good Samaritans

Renée Antrosio – April 25, 2023 6 Comments

Rain poured down in sheets, overwhelming the windshield wipers and flooding the road. Lightning crashed, so I could see for a moment, and then darkness resumed. I crept along as semi trucks passed, sending walls of water into my lane. What to do? I was alone on the interstate in Texas, over an hour from my hotel reservation in Arkadelphia, making slow progress. The car felt steady, but the lack of visibility was unsafe. For the second time, I pulled off the road under an overpass, hoping the storm would subside. 

I asked my parents to pray. While I was waiting, I read texts from the musicians at practice. Which verses should we sing if the song has too many? Did I know that the brand-new projector wasn’t working on Sunday? Neither felt like problems I could solve in the storm, so instead I asked them to pray. The rain in Illinois was reasonable, not the crazy situation I was experiencing. 

A black sedan with Texas plates pulled over in front of me, also seeking refuge from the deluge. I appreciated the company of strangers confirming that I made a good decision to stop. Perhaps they were a good barometer of when to resume my journey; when they restarted, I would too. I waited impatiently, unable to focus on my audiobook over the sound of the storm.

The driver’s door opened and a young black man emerged, flipping up the hood on his coat against the spray of passing cars. As he walked toward me, thoughts and emotions flooded my overloaded senses. 

I have been taught by my culture that as a white woman I should fear black men whom I don’t know. Stranger danger. I’m not sure how- I don’t watch the news, rarely read the paper, and generally consume very little media. But I can feel the implicit bias that has somehow been implanted in my psyche, and I hate it. My brain fights back and I remind myself that those messages I’ve absorbed are racist lies. And my body feels fear even as my mind searches for the true explanation and appropriate response to the man advancing toward my driver’s window. I attempt to barely crack it open, but it rolls down halfway, and I resist the rude impulse to try to return it to the intended ½ inch gap. 

“Are you ok?” he leans in to ask, his face somewhat obscured by the hood as he voices genuine concern for my wellbeing. 

“Yes, thank you for checking on me! This rain is terrible and I can’t see anything! Are there signs of it letting up?” I feel relief and gratitude wash over me. 

Like a brother, he analyzes the road conditions and explains the best way to respond. Keep my flashers on and my speed in the forty-ish range and I should be ok. I listen with one ear while my mind grapples with the danger he put himself in to stop and check on a stranger with out-of-state plates. Recent headlines of people shot- for knocking on the wrong door, pulling in the wrong driveway, getting in the wrong car.

What kind of courage did it take to make the split-second decision to pull over when he saw someone on the side of the road, possibly in need of help? Then get out of his car, semis churning by, and approach a stranger to offer assistance. I worried about what would have happened if I had been someone with a gun. I started to worry about his safety standing on the interstate side of my car in the rain. He concluded his encouraging instructions,

“I don’t know if you’re a Christian or not,” he said, “but just pray and I think you’ll be ok.”

As I thanked him again and he returned to the safety of his own vehicle, I was overwhelmed with God’s goodness expressed to me. At considerable danger to himself, a black man in America stopped by the side of a road to help, not knowing what he would encounter. Did the Holy Spirit prompt him? Was he conflicted or worried? If so, he didn’t show it. He took the time to bless me before he continued on his journey. 

I pulled out into the storm, praying aloud as I had been instructed, with a boldness beyond my usual. The rain did not subside as I prayed, nor did I slide off the road. The sign for Hope, Arkansas, came into view. I told Siri to call my sister, who talked me through to a hotel, and how to ask for a refund on my other reservation. I stayed in Hope that night, relieved and grateful, and prayed for blessing on the man or angel who had stopped to help. 

This isn’t the first time we have relied on the kindness of Christian strangers while traveling. When our Mitsubishi broke down, it was a different black man who gave us a ride to a rental car agency from a gas station in the middle of nowhere: the last time we stayed in Hope, Arkansas. May God bless these and other good Samaritans who embody the love of Jesus for their neighbors, we who are strangers on the road. -Renée