The Jesus Bus Stop
I’m sorry God, but I’m not going to wait for Jesus’ return any longer. It’s getting silly now; it’s been over two thousand years and there’s really no end in sight to the waiting. It’s just time to move on.
My grandmother was sitting at a bus stop with her timetable in her hand. She was waiting for the Number 27 bus because someone had assured her it came past here. She’d even had a description of the bus given to her: big and red with a number 27 in yellow over the windscreen; you can’t possibly miss it. The timetable in her hand also had a big, red omnibus on the cover so it all seemed to correlate. She just had to wait. The timetable was unusual because it didn’t give a specific time, but everyone assured her she was in the right place. When her daughter was born, she handed her a copy of the timetable and described the bus to her. Now she didn’t have to wait at the bus stop on her own. She assured her daughter that the big, red 27 bus would arrive and that she just needed to keep her eyes on the road. On her deathbed, my grandmother reinforced her assurance that the bus would arrive. Mother, and now all her siblings, assured me that the big, red 27 bus would arrive one day but we had to wait at the bus stop patiently. The time table said it would arrive one day. I asked Mother about the regular display of purple pushbikes passing, but Mother shook her head and said not to be distracted, otherwise I might miss the big, red 27 bus. All the other distractions would take us the wrong way and we really wanted the destination that the big, red 27 bus offered. So, I waited with Mother and encouraged my children, now, to wait. I gave them timetables too and we all waited together. We weren’t sure the big, red 27 bus would arrive on our particular watch, but we knew not to be distracted. Keep studying the timetable and you’ll know that the big, red 27 bus is coming eventually.
While Mother ignored the purple pushbikes, I was fascinated. They were manual transportation and so pretty and, at the very least, they were going somewhere. Some of the cyclists were out of shape and sweating, with their feet barely pushing the pedals forward, yet still resolute in their direction. Some of the cyclists were completely oblivious to me and rode on with ease and speed. Some cyclists towed others along behind them. I observed with some amusement those that pushed their purple bikes but they continued to move forward. Many cyclists stopped to chat and have a rest at the bus stop; some even forever discarded their purple bicycles and waited for the big, red 27 bus with us. Others moved on eventually, with renewed vigour, offering their support should we wish to join them. Mother insisted that we abide by the timetable and wait for the big, red 27 bus.
At what point do I give up waiting for this big, red 27 bus? When do I admit to myself that I may have misread the timetable? Actually, the timetable has been copied ten million times in so many different languages, is it possible the facts in it may no longer be reliable. At what point do I consider that I may not recognise a bus if it came along because I’ve never actually physically seen one before? When do I think that the representation made by the picture on the timetable may be completely inaccurate? What makes me think all those people on the purple bikes are headed in the wrong direction? At least they’re heading for somewhere, under their own personal exertion and gaining pride and self-satisfaction. Could the real transport method, in fact, be the purple bike and not a big, red bus?
Waiting at this bus stop is akin to waiting for Jesus’ return. After 2,000 years Christians are still trying to sell the concept of the “second coming”. Just wait, they say; it will happen one day. Umm...ok. My parents and their parents and their parents and their parents waited and it didn’t happen. I’m not going to waste my own life, or that of my children, waiting for something that knowledge of my ancestors has shown is futile. Isn’t there a saying that says the definition of insanity is doing the same thing and expecting a different result?
If Jesus hasn’t come for the second time after 2,000 years, consider the fact that you may just have gotten some details incorrect. The Bible might be inaccurate due to translation. Your interpretation of the Bible may be inaccurate and Jesus is not what you expect. Jesus may have been here 27 times a year for the last 2,000 years but you’re not recognising it because you’re so focused on watching out for him.
After years of sitting at the bus stop, timetable in hand, I’m picking up the purple bike, my gift of life at birth, and riding until I can’t ride anymore. If I fall off, I’ll get up and keep on riding until I fall again. I’d love to get to the stage where I can shut my eyes and take my hands off the wheel, but then I might miss the sights and delights on the way. Whatever happens, I’m riding my purple bike. If the big, red 27 bus comes along, I’m sure I’ll spot it whether I climb aboard or not. I may arrive at the same destination on my purple bike as the 27 bus was headed but maybe I don’t. Wherever I end up after, hopefully, 70-odd years of riding, I am completely satisfied with the fact that I did it under my own steam and with natural instinct.