Boston Strong

Matthew 28:6

A glorious moment of resurrection occurred for all to see last Monday—the Boston Marathon ran its 118th edition without a hitch, and an American, Meb Keflezighi, won in a joyous affirmation of all that was human. In many ways, he is an embodiment of a peculiarly American form of practical resurrection—his family fled war and poverty in Eritrea when he was a child, and they found a home in San Diego, California. He has had a 20 year running career, proving to be ageless at 38 (which is akin to someone like Tom Watson winning the 2014 Masters), but also revealing the incessant renewing power of hope, faith, and endurance. 

But beyond Meb’s (the entire running community knows him by his first name) win, resurrection was embodied by the whole event in nearly all of its facets.

Begin with the city of Boston, a place a commentator during the annual Monday morning Red Sox game on Patriots Day intoned, “Boston is not so much a city as a town with the feel and atmosphere of a much smaller place.” Last year, the whole city felt shattered as its own quirky holiday—no one beyond New England marks Patriots Day—got stained with blood and violence as senseless terror reigned at what is always a running festival—Red Sox fans flow out after the game to flood the plazas, joining the throngs watching the race, and all the restaurants are open outdoors—but in two moments of flash and fire, it was obliterated. Boston rose up. They declared themselves, “Boston Strong”—baseball player, David Ortiz, took the public address at the next Sox game and rather colorfully declared that it was their (bleeping) city! They rose up to care for the scores of injured and maimed through the One Fund. And they committed to this year’s race—it would be Boston!

Move to the race itself—tens of thousands of runners decided that very day (April 15, 2013) to run the 2014 marathon—no one would drive them off the streets in fear and hopelessness. Officials broke their own mandates and allowed 9000 extra runners to flood the field, many of whom were running for those who couldn’t anymore, continuing to commit to the healing, recovery, and rehabilitation of the survivors. As the race unfolded Monday morning, it was special. Meb took the lead almost immediately and it became clear this was his day—an American would embody American resilience. The crowds, though, treated all 30000+ runners to the same adulation, encouragement, and support as the elite few actually racing. They deafened them—not with the sounds of horror—but with love in screams, shouts, and yells. “Hooray for all of them—80 nationalities—men, women, children, wheelchairs, racers, trotters, amblers—hooray for everyone!” Terror had its single moment—life has eternity.

Move to the survivors—both those physically harmed in the blasts and those emotionally scarred, including the first responders—medical personnel expecting only blisters, pulled muscles, and dehydration; police officers who usually have a blast reigning in the happy throng, blasted into something else; runners who were doctors, nurses, and paramedics who suddenly went from racers into helpers; and bystanders who got a life of nightmares in the scene unfolding all around them—Sunday night the Red Sox game them a transcendent moment—a Scot-Irish (it is Boston, after all) band of pipes, horns, drums, launched into “Highland Cathedral” and the crowd welcomed the survivors to the field—group by group—police, first responders, the walking survivors on their bionic legs, then the runners, and then the race volunteers. Everyone wept. But it was good—so very good. They lived—we live!

Now some may well say, “It was just a race.”

No, it was more.

On Easter, we proclaimed, “He is not here; he is risen!” 

Here was proof that it changed the world. Yes, it was as worldly an event as anyone could imagine, but that is exactly where Christ’s resurrection was meant to have lasting and real power.

That is our gospel.

May we live it.