We were one station away from the airport when the conductor announced “Passengers, please disembark. This train is out of service”. I could feel a groan bubble up inside. It wasn’t a good day for delays. The airline had flights twice a week and I’d been waiting months for this trip. I didn’t feel like waiting another few days to leave.
The 2-hour ride to the airport had been doubled by a series of mishaps. The train slugged through the Dutch countryside at an unbearable rate. Every 20 minutes or so we stopped to reset the locomotive. Like a wifi modem, but restarting didn’t seem to be much help.
I went searching for the next departing train. Squeezing my way through ticked-off passengers, I crossed platforms, found one leaving momentarily, and sat down. My new seatmates introduced themselves; they were jolly old men like that. Yvan and Marcus were heading to the airport too. But they weren’t flying, they had chaplain training to undergo.
We started chatting; pardon, I mean they started chatting with me. Yvan represented the Humanistic movement and Marcus was a Protestant pastor. They seemed like good friends though they stood for different things. I asked Marcus why he chose chaplaincy, and his story made me forget the morning’s frustration.
“I organized a few Church asylums. They changed the way I see things. My Church found a loophole when refugees were being deported from Belgium. Many couldn’t go back for safety reasons. They’d be killed, starve, or they’d be leaving their entire family already settled in Belgium. We didn’t agree with the courts.
We set up beds in the atrium, opened the kitchen and loaded it with food, and announced 24/7 prayer services. The refugees slept in the Church because as long as prayers were officially still going on, the authorities couldn’t come in.
While caring folks campaigned outside, we ensured no one could touch them inside. Sometimes, we did this for months at a time, until Belgium gave these refugees the asylum they deserved.”
I'd stumbled on a gem of a human. We were pulling up to the station and I hadn’t even checked the time the whole ride. I stood up and grabbed my luggage, reluctant to leave and relieved to have made it.
“I may be a Protestant pastor” he finished, “but I believe in liberty. Do what you want, don’t hurt others, be free.”
On that sage advice, I made my way to the security counter. People were rushing about but making my flight didn’t seem as urgent anymore. Hearing about the refugees, and feeling the experiences Marcus shared with me; it put things into perspective again.
I sped through security and sat down at the gate. My flight was delayed; I had extra time. I wouldn’t have minded staying on the train, chatting with the chaplains a bit more.
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Wow, I love stories like this where people surprise us.
Great story, Yehudis, though I particularly enjoy the serendipity and synchronicity of coincidence that follows along with the ritardando of your internal state. Another gem!