Someone watching over passengers that day

--- Photo courtesy the Rev. Richard Taylor

The Rev. Richard Taylor will use his original notes for service this morning in the Pleasant Hill United Methodist Church and at regular Sunday services Sept. 3 in the East Topeka United Methodist Church.

By THE REV. RICHARD TAYLOR

Special to The Capital-Journal

I like railroads. I remember reading in high school what another railroad lover said, "I'd take a train no matter where it was going."

In 1933, I am in the third grade attending a one room school west of Dwight where double tracks of the Rock Island run by our house, farm buildings and barn. The Golden State Limited thunders by daily. That Christmas, I receive a wind-up steam-passenger train with a pen- light battery in engine and observation car. Going around the figure eight track, my train has electric lights, and our house does not.

I still have that beautiful train in the original box. Christmas 1933 was during hard times in Kansas. We were very poor. With five older sisters, how did Mom and Dad find the money for that train?

During October 1965, two members of my Concordia United Methodist Church and I rode the Kiwanis Kolor Karavan on the narrow gage rails of the Denver & Rio Grande from Alamosa to Durango on Friday, Durango to Silverado and back on Saturday, and Sunday Durango to Alamosa. An 11-hour day with stops only for boiler water and coal is heaven on Earth of railroad lovers.

But there was a problem.

As in Rotary clubs, I encouraged regular attendance. In my Concordia church, a record of attendance was kept and at the end of the calendar year, the names of persons who had not missed or had missed only one-two-three-four-five times were framed and hung in the church. Oh, some objected, but if Rotary can do it, why not church people? On this 1965 trip was a businessman who had a perfect attendance to date. He insisted that on Sunday we hold a church service on the train.

I did not want to hold a church service in one of the old wooden cars with a captive audience. Some might feel the need to get up and leave. I told my good friend Wilson Carlgren that the three of us could stand on the open space between cars or alone in the open gondola car where my prayer would be spoken and Vernon Stewart could sing a hymn. I would go back to Concordia and count us present for morning worship.

Wilson did not think that was honest. I said, "Look, I make the rules, and that is what will be done." But Wilson did not give up. On Saturday he learned that busloads of people had boarded the train in Alamosa to ride all day Friday and Saturday. On Sunday morning their buses would be in Durango to take them north. Three wooden coaches behind the engine will be empty on Sunday.

And so a service will be on Sunday. I wrote the announcement for the trainmaster to read:

"At 8:30 a church service will be in the third coach from the engine. A Methodist minister will deliver a sermon on life is like a mountain railroad. The song will be sung as a solo following the sermon.

"This will count as a make up back home and no collection will be taken."

I was greatly concerned for attendance. These people came to ride a train, not to hear a sermon on Jesus Christ, lord and savior. The next morning at 8:30, I was standing on the open platform between the third and fourth coaches from the engine. Here came Vernon and Wilson. I asked, "Is anyone coming?" They said, "Look."

The center aisle of the fourth coach was filled with people who filed into the third coach. And they kept coming. Vernon and Wilson had been at the back of the train. When the second announcement for the service was given at 8:15 a.m., they started walking forward through the train. People wondered where they were going.

"To church," was the response. And so like the pied piper, many followed. The little wooden third coach had every seat filled and people standing in both ends of the car.

After the sermon and solo, a man on the front row said, "I'm a Roman Catholic and taped the entire service. Do you want a copy?" Yes. This was before my cancer surgery when my voice was loud and clear. The sermon has the sound effects of flanges trying to climb the high rail on curves, the clank of couplers when slack runs in and out, and the heavenly sound of the train whistle far up ahead.

And the a cappella solo was a joy to hear. Vernon left us shortly thereafter, and at his service of celebration, over the church PA system he sang "Life Is Like A Mountain Railroad," recorded on this trip. Everyone agreed it was quite a celebration of his life.

But going back to that Saturday evening, when we departed the train in Durango, this preacher had work to do. The song is found in old hymnals. To the Durango Methodist Church we walked soon as the train stopped. We found it, and Vernon practiced. In my room at the Strater Hotel that Saturday night, with the loud honky-tonk piano below me in the Diamond Belle saloon keeping things lively well toward the dawn, sermon notes were made on hotel stationary.

The song is theological sound. The first verse tells us we are the engineer, we must make decisions, when to blow the whistle, set the brakes, and proceed at the right speed. We must keep our hand on the throttle and our eye on the rail.

The second verse commands us to see that Christ is our conductor. As a little boy, I thought the engineer was the top authority aboard a train. No. The conductor is the top authority. As the engineer takes orders from the conductor, we must take orders from Christ our Lord.

The second verse also reminds us that we "will roll up grades of trials." From Chama to Alamosa is Cumbres Pass with a 4 percent grade. I have the flimsy, the train order dated Oct. 3, 1965.

We must double-head up this steep grade. When a friend or loved one faces difficult days, we must often double-head to help them through tragedy and sorrow.

The third verse faces reality. "You will often find obstructions. Look for storms of wind and rain. On a fill or curve or trestle they will almost ditch your train."

On Aug. 6, 1963, engineer Virgil Headrick remembered a big storm the night before. Near milepost 377 he was looking up at the mountain he had been by many times. But today the top edge looked different and the rails ahead curved to the left.

He could not see what was around the bend, below the top of the mountain that looked different. He set his freight in emergency air, came around the bend and saw part of the mountain, bigger than his engine, on the tracks.

He broke his headlight lens, but would probably have died in the wreck had he not set his brakes before he could see around the bend. He was looking up. Let us look up in prayer and meditation because our heavenly father knows what is around the bend. He will help us avoid tragedy.

The fourth verse reminds us life is a one way trip. We must make the most of the moment --- the years, days, and hours, because we will not pass that way again. I gave this sermon aboard the wooden passenger car on the railroad I have helped save from Abilene to Enterprise. And the sermon ending was an experience never expected. The Smoky Hill River that day was at flood stage. The old Rock Island has a trestle and big bridge across the river about a mile west of the Enterprise depot. Muddy, swirling, flood water was a few feet below the rails.

And so I read the last verse. "As you roll across the trestle spanning Jordan's swelling tide. You behold the union depot into which your train will glide. There you'll meet the superintendent, god the father, god the son, with a hearty, joyous plaudit weary pilgrim, welcome home. That made my home town heaven."

See TRAIN, page 13

Train

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