The Unexpected Face of Jesus
-From the Suffragan's Seat, July 1997 Commentary
"Slow me down, Lord, that I may not miss seeing your face in the most unexpected places.
Life behind the wheel of my car has become a way of life since I came to Southern Ohio. I normally average between 3,200 and 3,500 miles a month. I do not even want to calculate how many of those have been logged up and down Interstate 71 between Columbus and Cincinnati. Although books on tape, music cassettes, and prayer and meditation break the monotony of the drive, the long straight ribbon of concrete does wear me down.
May 27 (1997) began with great promise. I was scheduled for a lunch meeting with the rector and several vestry members of St. Peter's in Gallipolis, and would then drive over country roads to Procter Conference Center for three meetings in late afternoon and evening. It felt good to be back on some hilly and winding roads (the kind that actually make a driver feel useful). The hospitality of the good people from St. Peter's only made the trip all the more worthwhile. I came out to my car with a song in my heart, and anticipation of good Procter company and food awaiting me a mere two and a half hours away.
But as I slipped into my trusty Chevrolet Lumina and turned the key, I heard a sickening click, click, click instead of the comforting roar of the engine. John Good and I exhausted our collective mechanical knowledge when we raised the hood and ascertained that the motor was still in place. Pulling out my AAA card, I then called their 800 number and was assured that a tow truck would be there in an hour. John's call to the Chevrolet dealer promised a speedy repair of what they felt sure was a starter problem. However things hoped for are not always seen. After an hour, no truck. I tried to start it again, same results. Another call. "It's on the way." Still no truck. Another call. "It should be in the parking lot right now. Look for it."Two hours and 45 minutes later, still no truck. Fourth call to AAA. Long hold while they checked. Finally, an answer. They had sublet the call to a WV garage and they got busy and "wrote me off"..."Be patient." they said, "We have another garage who can get to you in two hours...or...find a garage on your own."
While I was on hold, my eyes drifted to the yellow pages and spied an ad for Red's Rollen Garage. I called Red and he said he would be there in five minutes. Red was a man of his word, he was there in a flash.
By then, I knew I would never make it to any of my meetings at Procter and I was in less than a great mood. But God would have the last laugh. "Try to start it one more time," said Red. "It won't do any good," I countered, and turned the key just to show him. Of course, the engine turned right over.
Red still suggested I follow him back to his garage. I did so, fuming all the way. At the garage he quickly ascertained the battery and starter were both shot. He said he needed to charge my battery enough to get me back to Columbus. "How long," I asked. "About fifteen minutes," he answered and hooked me up. It was at that moment that, I entered into the most unexpected presence of Jesus.
With pride that was overflowing, Red showed me around his garage: Old machinery, new machinery, old tow trucks and a huge new one and even store rooms and junk piles. No bishop or priest had ever showed off the most spectacular vestments with more love and pride than Red did his garage.
Then we went into his office, where I was priviledged beyond measure to look at a huge stack of pictures, all of wrecks that Red had helped with. It was obvious that I was in the presence of a man of great mechanical healing. Red's acolyte in all of this was one of the dirtiest, but most likable men I had ever known. I have never seen so much grease on one human as was on this man. "Think he'll ever clean up?" Red asked, and we both laughed. But that comment only called forth more pictures, this time of a spotlessly dressed proud father on his daughter's wedding day. This led to stories all around of happy family events we had all had.
It was finally 6:15 when I pulled away from Red's Rollen Garage and headed back to Columbus. But I noticed that a transformation had taken place in me. On my way to the garage, I was angry at AAA, furious that I was going to miss my meetings, and even mad at God for letting my car start when Red arrived and thus embarassing me in front of Red and John Good. But now, there was a song on my heart and a whistle on my lips.
God had not only slowed me down, he brought me to a dead stop in order that I could see the face of Jesus in the owner of a disorganized little garage in the back part of Gallia County, Ohio. Red had ministered to me as lovingly as the most accomplished priest, not by fixing my car, but by fixing my soul. As he invited me into the depths of his heart's work and life, I came to see that my false self-importance paled insignificant in God's order of things. It was that human contact, that sharing from the heart, that pride in one's life and accomplishments that was important...
Many in the church are feeling as I did as I began my third hour in the parking lot in Gallipolis. The danger is that when those feelings overcome us, we miss seeing the face of Jesus in what we're about. In a way, I envy our Procter counselors more than I do our General Convention deputies. For there is a simple clarity of the love of Jesus in what they are about this summer. A clarity such as I found at Red's Rollen Garage."
"Slow me down, Lord, that I may not miss seeing your face in the most unexpected places.
Life behind the wheel of my car has become a way of life since I came to Southern Ohio. I normally average between 3,200 and 3,500 miles a month. I do not even want to calculate how many of those have been logged up and down Interstate 71 between Columbus and Cincinnati. Although books on tape, music cassettes, and prayer and meditation break the monotony of the drive, the long straight ribbon of concrete does wear me down.
May 27 (1997) began with great promise. I was scheduled for a lunch meeting with the rector and several vestry members of St. Peter's in Gallipolis, and would then drive over country roads to Procter Conference Center for three meetings in late afternoon and evening. It felt good to be back on some hilly and winding roads (the kind that actually make a driver feel useful). The hospitality of the good people from St. Peter's only made the trip all the more worthwhile. I came out to my car with a song in my heart, and anticipation of good Procter company and food awaiting me a mere two and a half hours away.
But as I slipped into my trusty Chevrolet Lumina and turned the key, I heard a sickening click, click, click instead of the comforting roar of the engine. John Good and I exhausted our collective mechanical knowledge when we raised the hood and ascertained that the motor was still in place. Pulling out my AAA card, I then called their 800 number and was assured that a tow truck would be there in an hour. John's call to the Chevrolet dealer promised a speedy repair of what they felt sure was a starter problem. However things hoped for are not always seen. After an hour, no truck. I tried to start it again, same results. Another call. "It's on the way." Still no truck. Another call. "It should be in the parking lot right now. Look for it."Two hours and 45 minutes later, still no truck. Fourth call to AAA. Long hold while they checked. Finally, an answer. They had sublet the call to a WV garage and they got busy and "wrote me off"..."Be patient." they said, "We have another garage who can get to you in two hours...or...find a garage on your own."
While I was on hold, my eyes drifted to the yellow pages and spied an ad for Red's Rollen Garage. I called Red and he said he would be there in five minutes. Red was a man of his word, he was there in a flash.
By then, I knew I would never make it to any of my meetings at Procter and I was in less than a great mood. But God would have the last laugh. "Try to start it one more time," said Red. "It won't do any good," I countered, and turned the key just to show him. Of course, the engine turned right over.
Red still suggested I follow him back to his garage. I did so, fuming all the way. At the garage he quickly ascertained the battery and starter were both shot. He said he needed to charge my battery enough to get me back to Columbus. "How long," I asked. "About fifteen minutes," he answered and hooked me up. It was at that moment that, I entered into the most unexpected presence of Jesus.
With pride that was overflowing, Red showed me around his garage: Old machinery, new machinery, old tow trucks and a huge new one and even store rooms and junk piles. No bishop or priest had ever showed off the most spectacular vestments with more love and pride than Red did his garage.
Then we went into his office, where I was priviledged beyond measure to look at a huge stack of pictures, all of wrecks that Red had helped with. It was obvious that I was in the presence of a man of great mechanical healing. Red's acolyte in all of this was one of the dirtiest, but most likable men I had ever known. I have never seen so much grease on one human as was on this man. "Think he'll ever clean up?" Red asked, and we both laughed. But that comment only called forth more pictures, this time of a spotlessly dressed proud father on his daughter's wedding day. This led to stories all around of happy family events we had all had.
It was finally 6:15 when I pulled away from Red's Rollen Garage and headed back to Columbus. But I noticed that a transformation had taken place in me. On my way to the garage, I was angry at AAA, furious that I was going to miss my meetings, and even mad at God for letting my car start when Red arrived and thus embarassing me in front of Red and John Good. But now, there was a song on my heart and a whistle on my lips.
God had not only slowed me down, he brought me to a dead stop in order that I could see the face of Jesus in the owner of a disorganized little garage in the back part of Gallia County, Ohio. Red had ministered to me as lovingly as the most accomplished priest, not by fixing my car, but by fixing my soul. As he invited me into the depths of his heart's work and life, I came to see that my false self-importance paled insignificant in God's order of things. It was that human contact, that sharing from the heart, that pride in one's life and accomplishments that was important...
Many in the church are feeling as I did as I began my third hour in the parking lot in Gallipolis. The danger is that when those feelings overcome us, we miss seeing the face of Jesus in what we're about. In a way, I envy our Procter counselors more than I do our General Convention deputies. For there is a simple clarity of the love of Jesus in what they are about this summer. A clarity such as I found at Red's Rollen Garage."