Think, Laugh, Cry Issue 17
A man in Central Park recites a forgotten poem about divine grace and human entitlement...no pulpit, no script, just snow, silence, and a soul-stirring truth. What did he awaken in all of us?
THINK
In the heart of winter, beneath the drifting snow of Central Park, a man sat quietly on a park bench, bundled in layers, surrounded by the stillness of falling snow.
There was no stage, no spotlight, no applause…just a solitary figure in the cold, sitting in silence next to a very busy world. When asked if he had anything meaningful to share, he began to recite a poem.
How good it is that God above has never gone on strike,
Because he was not treated fair in things he didn't like,
If only once he'd given up and said, "That's it, I'm through!
"I've had enough of those on earth, so this is what I'll do.
"I'll give my orders to the sun — cut off the heat supply!
"And to the moon — give no more light, and run the oceans dry.
"Then just to make things really tough and put the pressure on,
"Turn off the vital oxygen till every breath is gone!"
You know he would be justified, if fairness was the game,
For no one has been more abused or met with more disdain
Than God, and yet he carries on, supplying you and me
With all the favors of his grace, and everything for free.
Men say they want a better deal, and so on strike they go,
But what a deal we've given God to whom all things we owe.
We don't care whom we hurt to gain the things we like;
But what a mess we'd all be in, if God should go on strike.
His voice was steady, measured, and full of warmth.
The poem was If God Should Go on Strike by Walt Huntley.
And for a few haunting minutes, this forgotten verse…written decades earlier…was resurrected in the digital age, beaming its message across the globe.
It was a rare and beautiful collision of old wisdom and new media, faith and city life, isolation and connection.
The poem itself is a meditation on gratitude.
In it, Huntley imagines a world where God, weary of our complaints and thanklessness, finally decides to go on strike.
No sun, no moon, no oxygen…just the swift withdrawal of all the things we take for granted.
The message is clear: while humans often go on strike to protest unfairness, God, who bears far more disdain and neglect, never does.
It is a simple poem in structure but devastating in implication.
Without preaching, it quietly asks: Do we recognize the grace that sustains us, or have we become too entitled to see it?
On social media, poetry often drowns in noise. But this wasn’t just a poem…it was a moment.
Humans of New York has built its reputation on capturing these exact moments: unrehearsed, intimate glimpses into the souls of strangers.
Whether it's a child talking about fear, a mother recalling a loss, or a man in the snow quoting a poem from memory, the project doesn’t just document people…it reveals them.
But what does it mean to truly reveal someone in a world that rewards concealment? What role does art play in that quiet unveiling?