By David Tinney '72

It is strange how life so often turns on the unexpected rather than the well-planned. In early spring my father died after an exhausting battle with Alzheimer's disease. My family and I returned from the Seattle, Wash., area to Ohio to be there in the final days. After his death my 19-year-old daughter, Becky, pulled me aside and said, "I want to make meaningful memories with you before it's your turn to die. Let's ride the STP (Seattle-to-Portland Bicycle Race) this year."

The race is a 200-mile, two-day classic that draws nearly 10,000 cyclists from all over the Northwest. Her request meant that we would spend hundreds of hours training together so we could be ready for the summer event. I agreed, and two weeks later began my official training. On a cool March morning I took off to get back in shape. The conditions were perfect, the bike was responding, and my legs were filled with energy.

Less than two miles into the ride, on a gentle downhill slope where I was cruising at 30 mph, I heard a car storm up beside me. The music was blaring and all the teenagers inside were laughing. I was about to experience every cyclist's worst nightmare. The car moved in closer and slowed to pace my speed. The front passenger, who was hanging out the window, punched me in the middle of my back and sent me flying.
I hit the ground with my elbow and shoulder. Later I would learn that I had pulverized my elbow, broken my shoulder and five ribs, and punctured my lung. I hit with such impact that the foam protector inside my helmet split in two.

I stayed conscious but thought that I was going to die. I was paralyzed in pain and fear expecting to be hit by the next passing car. That was when I heard the voices that still haunt me. The kids who had pushed me were celebrating! A cheer went up from the car as they drove away. I thank God daily that there were witnesses and helpers nearby. While I was being brought to the hospital for emergency surgery, the police were arresting my assailants. The incident inflamed our community.

The assault took place on Monday of Holy Week. As the pastor of Aldersgate United Methodist Church in Bellevue, Wash., I had been waiting with anticipation for Easter, but now it looked impossible. I had to overcome broken bones, a punctured lung, the pain, and most of all my rage before I could preach again. On the way into surgery on Tuesday I prayed that God would take away the poisons of ungrace so that they would not interfere with my healing and recovery. In that instant my rage subsided and the process of forgiveness began.

The hospital staff joined together, from surgeons to nurses, and I was released Saturday afternoon in time to preach from a wheelchair to a packed church on Easter Sunday. The message was one of redemption and forgiveness, which has become the theme of my ministry since. In the eight months since the attack I have explored the width and depth of forgiveness and have engaged my congregation in sharing in the process together. It has been a time of healing not only for me but for many in my community.

The hardest part of the journey has been the trial. The legal system works slowly and too often the victims become victimized again and again. I learned that the attack was not a spontaneous, stupid stunt, but a premeditated act inspired by reality television, specifically MTV's "Jackass" program. When I was lying on the road in pain, my assailant celebrated by saying, "That was the funniest thing that I have ever seen in my life."

As I watched my assailants in court or listened to the testimony of the teenagers in the backseat, I had a new understanding about some of our young folk today. There is a growing disconnection between what is real and what is not. Life is not made up of stuntmen who bounce when pushed over or laugh when assaulted. The reality presented by "reality television" is a sham and parents need to work with their children in order to break that disconnection.

My assailants were both found guilty last week of felonious assault and hit-and-run and will be sentenced in the week before Christmas. I have forgiven them but will still hold them accountable and will insist on the maximum sentence, unless they are repentant. They stand at a crossroads of their lives and can turn this around so that good may come forth. But it is their decision. I will work with them when the opportunity arises.

In the meantime, I have just completed my final operations on my elbow and shoulder. I asked the surgeon for all the metal that held my elbow together and gave it to my 22-year-old son, William, so that he could craft a cross. He created a masterpiece that will forever be known by me as "the forgiveness cross." It is a symbol that testifies daily to God's power of redemption, "you meant evil against me; but God meant it for good" (Genesis 50:20).