Friday, April 10, 2009
Imagine you're on a bus riding down from the top of the mountains out west on a very narrow barely-big-enough-for-your-vehicle winding road. You're in the back with all of your friends ... reading, laughing, making calls, texting, talking, having a great time.
Suddenly you see - from seemingly out of nowhere - a small boy start to dart across the road, directly in the path of the bus.
The bus driver has three choices. He can veer to the right, careening into the side of the mountain, killing you and all of your fellow passengers, but saving the life of the child. Or he can swerve sharply to the left and plunge off the edge of the road, bringing instant death for everyone on the bus but again, saving the boy. Or he can do the unthinkable and run the child down, but save the life of everyone on the bus.
As the bus driver slams on the brakes, you can feel the small body crumpled by the weight of the massive bus. As the dust clears and the smell of scorched rubber fills the air, the bus driver sits in tears. You approach him and try to offer some small comfort. "Don't cry," you say. "You're a hero. I have a wife and two kids. We all have families. You've saved us all!"
The bus driver turns to you and whispers, "You don't understand. That boy was my son."
God is the bus driver. And that's the choice He made. The one we commemorate this day, Good Friday.