Advent is a rescue

The kingdom of God has no bystanders

On the slow, slippery drive to church that night, we’re praying Hail Marys every mile, our practice whenever we see emergency lights or hear wailing sirens. Through streams of red taillights winding down the dark interstate, the kids point out spin-outs and fender-benders, car after car slumped into the ditch or slammed up against the guardrail. Winter in Minnesota is never easy, but the first snowfall—and especially the first black ice—can shake even seasoned drivers. I quit my mental calculations of how late we’ll be and start silent prayers that we’ll simply make it to church in one piece.

The littles in the backseat get nervous, worrying that we will crash, too. So my older son and I start chatting in the front. He brings up the bystander effect that his older brother had learned about in school and the YouTube video on the science of empathy that we’d watched together, marveling (uncomfortably) at the experiment showing how everyone thinks someone else will help. So no one helps.¹ 

The kids start counting crashes, but they lose track. Around every bend of the road, we see more flashing lights, more emergency vehicles, more gawker slowdowns as cars creep past. I assure myself—other people are stopping. I have a car full of kids. We have to get to church. Help is already on the way.

After endless minutes that weigh like hours, I ease the minivan into the parking lot. 

Exhale long and slow: we made it. Let’s go.

//

Later that night we start our drive back home, and the roads are maddeningly worse. I ditch the freeway for the back roads. When we turn right at the last light, the semi truck in front of us slows to a crawl, much to my annoyance. “We can at least go a little faster than this,” I mutter to myself as the miles-per-hour on the dashboard creeps below 10. 

Then I catch sight of the car in the ditch.

Spun out in the opposite direction, the blue coupe is perched precariously down the icy bank. Lights off but driver inside. An accident fresh as newly fallen snow; no one else has stopped.

In a split second, I veer our car gently to the edge of the road and turn on the hazard lights. “Stay here,” I tell the kids. “I have to make sure the driver is ok. You are safe. I’ll be right back.”