My pager sounded at 1:30 AM on Sunday. A southbound driver was struck by a vehicle that ran a westbound stop sign. The southbound driver was probably killed on impact. Preliminary investigation indicated the southbound driver was intoxicated. He was also unharmed.
Someone at the scene said something like: “Once again the drunk walks away and an innocent person dies. Where’s the justice?”
A conversation illuminated only by the halogen flood lights of a fire truck is not the best situation to launch into a theological diatribe. I tried to offer the assurance that in God’s time there will be ultimate justice.
The good people working the scene nodded in polite agreement. They had probably heard the explanations about the Fall of Man and cursing of the ground recorded in Genesis 3. They could probably recite from childhood Sunday School classes or a Star Wars movie that in the end good triumphs over evil. I suppose I might have pulled out my pocket New Testament and read a few verses about the sovereignty of God.
Later, just a few minutes before 4:00 A.M., I was standing on a dark porch, pounding on a stranger’s door, trying to plan how I would tell him someone he love died on the side of the road just a few miles away.
At that moment, reason, logic and theology did not mean much. I’m not sure which drowned it out. The boom of pounding on the door or the silence of a stilled heart.
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