The Fear Of The Lord
Stories
Lectionary Tales For The Pulpit
62 Stories For Cycle B
There was no warning. One moment, busy afternoon rush hour crowds were bustling in and out of the subway terminal. Men and women of various ages, carrying briefcases, shopping bags, backpacks and young children, brushed determinedly past one another on their way to and from countless locations. A group of tourists with floral print shirts and cameras craned their necks to take in the vaulted ceilings and marble pillars of the old 96th Street terminal as they descended into its artificially lit atmosphere. Two teachers herded twenty children, on a late spring field trip, up to the street on the adjoining staircase. Three youths, dressed like gang members, surreptitiously drew out spray paint cans, and two stood watch while the third emblazoned the wall behind one of the pillars with gang symbols and slogans. No one seemed to notice, or if they did, chose not to acknowledge the vandalism. It was the end of the day. Almost everyone just wanted to get home.
The next moment, the ground began to tremble, as if the switch on a giant vibrating machine had been thrown. Surprise registered on every face, and people struggled to keep their footing. Many failed.
In another moment, the trembling became violent shaking. Crumbling concrete began to fall. Sharp, jutting segments of tiled floor rose up, exposing earth, and worse, gaping chasms beneath. Water pipes and electrical circuitry were torn free, creating showers of water and intermittent sparks. Artificial lights went out, avalanches of dirt and masonry fell, and soon all natural light from the former entrances and exits of the terminal was blocked out.
While it seemed an interminable amount of time to those who endured it, the quaking actually lasted less than one minute. When it ceased abruptly, so did the screams of the crowds. People who could move began to free themselves from debris in the total darkness. Voices called out names in terrified uncertainty; some were answered, some were not. Then, the sounds of weeping and moaning could be heard. Someone flicked on a cigarette lighter, but was urged to put it out immediately; there was no way of knowing if gas pipes had been ruptured nearby.
A voice called out for a flashlight, if anyone had one, and two or three came on. Those who were uninjured began to move among the immobile. Handkerchiefs, scarves and torn clothing became bandages and tourniquets. In a few moments, emergency generators kicked in and cast an eerie, but welcomed, yellow/orange light over the devastation.
People used to being in charge began to direct those who wandered aimlessly. Everyone trapped within the cavern created by the quake was accounted for, freed from the rubble, if possible, and gathered together in the most open, secure section of ground. Volunteers cared for the injured and covered the dead. Names were exchanged. The injured and strickened were comforted.
It was a small, elderly woman with a soft halo of white hair who discovered the boys behind the pillar. One, half buried in rubble, was unconscious. Another, clearly in shock, with blood streaming down his face from a scalp wound, sat rocking next to his unconscious friend. The third, clearly terrified, had withdrawn from the two and drank repeatedly from a pint-sized bottle of liquor. As yet, the alcohol had not dulled the fear in his eyes.
"Let's move your friend out into the open, away from this loose rubble," the old woman said softly to the uninjured boy. "Then we can get some men to free your other friend."
"Mind your own business, Grandma," the boy said angrily, and continued to drink from the bottle.
The old woman sought help for the injured youths, then made rounds of the others who were hurt and frightened. As time passed, with nothing to occupy time but thinking of their plight, fear and tension grew.
"What are we going to do to get out of here?" someone finally demanded loudly. "We can't just sit here, trapped."
"Don't touch anything!" cried another. "You'll cause an avalanche!"
"What about aftershocks," said another. "If more concrete falls, we could all be crushed!"
"Have faith," the small, white-haired woman implored. "Pray for help to come soon. God will take care of us."
"Like he took care of them?" shouted an angry voice, indicating the covered bodies of the dead. "No thanks!"
"This space is too small for all of us," cried a claustrophobe. "Stop arguing! We'll run out of air!"
Authoritarian voices demanded calm and quiet, but fear was much stronger than reason. Several people appeared to be near total panic. The gang youth with the liquor bottle began to laugh uncontrollably amid the shouting and crying, adding to the chaos, until it seemed there was no hope of restoring order and calm.
Suddenly the ground began to tremble beneath them again. Low rumbling rose into another terrifying roar as the movement increased to a shaking. The angry, frightened and hysterical voices were muted in terror, but mercifully, the shaking subsided without becoming a full-blown quake. The aftershock. And after its shock began to wear off again, amid the coughing and brushing off of dirt and dust, a soft, quavering voice could be heard singing a familiar hymn. Searching eyes identified the elderly woman, kneeling between the unconscious gang youth and his unresponsive friend with the head wound, holding the hand of one and soothing the brow of the other as she sang. No one spoke; every ear was intent on the song.
Be not dismayed whate'er betide, God will
take care of you;
Beneath his wings of love abide, God will
take care of you.
Through days of toil when heart doth fail,
God will take care of you;
When dangers fierce your path assail, God
will take care of you.
No matter what may be the test, God will
take care of you;
Lean weary one upon his breast, God will
take care of you.
The uninjured youth stared at the half-empty liquor bottle in his hand for a few moments, then tossed it at one of the piles of rubble. Gradually, the words became louder and clearer, until everyone who was able either hummed or joined in the refrain:
God will take care of you, through every
day, o'er all the way;
he will take care of you, God will take care of you.
Hours later, rescue crews worked feverishly to free the trapped and injured from the earthquake's devastation. Amid pain-filled moans and anguished cries on the street level, the peaceful sound of singing greeted them as they began the careful excavation of the old 96th Street subway terminal. And as the crews lifted those survivors to safety, the puzzle of their serenity was answered when a small elderly woman, with a halo of white hair, paused as she reached the surface, deeply inhaled the fresh night air, and said, "Thank you, Lord, for sending your Holy Spirit to comfort us in the hour of our need." Then the rescue workers smiled at one another as the woman was helped to an ambulance, humming the tune of the familiar hymn as she went.
____________
Civilla D. Martin, "God Will Take Care of You," The United Methodist Hymnal (Nashville: The United Methodist Publishing House, 1989), p. 130.
The next moment, the ground began to tremble, as if the switch on a giant vibrating machine had been thrown. Surprise registered on every face, and people struggled to keep their footing. Many failed.
In another moment, the trembling became violent shaking. Crumbling concrete began to fall. Sharp, jutting segments of tiled floor rose up, exposing earth, and worse, gaping chasms beneath. Water pipes and electrical circuitry were torn free, creating showers of water and intermittent sparks. Artificial lights went out, avalanches of dirt and masonry fell, and soon all natural light from the former entrances and exits of the terminal was blocked out.
While it seemed an interminable amount of time to those who endured it, the quaking actually lasted less than one minute. When it ceased abruptly, so did the screams of the crowds. People who could move began to free themselves from debris in the total darkness. Voices called out names in terrified uncertainty; some were answered, some were not. Then, the sounds of weeping and moaning could be heard. Someone flicked on a cigarette lighter, but was urged to put it out immediately; there was no way of knowing if gas pipes had been ruptured nearby.
A voice called out for a flashlight, if anyone had one, and two or three came on. Those who were uninjured began to move among the immobile. Handkerchiefs, scarves and torn clothing became bandages and tourniquets. In a few moments, emergency generators kicked in and cast an eerie, but welcomed, yellow/orange light over the devastation.
People used to being in charge began to direct those who wandered aimlessly. Everyone trapped within the cavern created by the quake was accounted for, freed from the rubble, if possible, and gathered together in the most open, secure section of ground. Volunteers cared for the injured and covered the dead. Names were exchanged. The injured and strickened were comforted.
It was a small, elderly woman with a soft halo of white hair who discovered the boys behind the pillar. One, half buried in rubble, was unconscious. Another, clearly in shock, with blood streaming down his face from a scalp wound, sat rocking next to his unconscious friend. The third, clearly terrified, had withdrawn from the two and drank repeatedly from a pint-sized bottle of liquor. As yet, the alcohol had not dulled the fear in his eyes.
"Let's move your friend out into the open, away from this loose rubble," the old woman said softly to the uninjured boy. "Then we can get some men to free your other friend."
"Mind your own business, Grandma," the boy said angrily, and continued to drink from the bottle.
The old woman sought help for the injured youths, then made rounds of the others who were hurt and frightened. As time passed, with nothing to occupy time but thinking of their plight, fear and tension grew.
"What are we going to do to get out of here?" someone finally demanded loudly. "We can't just sit here, trapped."
"Don't touch anything!" cried another. "You'll cause an avalanche!"
"What about aftershocks," said another. "If more concrete falls, we could all be crushed!"
"Have faith," the small, white-haired woman implored. "Pray for help to come soon. God will take care of us."
"Like he took care of them?" shouted an angry voice, indicating the covered bodies of the dead. "No thanks!"
"This space is too small for all of us," cried a claustrophobe. "Stop arguing! We'll run out of air!"
Authoritarian voices demanded calm and quiet, but fear was much stronger than reason. Several people appeared to be near total panic. The gang youth with the liquor bottle began to laugh uncontrollably amid the shouting and crying, adding to the chaos, until it seemed there was no hope of restoring order and calm.
Suddenly the ground began to tremble beneath them again. Low rumbling rose into another terrifying roar as the movement increased to a shaking. The angry, frightened and hysterical voices were muted in terror, but mercifully, the shaking subsided without becoming a full-blown quake. The aftershock. And after its shock began to wear off again, amid the coughing and brushing off of dirt and dust, a soft, quavering voice could be heard singing a familiar hymn. Searching eyes identified the elderly woman, kneeling between the unconscious gang youth and his unresponsive friend with the head wound, holding the hand of one and soothing the brow of the other as she sang. No one spoke; every ear was intent on the song.
Be not dismayed whate'er betide, God will
take care of you;
Beneath his wings of love abide, God will
take care of you.
Through days of toil when heart doth fail,
God will take care of you;
When dangers fierce your path assail, God
will take care of you.
No matter what may be the test, God will
take care of you;
Lean weary one upon his breast, God will
take care of you.
The uninjured youth stared at the half-empty liquor bottle in his hand for a few moments, then tossed it at one of the piles of rubble. Gradually, the words became louder and clearer, until everyone who was able either hummed or joined in the refrain:
God will take care of you, through every
day, o'er all the way;
he will take care of you, God will take care of you.
Hours later, rescue crews worked feverishly to free the trapped and injured from the earthquake's devastation. Amid pain-filled moans and anguished cries on the street level, the peaceful sound of singing greeted them as they began the careful excavation of the old 96th Street subway terminal. And as the crews lifted those survivors to safety, the puzzle of their serenity was answered when a small elderly woman, with a halo of white hair, paused as she reached the surface, deeply inhaled the fresh night air, and said, "Thank you, Lord, for sending your Holy Spirit to comfort us in the hour of our need." Then the rescue workers smiled at one another as the woman was helped to an ambulance, humming the tune of the familiar hymn as she went.
____________
Civilla D. Martin, "God Will Take Care of You," The United Methodist Hymnal (Nashville: The United Methodist Publishing House, 1989), p. 130.
