Real Families

I just wanted to be home. Instead I was stranded in the Phoenix airport. As the “flight delayed” announcements kept coming, I knew I would not make my connection in Chicago.

Because that was last the flight out, it meant I would be spending the night in Chicago. From the airport I made a hotel reservation and planned to take a bus to South Bend the next day. If all went according to the new plan, I would be able to pick up my luggage and finally return home after a now five-day-long trip.

Chicago was rainy, windy and cold, and the airport was packed with exhausted holiday travelers, plans thwarted by the weather. I called the hotel and asked about a shuttle; they ran every half hour. Wait at door number one, I was told. I traipsed over to the shuttle area and fell in with some off-duty pilots and flight attendants. Now well after 11 p.m., all the shops in the airport were closed and the hot dog I had in Phoenix was long ago and far away. A shuttle pulled up, not the right one. I waited. Another shuttle appeared. “O’Hare?” I asked.

The driver smiled and said, “Sure.”

Gratefully I climbed aboard, followed by a flight attendant, and the shuttle pulled away. The driver was jovial, and even though it was late, his good humor was infectious. He chatted with the flight attendant, whom he knew from other trips. He also noted how tired I seemed and cheerfully assured me we’d be at the hotel soon.

And so we were. Since my missed connection had started this whole adventure, I had no luggage. The driver accompanied us inside, and the flight attendant checked in first. When it was my turn I discovered my name was not on the reservation list. It turns out there were two hotels from the same chain in the area. The shuttle driver immediately said, “I’ll take you there. No problem.” Wearily but happily, I accepted his offer, and we went back to the van.

I became acutely aware of how hungry I was. Once seated in the van with our seat belts on, I said tentatively, “Is there …”

“Any food?” he finished. He said there’s a 7-11 across the way. We drove over and I got a sandwich, some fruit and some cash from the ATM so that I could give this kind man a tip.

At the hotel—the correct one this time—I checked in. Thanking the driver, I said, “Please, let me give you some money for your trouble and your help.”

He smiled, and said, “Why would I take your money? You are my sister. I loved you from the first I saw you.” And with that he drove away, still smiling. You are my sister.

I am captivated by the accounts of Jesus’ healing miracles, but the one I love best is the story of the bleeding woman. She comes to Jesus, her last hope. No one has been able to help her; she has no money and is an outcast. And this Jesus, I imagine her thinking, What will he do if she approaches him? Why should her problems matter? We know the result of her reaching out: She is healed.

What draws me in is Jesus calling her daughter. “Daughter, your faith has made you well.”

Not only does Jesus heal the woman, he also names her connection to family, to community, to the divine. By this naming, Jesus commits an act of radical healing and hospitality that transcends the boundaries of our physical bodies.

In my mind, that shuttle driver, who remains nameless to me, acted in the ways of Jesus.

He went out of his way to take care of more than what he was contracted to do—take passengers from point A to point B, probably quickly and efficiently and with little fuss.

Perhaps his curious statement at the end of our time together—I loved you from the first I saw you—is his philosophy of life. Because you are my sister, my brother, I love you. Because I love you, I will take care of you the best way I can, just doing what I do.

That sounds like Jesus to me.

Regina Shands Stoltzfus is working on a doctorate in theology and ethics at Chicago Theological Seminary.