Over at yet another parishioner’s house the other day, I was told a story by the husband, who is Jewish and loves to tell stories. Here’s one of his favorites:
“So, one morning, dark, foggy, cold, temps in the teens, my friend and I, both of us Jews, mind you, were traveling along in our car and we saw one of those “
Bridge freezes before road” signs right before crossing the bridge. It was one of those S-curve bridges. You approach from a sharp curve into the bridge and there’s another sharp curve right after the bridge. The car was still carrying centrifugal force as we hit the ice, setting the car spinning around three times on the icy bridge, and throwing us spinning in the wrong direction when we hit the sharp curve going in the opposite direction on the far side of the bridge. But the road after the bridge wasn’t icy, and we hit the road exactly in our lane and going the right direction. Had we hit any other way we would have flown off the road and, right there, that would have been catastrophic.”
“Directly, squarely in front of us, as we hit the dry road on the far side, there was a billboard saying “JESUS SAVES”. We looked at each other and were both dead silent for, like, thirty seconds as we travelled safely onward. And that’s a long time after something like that. And then we looked at each other again and said to each other simultaneously, ‘Did you see that? Jesus saves.’ And then we went quiet again.”
“Jesus is Jewish,” he added to me so very many years later.
“We need to get you baptized,” I said to him.