It was hot. Late summer days on the West Texas plains always are. Dad, Mom and us three kids were cruising along in our 61 Impala. Four windows down; five spirits up. And no doubt a territorial fight or two over back seat space. It was a grand, family day.
I don’t know who saw it first but a distant ribbon of smoke out of Dad’s window soon caught our fancy. “What do you suppose it is?” “Is it a house?” “Maybe it’s a field?” “No it’s not big enough for that.” Our fascination grew as the smoke grew larger and larger. “I think we’ll be able to see what it is,” I recall my dad saying. “It looks like it’s along our route.”
Sure enough. Moments later Dad slowed the car down as we entered Fredericksburg and turned west on Highway 290. It would be a drive none of us will ever forget.
Not many miles out of town, we came across a horrific scene. A farm truck and a gas tanker truck had met head on at full speed. Dad eased to a stop at the end of the line of cars and I jumped out to go with him to where the crowd was gathered to get a closer look. The gas truck was upside down and the tank portion on fire. I heard a man say that the driver was pinned in the cab. I heard another man say that another tank was expected to blow. And I heard a policemen tell us we’d better move back.
And then the tank exploded, engulfing the entire truck in a ball of fire. Horrified, for the first time, I watched a man die.
Those were innocent times. We didn’t have a TV yet. The movies were all rated G. Death wasn’t a part of daily life. Very few words were spoken in our car the rest of that day.
Things have changed.
This week I log on to USA today. Another child is killed. Another bomb kills civilians in the Middle East. The pictures are there. I open the Star and I read, “Seven Children Killed in the KC area this Year by Abusive Parents.” I turn on the TV and within five minutes I see someone violently take another’s life. I see a movie preview and in :30 seconds a dozen or more die. Human life snuffed out as indifferently as a housekeeper stomps out a spider. I finish the paper. Log off the net. Turn off the TV. And resume my daily life almost as if nothing had ever happened.
So anesthetized by exposure to death.
So callous to the value of life.
So familiar with evil.
So different from that Texas day when a life ended and hours of silence ensued.
And I wonder, is tuning out just the only way to cope with the dramatic prevalence of sin in our world or is something missing in our souls? If God notices when even a sparrow falls, shouldn’t we feel more pain when a brother does?
I can still vividly see that ribbon of smoke. I can still feel the heat from the exploding tank. And my heart cries. Not just for the Texas truck driver that fell that day. But for what we have become. For the fact that you and I can read and see the horror around us and spend our day with anything less than a knot in our guts.
Oh Lord, come. Come save us from what we've become.