WWJD

Early on as a young adult Christian I found myself in a very awkward situation.  A situation in which I had to definitely ask myself, “What would Jesus do?” and yet, I now realize, twenty years later, that Jesus would not have done anything in that exact moment.  I had created the problem, the dilemma, the awkwardness; or at least I had intensified an already awkward situation.  I had done it acting rashly and not following some, yet unknown to me, biblical injunctions.  No doubt the ramifications of my actions have had a profound impact on those involved; but perhaps not the impact I wanted to have.

While I was trying to find myself; trying to carve out my niche in the world. I was trying to see if maybe God would want me to follow in my older brother’s footsteps, footsteps that seemed to be following in our fathers.  I was working as a pipe-fitter apprentice, working with a man named Phil, learning the secrets of bending tubing to match blueprint specs so we could put one giant paper machine puzzle together in Warren, Maine.  My father and my brother were putting larger parts of the puzzle together, huge pieces of pipe that needed to be welded together.  They were working on the same machine, just in another part of the huge ark-like building housing the contraption.  And Doug, who was my step-brother growing up, may as well say he was my brother too, was working on the same machine in yet another field of study.  I can’t really remember if it was electrical, carpentry, plumbing, or what he was studying but you get the idea.  We were all together in one huge building in Warren, Maine building one colossal paper making device.

Warren, if I remember correctly, and I’m not going to “Google” it because it really is not an important fact of the story; if I remember correctly it is about an hour plus a few minutes’ drive north of L\A (Lewiston-Auburn) here in Maine.  To save on gas, and to allow for some more shut-eye during the drive, we would car pool each taking turns daily to drive.  When it was your turn to drive you would use your own vehicle and gas while the others sipped coffee, napped, or whatever.  Most days this was no problem because when it was someone else’s vehicle I was just along for the ride and it didn’t really matter to me who did what.  But when it was my turf it made a great deal of difference to me.  Perhaps it shouldn’t have but then it made a great deal of difference.  On the way home we would make the customary stop at a convenience store; so the guys could get “smokes”, a beer, a snack, or whatever the long days work had them hankerin’ for.

 I usually stayed in the car.  I didn’t smoke anymore. I didn’t drink anymore. And besides I was a minor and shouldn’t anyway. And rarely was I hungry when I got out of work.  All I wanted to do was to get home and get cleaned up.  To get some of the filth of that construction site cleaned off of me.  I didn’t mind waiting.  I didn’t even mind putting up with my families’ habits on the way home; after all it wasn’t long ago before that I shared in all the same habits myself but now I was different.  I had been changed from the inside out by the King of Kings, The Lord Jesus.  He was changing me into a newer, cleaner, and healthier person.  Though a new person there were some things I hadn’t learned.  Like tact, patience, tolerance, and listening to His voice guide in difficult situations. 

I didn’t mind waiting but I didn’t want to stop when it was my turn to drive the bus.  I didn’t want to stop because even though most days  I didn’t mind putting up with my families’ habits, when it was my turn to drive, when it was my turf, it made a great deal of difference to me what went on in the boundaries of my life, my property, my car.

On a certain day, probably a Monday, probably after getting fired up on Sunday to take a stand for Jesus, it was my turn to drive.  The way to work was usually uneventful because most of the guys slept through the drive.  The way home was a different story and this particular day for some reason I was determined not to be pressed into a mold of other peoples making.

We stopped at the convenience store at someone’s request; insistence probably, I don’t remember that.  I just remember we stopped.  After everyone climbed into the car again we set on our way.  I was playing some “Oak Ridge Boys” (I think) on the cassette player.  It was a country-western style gospel music that I thought they might tolerate since they all liked, or “didn’t mind”, country. And we drove.

After a short distance someone, I think it was my father, cracked a beer can open and opened up a flood of turmoil in my heart and mind. ‘I am a minor, doesn’t he care I could get in trouble with the law!’ I thought, and ‘this is my car, I don’t want alcohol in my car anymore! You think he would realize that!’ I mused and fumed inside quietly.

After another short distance, my brother, the step-brother, asked if he could smoke in the car.  I replied with, “It’s a fairly new car and since I quit smoking I don’t want the smell of smoke on her.”  Which would have been sufficient except that my dad spoke up and said, “Just blow it out the window, it’ll be okay.”  I wish I could just blow my stream of thought out the window as easily.  I mused and fumed some more. Quietly. On the inside.

Then yet another short distance, my other brother, the other son of my mother, asked if they could listen to the radio instead of what I was playing.  I denied the request; which would have been fine except that my father chimed in again.  I conceded and changed to a country station under the stipulation that if it played anything I considered offensive that the cassette would go back in or that we would listen to silence.  It didn’t take long.  If you know country, you know what I mean. (No offence Trace Atkins; keep up the good work brother.) Most country is not very edifying, kind of blues like with a twang.  I don’t remember what came on the radio but it was something about somebody cheating on their spouse and enjoying it.  I didn’t miss a beat, I shut it off or changed it, I don’t remember which, it was twenty years ago.  I do remember what happened next like it was yesterday though.

My father happened.  He’s a believer today and still struggles with some issues but back then he was clearly my adversary.  After some verbal skirmishing with my brothers, my dad steps in and says “Look Carl let us listen to the radio or you can let us all out! We’ll walk home!” Now my dad of all people should have known that we Dills rise to a challenge.  Normally docile and quiet but we always rise to the occasion when put on the spot.  My mind reeled with what to do, what to say, how to handle it in the most “Christian-like” manner.

I said, “I’m not going to listen to that stuff on my radio.” And “I’ll let you out to walk if that’s what you want, (I’m pretty sure what they wanted was for me to stand down) but so we're clear…” I had to make sure they didn’t hang me and my faith with this (which they probably did anyway but that’s okay.) “so we’re clear…  if you walk… you chose to get out and walk.  Don’t go around saying I threw you out of my car and made you walk home.”  They agreed.  I think he thought if they pushed the envelope that I would stand down.

So here we were.  Half way between toll gates on the interstate highway, I had just opened the trunk to let them get their lunch containers, and now I sat staring at them incredulously out my windshield as they walked slowly ahead of and away from my stopped car.  To make it more interesting the Lord had provided a little rain adding to the unfolding drama.  I prayed out loud, “LORD, Please help me to know what to do!!! I don’t know what to do!”

Now as I think back, there are many principles I could have applied to prevent this very awkward situation in the first place.  A situation that I am sure Jesus never would have found Himself in, but I’m not Jesus (In case any of you who know me think that I think I am… I’m not the Boss.). I could have made sure that I was not unequally yoked together in this agreement to car pool.  I could have simply permitted myself to be defrauded, made it clear that I didn’t like it, and made different arrangements for the future.  I could have continued driving and tried to talk them down from their high-horses that were standing nearly as high as mine was.  I could have, I could have, I could have, but I didn’t.  Here I was, staring out my windshield wondering, praying, God what do I do now.

Do I drive out and past them and home-ward?  Maybe even honk lightly as I drove past.  Would it be wrong to smile and wave as I went by them?  Do I stand down? Say, “Hey, I was just kidding, my personal convictions don’t mean that much to me, its okay, come back.”  What to do? What to say?  Then an answer came (Thank you Holy Spirit!), it occurred to me what Jesus would do, in fact, it occurred to me what Jesus did several thousand years ago.

I climbed out of the car, got their attention, since they were walking away and their backs were towards me.  When they turned around, I threw my keys at my father (I was still a little flustered; Jesus would have handed him the keys.), I threw the keys at them and said, “You take the car, I’ll walk.”  You see…  Jesus, who had every right to go-it-home alone didn’t.  He walked that long road to Calvary and laid down His life for us.  He Who knew no sin, became sin for us, so that we could become the righteousness of God in Him.  He suffered, and bled, and died, and later revived (came back to life.), so that we could someday journey with Him to a home He is preparing for us in glory.  God always has a way; He always has a plan.

As it turned out, there had been a prison break that day and the state police were out in force looking for the escape artists.  I hadn’t walked very many steps when something caught my attention.  I don’t remember if it was a blurb of the siren or what, but something from behind my car called me back.  By this time my family was all safely buckled into their seats and I’m pretty sure they were fixin’ to drive away.

I stood there in the rain talking to the Trooper, explaining the situation as he patiently listened.  I wonder now what he must have been thinking about all of this.  I may never know.  After I explained he walked over to the car and questioned my passengers and verified that they were who they said they were.  Then he leaned into the window and said something like, “This is a state highway, pedestrians are not permitted, if you have a problem keep quiet about it, and handle it like men when you get home.”  I smiled, got back into the car, and we drove away.

You would think that would have settled it.  Would have demonstrated amply Who the Boss of things was but before long someone murmured about the silence again.  I repeated “if you have a problem keep quiet about it, handle it like men…” Then it was settled.  At least it seemed so.  I couldn’t say what anyone was thinking but the silence was golden.

I love my family.  I want God’s best for them.  It has taken me twenty years to open lines of communication with some of them; lines that are still a little scratchy today but probably only because we look at the worlds through different sets of glasses.  I can only pray that what I did that day, what I didn’t do, and how God turned it around will somehow all work together for their good.  As I said, my father is a believer in the incarnate, crucified, resurrected, Son of God today.  And although he still struggles with several things I do see growth and change in him.  I know that God takes our mistakes and our selfless actions too, and paints a beautiful picture, a portrait of Himself in us.  The more people see the likeness of God’s Son in us the more He increases in the eyes of others and the more we decrease in comparison.

“He must increase, and WE must decrease!”