerful arms pulled the lever down, down, down into position.
The train rolled swiftly and safely across the river and on into the evening dusk. None of the passengers on board felt the train give even the slightest tremor as it hurled the tiny, broken body from the bridge. None of them saw the pitiful figure of the sobbing man, still bent over the cold steel lever long after the train had passed. None of them saw him, finally, draw himself up and walk slowly across the bridge toward home, there to search for the words to explain to his wife what had happened, and why.
For God So Loved the World
This is not, so far as I know, a true story. I tell it as it was told to me, as sort of a parable-a modern parable about God's love.*
The Bible has a great deal to say about God's love-both the love he has for us and the love he wants to pour through us to others.
The starting point is God's love for us. In the Gospel according to John, we are told that "God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life" (Jn 3:16).
If you can comprehend the depth of what welled up in that trainman's heart to enable him to give up the life of his little son in order to save the lives of the men and women on the train-then you can just begin to understand the depth of love that God showed for you and me when he sent his beloved Son, Jesus Christ, to die for us.
God-the great God of heaven and earth-loved you and me so much that he sent his only Son to die so that we could live. God the Father gave what was most precious to him, gave what was dearest to him, gave what he loved the most: his Son. He gave all that he had when he gave us Jesus. He handed him over-handed himself over-to us, "knowing," in the words of one of my favorite songs, "we would bruise him, and smite him from the earth."
Why? Because he loved us. Because he loved us that much.
He loves you that much even now. Whoever you are, wherever you are, whatever you've done-as you read these words, God wants you to know that he loves you. There is no one outside his love. There is not one of us who can say, "Everyone else is loved, but not me. No one loves me." That's not true. God loves you at this very moment every bit as much as he did when he watched his Son die for you.
Because He Loved Us
Like his death, Jesus' whole life was a demonstration of God's love. Paul sums up the self-sacrificing character of Jesus' life in a moving passage from his letter to the Philippians:
Have this mind among yourselves, which was in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in
human form he humbled himself and became obedient unto death, even death on a cross. Philippians 2:5-8
Jesus, the Son of God, was himself God, with all...
