There
is a lot to try and make sense of over these last few days. Few of us
can believe the pictures we see on television. A great many of us
realize we narrowly escaped something truly horrible. I hope you might
let me take the liberty of telling you about my day on Wednesday, which
has provided a very helpful lens for me to look on what Hurricane Sandy
means to me.
I emerged into the post-Sandy reality of Wednesday morning with more
than a little trepidation. I feared what damage I might find. I feared
what losses my friends and colleagues might have sustained. I feared
news I had not yet (and never did) receive about those with whom I
work.
I
also feared what I knew would be hassle getting to and from the office
with no subways and only limited bus service. The uneventful trip to
815 (two uncrowded buses with little traffic on the street) lulled me
into complacency. Getting home was a dose of reality.
I
left the office at 6:00 and headed to Grand Central. I was under the
misimpression that some limited train service was restored due to an
erroneous communication from the city. Apparently not on the East Side I
thought, but I was not disheartened.
So
I walked up to Madison Avenue. I’ll take the bus I thought. It came
right away. Packed. Not a problem. But the traffic was absolutely
gridlocked. In 30 minutes I had gone three blocks. I decided the West
Side had to be better. Actually, as I thought about it, it was the 8th Avenue subway I had been told was running, so I decided to walk up to 50th Street and then across town. I did. The station was closed due to severe weather the sign said.
So I started walking. Surely Columbus Circle would be functioning. I walked by the crane dangling above 57th Street. Now I can say I saw it.
Columbus
Circle, however, was also closed. I began to get skeptical about the
train. Buses didn’t appear such a good option there, either. Columbus
Circles was perhaps the worst traffic mess I’ve ever seen in my life.
I
got to Lincoln Center. Still no subway. I gave up on that. It turns
out I’d misunderstood that things had reopened. I opted for the bus up
Broadway. A few came. Impossible to get on. Walking seemed the best
option.
At 72nd
Street with its forlorn, closed subway station in the middle of
Broadway, I waited on the bus up Amsterdam. Still, no luck. However,
this is where circumstances began to be illuminated by my neighbors.
I heard the couple behind me talking. “Is he a real one?”
“No, it’s a costume. This is Halloween.”
“Uh-uh.
He’s real.” I realized they were talking about me. I once had a
similar experience at a Purim festival at the synagogue down the street
from my church in Atlanta where I received numerous compliments on the
ingenuity of my costume when I stopped in one Sunday afternoon after
church.
“Nope, I’m real,” I said.
“I
told you,” one said to the other. At that point they both felt
compelled to tell me where they went to church, which I could tell was
not frequently. The conversation proceeded through a collection of
religious clichés. Finally, a bus came. It was packed beyond belief.
“Go ahead, Father,” they said as they tried to make room for me to board the bus.
“No,
thanks. I’ll wait for the next one.” Forty more blocks of that
conversation on a severely overcrowded bus sounded like a donkey ride
through hell. I passed.
Several
more packed buses came. It was now 8:00. I was tired and hungry. I
decided to go into a restaurant behind the bus stop, have dinner, and
try again after things had, I hoped, cleared up a bit.
Well,
that was a good move. The restaurant was a diner, classic New York.
People talking funny, but incredibly kind to one another. I watched a
table of three elderly women sitting next to the window and thoroughly
enjoying watching the Halloween costumes outside. They would waive to
the characters they thought had the best costumes. They had made it
through the storm and were clearly enjoying each other’s company, which I
suspect is a regular event.
My
strategy turned out to be a good one. By the time I got back to the
bus stop, things had gotten better, and the MTA had put on the extended
buses making everything move a whole lot faster. I had no trouble
getting on the next bus. The traffic was gone. It took a normal amount
of time to get from 72nd Street to 110th at 9:00 at night.
It’s
a story of minor tribulation that probably had a positive impact on my
health, to be sure, but at the same time, it was a great privilege to
share this experience with you all. What impresses me beyond words is
the resilience of the people who live and work here, and most especially
the staff of the Domestic and Foreign Missionary Society.
I
have heard from many of you, both before and after the storm. I know
of at least one person who was in an evacuation area. I have heard from
a number of people who had various kinds of property damage—lost
fences, roof damage, car damage. There is at least one flooded house
among us, and even a car hit by a flying boat. One of us had a
hundred-year-old oak tree lift surreally from the earth and land gently
right beside his house rather than splitting it in two. Lots of us lost
power, some now restored and some not. A number are in the midst of
significant devastation. It is not uncommon for our colleagues to be
living through very significant travel disruptions, or have no idea at
the moment how getting to Manhattan will ever be possible or when.
We
will figure all of that out. The main thing is that, at least at the
moment, I am unaware of anyone injured. I am very grateful for that.
And,
despite what should have been a horrible day on Wednesday, you all made
it something much different. What I think about is a group of senior
citizens who survived the storm enjoying streets filled with
trick-or-treaters. I think about a staff member who endured 4 ½ hours
on a bus to get to work so that payroll could be done. I think about a
staff member who went to a neighbor’s house where there was power to
charge her cell phone so she could stay in touch with the office. I
think about staff members who put together a car pool so they could get
across the bridge over the East River when it was restricted to cars
with high occupancy. I think of staff members who walked so they could
get here and staff members who stayed in constant touch when they
couldn’t. I think of a staff member who organized lunch for the
skeleton crew who were able to come on Wednesday. I think of staff
members who made sure they took plenty of things home just in case they
got stranded and couldn’t get back in for a while.
There
is devastation in what I have seen, but mostly what I see is resilience
in the face of challenges, obstacles, hardship, and suffering. In the
midst of all the inconvenience, I experience you all, and the people of
the city in which we live, being truly neighborly in the very best
sense. I experience you all as dedicated to your work and the people we
serve. On what should have been my worst day in New York City, you and
the people of New York made it the best. I am greatly privileged and
blessed to work and live among you.
Now
would be a good time to give thanks. For many of us that will mean
giving thanks to God. For some, perhaps it means giving thanks to each
other. For others, perhaps giving thanks is a vague sense of relief. I
invite you to join in doing so together, whatever that may mean for
you.
We will celebrate the first Community Eucharist (a word, after all, that means thanksgiving)
in our effort to strengthen our chapel life on Wednesday, November 7. I
invite you to come and take this opportunity to be thankful together,
to pray for those who are suffering, and to remember those who have
died. For myself, I will be thinking about my best day in New York . . .
so far.
+Stacy
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