Of Geese, Death and Humanity

I just listened to the fourth movement of Mahler's Fifth Symphony three times in a row. I had to; it was the only think I could think to do. I needed to process the way this day has been saturated in death.

A massive flock of geese resides in our neighborhood, year-round. Most mornings, right at rush hour, for reasons that must seem compelling to geese, they troop single-file across the four lanes of Wabash Avenue. I have watched this happen dozens of times. Every time all the drivers stop and put on their flashers. Today, I watched a *&@#^% driver plow straight into the midst of those magnificent birds. He hit about eight of them. Several died instantly. Others were cruelly injured and lay suffering in the road. Drivers got out of their vehicles and lovingly, tenderly carried the injured to the sides, laying them in front yards, their necks slowly writhing in an agony that was horrific and beautifully graceful all at once.

The *&@#^% just kept going. Probably a wise move. I know of at least one driver who felt like twisting his neck horrifically.

Later, I performed a committal service for a couple who died some twenty years ago. Their ashes had sat on their niece and nephew's mantel ever since. They, the cemetery manager and I were the only attendees. Usually performing such a service makes me feel useful. Today, I felt an aching, redundant sorrow.

It seems like each week another truck driver on Interstate 70 in Vigo County fails to slow down in time and plows into the rear end of some benighted soul's car, killing all within it. I read these stories and get a little angry. But I admit they have not made me nearly as angry, nor sad, as this morning did. I suppose if I personally witnessed such an incident it would. I hope it would.

As Mahler played I found myself needing to share not only my feelings, but my prescription. That prescription has two parts:

1. To ALL DRIVERS (including me): there is literally nothing so important that pops up on your phone that it requires your attention while driving. (I watched *&@#^% drive on with his phone in one hand resting in front of him on the dash board.) Put your phone where you cannot reach it while driving.

2. To ALL MORTALS (including me): life is short. Savor it. Life is a gift. Receive it. Life is precious. Treasure it—your own, and the life of all creatures whom God has created and called good.