One of the rewards of taking public transportation is that you are reminded of the ways in which we are all so intricately woven together as people. When I have the gift of taking the light rail, I find myself jostled and soothed by the variety of people around me and the rhythm of the train. On beautiful mornings like today, you get the added advantage of looking out the window and seeing the city you love fly by in a flash of speed and color. This vision was accompanied on this particular morning by the sound of a young woman sitting beside me quietly speaking a language I did not know into her cell phone. Those with bicycles load on and off flanked by fashionable men and women in business clothes: suits, ties, skirts, black high-heeled shoes. Nearly every person carries a backpack or briefcase that holds items that remain a mystery to their fellow riders. Only the imagination tells the story of their work, their life.

Once off the train there is also the vast array of people that are walking toward offices or buses or wherever their day might take them. There are also those that have no destination. Their day will most likely consist of trying to find their next meal, a helping hand or a place to sleep the night. The diversity of faces and clothing tells a part of the story but not its fullness. This kind of imaginative jogging is why I love to be able to use this mode of getting to work. It is not lost on me that this way of travel is a choice and not a necessity for me. My ability to spin stories and observe people’s lives represents my priviliged life.

Last night as I made my way toward the train that would take me to my waiting car, I observed many interesting sites. But the one that stuck with me throughout the evening and into this morning was the street preacher that had taken his stand on Nicollet and 8th Street. Standing on a metal platform no wider than a kitchen ladder, he held a small, hand lettered sign that simply read ‘Fear God’. He was expounding with some effort about all the ways in which we are meant to fear God and using scripture to back it up. But he was not a polished speaker nor a learned student of the Bible. He looked down periodically at his 3×5 white note cards to get his next scripture citation.

“For the wages of sin is death. Romans 6:23” he spoke, checking his note card. He then went on to say how we are all sinners and that is why we should fear God. As I waited for the light to turn, I found myself watching and listening out of a sense of obligation and identification. You see, I am not very good at being able to cite scripture…chapter and verse… either, so I felt a kinship with him. And while I don’t agree with him theologically, I was also humbled by his courage to stand out in public and put his faith out there for all to see.

Sharing the same corner soap box were two young people signing people up for Amnesty International. Perhaps they, too, were putting their faith out there. I watched them NOT watch the street preacher. Their eyes instead were on an inebriated young man who was sitting on the ground in front of them. A security guard was trying to get him to his feet urging him to “be mature about this.” Frankly, it was a lot to cram into a few square feet of concrete.

The light changed and I was forced to leave this little drama being played out. I did not walk on ‘fearing’ God anymore than I did on any other day. This preacher’s sermon was lost on me. But what I was captured by was his commitment and the commitment of the Amnesty International volunteers. And I was held by compassion for the young man who had had too much to drink and the one who was trying to help him without causing a scene or inciting violence.

In that scene, a snapshot really, of any given moment on any given day on God’s Creation, I was struck by ‘awe’. Awe at the frailty and the courage of humans. Awe at the ways in which a moment can connect us in ways that startle and break our hearts. You see ‘awe’ is the true meaning of the words in scripture we have come to translate as ‘fear’. The scriptures urge us to be in awe before God, not to be afraid of God.

For a few moments on an ordinary Monday on a little plot of sidewalk, I knew the depth of what it means to stand in awe before God.