The Bike Thief
It was our first Sabbath Day as a family, a new and sacred experience. We returned home after an inspiring worship service on the Ten Commandments. The day was sunny, but briskly cold for September (in Greece).
My neatly aproned wife, Maria and daughter, Amelia were warming up the wholesome food, prepared the day before, and mixing the crisp salad. My younger sons, Spero and Peter, were helping to set the table with the fine table linen and china. The seven-place candlestick was lit, each sharing this ritual, too.
It was much like the early Israelites, I imagined, in keeping the tradition of the Sabbath, a holy day, a special day, a day to be remembered, we learned from a study of the fourth commandment.
All this calm, peace, and excitement of the day, however, was suddenly broken, as my son, Spero, breathlessly dashed into the dining room from the veranda, screaming out, “Daddy, Daddy, someone’s stealing my bike!” I quickly followed Spero out to the veranda, and saw a shadowy figure hunched over a bike, peddling frantically as he sharply turned at the comer in a cloud of dust, disappearing into the cool, thin air.
“Daddy, what should I do now?” asked Spero. Without thinking I hastily replied, “Take Peter’s bike and chase him! Quickly! What else!”
I thought again, Why Lord on the Sabbath Day? A trial, a test, perhaps? What will the children think? You said, Lord, the Sabbath Day is a delight and joy. Why did you allow this on your day? Are we lacking faith? Oh, how these questions haunted me.
Meanwhile, Spero remained where he was, unmoving, looking up at me, a little puzzled, tight-lipped, and shaking his head. He then firmly answered me, “I can’t chase him on the bike, Daddy.” Again without thinking, I blurted out, “Why not?” He answered again, “because, Daddy, I can’t ride a bike on the Sabbath day. It’s pleasure.” I was flabbergasted, stunned, and speechless. I paused a moment, coughed, sniffed and mumbled something like, “Well, uh, hmmm… you’re right about that. Let’s all gather and pray about it first and then have our Sabbath lunch. After sunset we’ll all go out and look for your bike.”
It was a quiet, solemn lunch; very few words were exchanged. All eyes were soulfully focused on the flickering candles. I felt like the troubled psalmist, “my heart is smitten, and withered like grass, so that I forget to eat my bread.” Psalm 102:4. Now was to begin the “heart work”, heart searching, a test of faith, above all… patience. God’s hand was silently at work.
What next? The long awaited closing of the Sabbath. A hymn, a prayer, a very short sermon, a closing prayer, then the clasping of hands in a ceremonial circle, and the traditional “have a good week”.
Then, all eyes were clearly fixed on the door. In quick order, from the youngest to the oldest, we all dashed out onto the street and scattered like autumn leaves in different directions, asking passersby, neighbours, anyone and everyone if they saw “the bike”.
A gloomy darkness finally fell upon us. I felt like a “pelican of the wilderness, like an owl of the desert, as a sparrow alone upon a house.” Psalm 102:6,7. Hearts were pounding; a silent prayer shot up heavenward. “Lord, help!” I thought of Isaiah 30:15, “in quietness and confidence He will be your strength.”
Suddenly, from out of the deep shadows of the night, Spero’s familiar voice cried out, “Daddy, Daddy, I found it. It’s here.” We all heard his shrieks and zeroed in on his voice. Here he was, beaming widely, perched on his bike, which was found under an equally beaming lamppost. We all cried out with sheer joy, hugging each other as if we found a lost dark treasure. We, indeed, discovered a heavenly treasure-God’s leading hand and answer to prayer. “I will give thee treasures of darkness.” Isaiah 45:3.
It seems that a neighbourhood boy merely took the bike for a “joy ride”. It was a “joy ride” for us, too. A bittersweet triumphant journey of patience mixed with faith—a Sabbath day to be remembered.
We returned home hilariously happy, as neighbours gaped in wonderment at such solidarity. We then kneeled in prayer in front of the fireplace, with wildly popping embers, joining in with the family, as we praised God. We then prayed for… the bike thief.