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This Week's Car Rev Sermon - "Fire Engines and the Meaning of Life"
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The Car Rev
Louisville KY June 17, 2010; You may have memories of vehicles you loved. You may also feel connected to very early memories of books, stories, and experiences that shape your outlook on everything. I sure do. I remember the title of one of those books: “The Big Red Fire Engine Book.” When I was about 4 years old, an aunt and uncle gave me that book, full of cartoonish drawings of, well, big red fire engines, firemen (now known as firefighters), Dalmatian dogs, and scenes full of fire engine action.
I remember the feeling. It was as if something magical clicked inside me, the kid. Somehow, I made connections between being a boy, and machines, good times, and family that have stayed with me for life. My dad always had car brochures around, especially on his nightstand that I would read cover to cover. I’m sure looked at the awesome color pictures until I could read, but eventually I was going to the pages where the car makers listed things like horsepower, dual exhaust, carburetor options, interior colors, and power windows. I was in love with it all—the tangible feel of it—the colors, the power, the art itself, the gears, the seats, the wheels, the smell of the ink on the page.
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Now, take a broad leap with me. Imagine a third-grade kid sitting in the third row pew of a large stone church, staring curiously at the preacher, intrigued by the waving arms and powerful voice sharing messages of a larger reality. My parents were up in the choir loft, older siblings were somewhere, but I would make my way to that row almost at the front and take it all in. More on that later.
The love of it all turned into a passionate link with it all. I clearly remember a few years later when I would do the “Indy 500” ritual. The race would be on the radio, and I would be building a model kit—a street rod, a normal sedan, maybe an airplane with guns on the side. The connection was magical, satisfying, and fun.
In high school, I was the one suburban ‘subdivision’ kid in high school who loved such geekish classes as Calculus, Physics, English, Choir, Band, and at the same time, also took Auto Shop. Some people at school saw me as a ‘rich kid.’ We had a great Auto Shop teacher who understood Physics, and could explain how back pressure in the exhaust system actually happened and made that noise, and then taught us to use body filler on the old Chevy (a 66 Impala I think) we had as a project car. Working with that filler to get just the right look and matching the shadow line on the rear fender was as satisfying as the Fire Engine book.
I applied to be an Engineering student in college (go Boilers!). After starting in the first-year program, singing in a men’s group and keeping up with girlfriends, I promptly began to fall apart. Academics were second place to everything else, as they are for many young college rookies. By my second year, I flunked out.
I went to work in a plastic molding factory. I felt like I was too good for the job, but in reality needed to grow up. My dad was a corporate manager, and he said that he was proud of me for deciding to step in to the factory. As things progressed, I took it for granted. After being late more than a few times, the supervisor pulled me aside one day and said ‘You have got to be on time. You may not need this job, but some people do, and you need to be on time or you will lose this job.’ Period. I left there after a 2 ½ months, a few life lessons engaged, and went back to school.
This time I jumped into the field of Communication. That was a fit, and I graduated with experience in public speaking, writing, much better grades, more singing time, and a continuing love of cars and machines (and that stuff with ‘bigger’ meaning). More on that later.
Somewhere along the line, I learned to check parking lots regularly to see who was in a particular building. No, I wasn’t stalking. I was so familiar with people’s rides that I could describe to you who they are by ‘the blue Chevy guy’ or the ‘one who drives the red Mustang GT.’ Deep connections.
Now for a sharp turn in the road. During my early college years, my mother was diagnosed with ALS, also known as Lou Gehrig’s disease. She lost her battle a year and a half after the diagnosis, and I fell apart again. A few years after that, the questions of life’s meaning continued to knock around inside of me, and the knocking became a call that I answered.
I explored and then entered a mainline, Protestant seminary 6 ½ years after finishing college. I studied the usual preaching, theology and scripture courses, and added many counseling courses along the way.
I worked in the Seminary Admissions office for a decade after graduation, counseling with those who were thinking of making the plunge into ministry. Preaching, marrying, burying, baptizing, and counseling all became occasional parts of the fabric of my working and living. Cars never left me, and I never left them.
I had a used Mustang (66 Wimbledon White 6 cylinder coupe, automatic, no air) that I bought from an Associate Pastor. It was one of my first babies. When I sold it to get some cash, I cried as the buyer drove away from my driveway. I even cried years later when our 1991 Previa was driven away on the flatbed rollback truck to its final salvage destination. At 190,000-plus miles, it had taken my one and only and me, our two beautiful kids, and a bunch of cargo to family reunions all over the country, and around town each day, for over a decade. Memories, attachment, connections.
After several years in the professional church world, I ended up in the car-selling business. Now, if you know someone in that world, you probably know that normally, most people in the business don’t wake up one day and say “I think I’ll go fulfill my dream of being a car salesperson.” Usually things come together in life so that a person says, “well, I guess I could maybe try my luck at car sales,” or something real passionate like that. I am no exception. After over 6 years in the biz, I have had ups and downs. I still love cars, trucks, fire engines, and most all things mechanical, but I will tell you that selling them is very different than just loving them. This chapter of the journey of life has shaped me in ways I can barely describe. It is a tough business. It is a good business. Like anything, it is largely as good as you make it, and that is a life lesson to be learned by all. It is a personality –revealing, soul-challenging path that puts you in your place if you let it. It is a teacher, if the student is ready and willing. Almost everyone has bought a vehicle in the Western (especially U.S.) world, and you know the maze of fear, joy, mistrust, money, and fun that you travel in the car buying realm. I do too.
In the midst of it all, I have been preaching for the past couple of years, substituting for a friend when he is out of town. That mix of preaching and selling has brought together some old connections in new ways that I could not have imagined while building the models with Indy 500 on the radio, or reading the deep thinkers through seminary.
Sitting in the vantage point of the car biz has helped me see the business side, and the buyer side—and life’s journey—with new eyes. We are, quite a bit, what we drive—especially in our own minds. We are also; it appears to me, what we believe—especially in our own minds. Driving, believing, living, selling, buying, manufacturing—all are expressions of being human that I invite you to consider are more than just coincidental.
Here, I hope to share with you my reflections on life through the lens of a gear head, and a passionate pastor person. A “Car Rev” if you will. I look forward to sharing the journey with you, revving and reflecting along the way. May your day be full of power today.
