by Craig Mayes on May 31st, 2011

Memorial Day in NYC is still an adjustment for me. I can’t recall one Memorial Day prior to my move to NYC three years where I was not with extended family, somewhere on the water celebrating the beginning of summer. I have made the 2 hour trek to the beaches of Long Island via train and bus, but this year our family felt like chilling out a bit more and just remaining in the city.

I’m not really good at chilling out, so for me the day began with an early morning 6 mile bike ride into Brooklyn to play tennis with my friend Timm. Then it was back to Manhattan and an afternoon bike ride with my family to the Upper West Side, where we hooked up with the Kallens to ride north along the Hudson River.

It was a beautiful day, and the bike and walking path along the river was busy. About 2 miles into our journey, a tragic accident happened directly in front of us. I was bringing up the rear of our group of 7 (remember, I had already biked 12 miles, played 90 minutes of tennis, and also happen to be the oldest of the group J). As I rounded a corner on the narrow path, I saw that our party had stopped and dismounted from their bikes, and were huddling around a person who was on the pavement, tangled up with a bike. At first I could not see who it was and feared that one of our group had met with a nasty accident.  As I got closer, I could account for everyone in our group and saw that the victim was an older man who was pretty messed up.

My daughter, wife and son had witnessed the accident up close and this is what they described. As they biked north, a man was biking south at a pretty fast clip. Just as they neared each other, a little girl strayed into the path of the man. He had no place to go to avoid the collision. To his right was a rocky embankment falling down 10 feet into the Hudson River. To his left was the oncoming traffic (my daughter Megan). So he locked up his breaks and went airborne, bike and all. Megan told me he clipped the little girl and did a complete flip in the air, slamming down hard on his side on the path.

We helped the man off the path and tried to assess the severity of his injuries. His elbow was bleeding and swelling and it looked like there could be a broken bone. His chest was hurting, and he was not able initially to stand or walk. His hip, which had made the first impact with the concrete, was the most painful of his injuries.

Meanwhile, the little girl who had stepped into his path stood crying nearby, with her grandmother and brother and sister. She did not seemed to be injured, but was clearly traumatized by the collision she had caused. But what happened next was unexpected, and the reason I am telling this story.

Eugene, the injured biker, after sitting in the grass for some time, assessing his condition, asked where the little girl was who had stepped in front of him. He asked it in a tone that sounded angry, and I was expecting a nasty confrontation. Sasha’s grandmother took her over to Eugene where he sat. I stood nearby, thinking he was about to really let her have. She looked to be about 5 years old, and in her eyes was a look of great fear as she approached Eugene. I have to tell you, in a million years I could have never predicted what happened.  “Come closer”, he barked at her. Then he grabbed her little arm, pulled her to himself, and embraced her. He whispered some words into her ear that none of us could hear. She began to really cry. Then he kissed her on her tear-drenched cheek, and released her back to her grandmother.

Wow! I had to fight my own tears. Here was a man in a great deal of pain, yet making the decision to reach out to the one who had caused his pain, and to release her from any guilt and shame. Had he yelled and screamed at her, I am convinced that this event would have stuck with her for years, maybe her whole life, as a traumatic event. His action allowed her to not just walk away physically, but to leave the event behind. He could have chosen otherwise- but for whatever reason he cared enough about this stranger to grant her freedom to move on. I was told later that the little girl had been saying “I don’t want to go to jail.”

For the last few weeks I have been memorizing Colossians 3:1-17 with a group from Communitas. This weekend I had been working on verses 12-13: “Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourself with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with each other, and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you.”

I had just witnessed all those virtues in the exchange between Eugene and Sasha- compassion for her own suffering; kindness, humility, gentleness, patience, and forgiveness. I found it remarkable that in his condition he would care about her emotional well being. Honestly, if I was in Eugene’s place, I don’t think I would have been giving too much thought about anyone else. Except maybe anger. 

We ended up spending quite a bit of time with Eugene- enough time to exchange phone numbers and email addresses so we can get together when he has recovered from his injuries. We ended up calling for an ambulance- staying with him while they tended to him- and then helped him get to a cab which would take him to a hospital for a full assessment. As he hugged each of us with words of thanks for our help, I was (and am) so grateful for the lesson he taught me about compassion and love. I will never forget that tender moment of him embracing the one who caused his injuries, whispering words of comfort into her ears. I don’t know anything about Eugene’s faith, but I think I saw what the love of Jesus looks like.