This is a guest post from Daniel T. DuRan, a 21-year ‘rookie’ who’s currently assigned as a patrol sergeant with a small town in southern Colorado.
For most of my career, I worked for a small agency in southern Colorado. Like most small agencies, there were times that only one deputy was on or there were only two who were separated by miles of gravel county roads. This being the case, you learned to react fast, as backup was not really something you waited for.
It was a couple weeks before Easter and I was on nights. I was on patrol on one of the little two-lane highways that ran through our county. I observed a vehicle in front of me traveling one lane to the next. I followed the vehicle for a while, waiting for the safest spot to make contact.
I followed the vehicle and picked a flat, somewhat wide spot. Since we were traveling away from town, we went into darkness, away from street or yard lights, as well as any close assistance.
The red and blue lights came on and the low grind of their gears working to move them back and forth echoed from the roof.
The vehicle followed the unspoken order and pulled over.
I called out 10-75 along with my location and left the safety of my patrol car. I walked up along the driver’s side, looking forward and backward, an ever-persistent watch for the things that lurk in the dark. No cars were coming and no sound was heard.
I felt uneasy in my approach as I noticed the driver was sitting upright, very straight like a board. There was no movement for the seatbelt or that shift to the side, digging for a wallet move that people like to do.
Not even a hand was raised to shield his eyes from the take downs.
I slowed in my pace and then completely stopped, as I could see one hand clenching the steering wheel, white-knuckled and covered in blood.
My mind raced as I prepared to bring up my light and give away my location to the driver.
My light broke the night and beamed on two completely bloody hands. Instincts kicked in, my gun was out and up. I began screaming commands at the driver, and, I’m sure, into the mic.
Swinging out away from the truck and into the road, I could now see the driver was completely covered in blood.
As I write this, I would like to say that my words come across to this bloody man in a clear, monotone, professional manner, but I know they had to have sounded like a fork stuck in the garbage disposal with a mix of the high-pitched scream I let out when I see a spider.
“Show me your hands!”
“Open the door with one hand!”
“Put your hand up!”
“Get out!”
“Get out!”
“Walsenburg SO5 one at gun point!!!”
The driver, who was now afraid and very confused, slowly, clumsily and quickly (yes, all at once) got out of the truck.
Blood coming from his head, running down his face with a white robe and sandals. His long hair flowed like water, running up into the air as he went down.
I holstered my weapon and went hands on, pushing all 320 pounds into him, making sure there was no getting up and that an imprint of his body would be left on highway 69.
“Walsenburg SO5 one male detained!”
I’m sure at this point I was still screaming.
Cuffs on, rolled to one side, pat down. Rolled to the other, pat down and then up!
“What’s going on?!”
The man’s hair was now covering his face and he looked at me. I could see his eyes were the size of headlights. He was breathing hard, trying to speak.
Slowly.
“I’m coming .... from an Easter play, ....I’m Jesus .... Christ.... I didn’t want to clean up after...”
Moments passed.
I was alone, on a dark highway with Jesus Christ.
I checked him for injury, nothing.
Checked the truck, nothing.
Now, with time to get a full view of him, I could see it.
Red and blue danced off the white robe.
He still wore his crown of thorns.
Blood on his face and hands.
The long hair with a beard to match.
He looked peaceful.
He looked like a man who had just bared a cross.
In that moment I felt small, very small.
After taking the handcuffs off, I apologized to him, dusted him off, explained my actions to him, and sent him on his way with a verbal warning for weaving.
He apologized to me, several times, got in his truck and drove away... never looking back.
I had no idea that years later I would come into contact with Jesus Christ again. The second time it would be on my front porch and “do unto others as you would have them do unto you” would be part of it–but that’s another story...
