FLAGSTAFF, AZ (ANS) -- I like trains. Not the toy model variety, but the real deal- big, bold, and here in America, somewhat slow. Yes, I must say that I enjoy them a whole lot. As a matter of fact, I have long contended that trains are the last vestige of humane travel: an opportunity to see landscape, have real conversations with people, have space to roam and lounge, meet a variety of unique characters, and enjoy life at a tad slower pace.

An Amtrak train

Over the past few years in my train travels I have met many fascinating, and at times, eccentric people: a lumberjack-writer from Oregon; a Jemez Indian artist; a Northeastern poet; business folk; world travelers; grandma’s and grandpa’s on their second honeymoon; people who are two-quarters-short-of-a-dollar; international students; and many more colorful folks.

I can honestly say that trains give a true representation of life on earth, full of intrigue and variation; showing humanity as a diversity of colors, shapes, sizes, moods, accents, viewpoints, and beliefs; all of this found inside a box of metal, moving across the country. It is truly amazing.

Yet, I have found that trains offer more than just intrigue. They are, in a sense, a course in prayer; a silent retreat in the monastery of seats, engine, tracks, time, and circumstance. For with the people I meet on the trains, comes the opportunity to say a prayer for him or her, asking God’s peace to be upon them, showing Himself to them in a greater way. Trains (or any social gathering) are a means of getting us out of ourselves and pray for those we come in contact with.

On my most recent train excursion a friend and myself were traveling from Orange County, California to Flagstaff, Arizona to deliver some Bibles and talk with a pastor from the Navajo reservation. We left the Fullerton, CA station (first built in 1930) at 7:25 p.m. (yes, the train was on time). All was going well, almost too well. I was not meeting any of the wonderful people I expect to encounter on the train. I snuggled up in my chair and tried to fall asleep.

Then, somewhere around Barstow, we picked up a gal, and things began to get interesting. This gal ended up sitting in front of us. Though I was groggy (it must have been around 12:00 midnight by this time), I distinctly heard her tell the attendant that half of her head had titanium plates in it, and that “the accident was bad, and brain damage hard at first, but I now feel better.”

To this the attendant said, “Oh, that is terrible, I am sorry. Where are you going?” “Santa Fe,” was her reply. It was here that I began my silent prayer vigil, praying something like, “Lord, bless this young lady. Help her in life.”

Over the course of the next two hours this lady kept calling a variety of people on her cell phone: a boyfriend, her mom, a different boyfriend, etc. It was not the phone calls that were out of the ordinary, but that she talked at full throttle, oblivious to everyone around her trying to sleep.

I finally decided to get up and move to another chair to rest. After about 30 minutes of eyes-closed peace, almost reaching the beauty of sleep, I heard what sounded like German. Mind you- I was now really groggy. I pulled my coat over my head. “It will go away,” I thought. No, it didn’t; more German voices rang out, but now interspersed with English. “What in the world,” I thought. I looked up. There staring at me were about 10 Amish people in black bonnets, capes and hats.

“Oh, hello? How are you?” I said. “We are doing well, thank you,” was one reply. It didn’t take me long to realize that I was sleeping in two of their chairs. I am sure, as polite as they were, they would have stood the whole time waiting for me to finish sleeping.

“Am I in your chair?” I ask. “No worries, we are waiting for several of the people to move from our chairs as well,” was the reply of the gentleman with a long white beard, black garments, and gentle smile.

I quickly got up, offering my two seats to older Amish women. “Where are you going,” I ask. “The Grand Canyon,” one stated. “We are going to hike down the canyon. My husband has a brother in Phoenix, so we thought this would be a fun thing to do in route home,” she finished off.

I smiled and left them to their chairs. Again, I said a silent prayer, “Lord, thank you for the kindness of gentle people. Bless them on their vacation.”

Now back in my own chair, the titanium woman in the row in front of us now had company, a businesswoman from Albuquerque. The strange thing was that the titanium-headed lady kept getting up at each successive stop mumbling that this was New Mexico. “No, no,” several of us would remind her, “You still have a ways to go.” “No, I am sure this is my spot,” she would say. With this she would load up her gear and head downstairs.

During one such event, her new neighbor, the businesswoman, recognized that Titanium-head (I never learned her name) had mixed up the luggage, taking the businesswoman’s instead her own.

After retrieving her luggage from titanium head, the businesswoman told us, “It wasn’t her stop.” She said this with a smile.

We nodded, “no, not quite. But I am sure the right one will come soon enough,” I thought. I, again, said a prayer for the titanium lady, “Lord, help this woman find her destination, a place in You.”

We finally got off the train at 5:45 am in Flagstaff, leaving our friends behind.

Flagstaff Train Station

You would think the story ended, but not quite. On the way home from Flagstaff (we left on the same day we arrived) I befriended an elderly gentleman, offering to watch his bags as he went out for a time. (It turned out that he decided to go to a bar while waiting for the train). When the taxi driver dropped him off, the elderly gentleman fell, face first, onto the sidewalk. There was blood everywhere.

I, being the watcher-of-his-bags, became his attendant, getting him toilet paper covers to help stop the bleeding (they were out of paper towels). After the ambulance arrived, and fixed him up, he was ready to go. Three whiskey-and-coke’s later, the man was able to continue his wait for the train. My silent prayer was, “Lord, mend this man’s face and heart. Help him find peace in You.”

In the meantime, another character had entered our train station drama, a young, neo-Nazi. He had tattoos all over his face and was dressed in military garb. My initial thought was, “what a weirdo! And scary, too!”

A pit bull looking dog accompanied him. I decided to go and talk to this fellow, using the dog as a lead in. I found out that the dog was a special type of canine (though the swastika cut in his fur was a tad odd), trained to wake up the Neo-Nazi man after a seizure. I was impressed. We talked for quite a time. My prayer: “Lord, help me not be judgmental, looking at the outward appearance.”

After speaking with the young man some more, I found that he was going to the San Francisco area to pick up the ashes of his father who had just died. I gave my condolences, and silently prayed for him and the situation: “Lord, I do not know what this man has seen in life- the trials and tribulations. Give me a heart to consol and to show love. Guide him to You in his sorrows.”

By this time the train had arrived. About 30 of us- black, white, Asian, Native American, Mexican, young, old, and in between, loaded up on the train. At 10:15 p.m. the train pulled out of the station.

Before fading off to sleep, I thought how this train is like Christ and eternal life. We, as the passengers, an assorted group of sinners, each with baggage and the trials of life in tow, wait to check in our luggage to the attendant and board the train. Likewise, Christ, the true Attendant, as the mediator between the station and the train, takes the baggage (our sin) away, and leads us to the train (eternal life), giving us rest and a means to get to our true home (heaven).

With that, I thank the Lord for the opportunities to pray for each character and situation given to me today, and the insights on our final destination, heaven, and close my eyes.

Oh, the people we meet, and the opportunities that greet us, on trains!

Brian Nixon is a pastor, writer, musician, and family man. He currently resides in Costa Mesa, California.