Cars, Cares, and χάρις (charis)

Our car died on Friday. More accurately, our car experienced catastrophic engine failure which ultimately rendered the car useless. Upsetting news? Well, for the first five minutes or so it was, until I felt an odd sensation of relief. Sure, it's a pain to be without a car in Caronport. But the car is 21 years old, fraught with parts soon to be in need of attention. So, when I told my wife, "The car's dead," I was able say it with a laugh. "That's the last dollar I'll ever spend on that old thing!"

Being car-less has made me think about the attention I give to the stuff I own. Being a North American is expensive. I often find myself hating money. First it's expensive to buy something like a TV or computer or car, but then more money has to be spent to protect the stuff, which is ongoing in case anything ever happens to it. First-world civilization tells us that we need a lot of things to live properly: like couches, kitchen appliances, computers, phones, decorations, bookshelves, sporting equipment, entertainment electronics . . . It turns out that the more stuff you have, the more you're weighed down. Have you ever moved? Nothing indicates how much stuff you have as moving it all from the house to a truck (several times) into another house. It takes a lot of stuff to live in Canada.

I can appreciate a story told by one of my Seminary professors. Dr. Marty Culy had traveled to Thailand (for ministry or work I can't remember), and was shown hospitality by a happy older couple who lived out in the jungle. When he arrived at their 'house', which was a platform with no walls and no possessions to speak of, they greeted him warmly, and immediately began a half-hour search for a cup so that they could serve him water. The ancient Spartans' living arrangements must have looked like Buckingham Palace in comparison. Put a North American in that jungle house, and it would instantly be regarded as intolerable poverty. But this jungle couple were incredibly honored to have a guest, and remained permanently, inexplicably happy. Their poverty had nothing to do with their happiness. They trusted the Lord for everything. They lived to serve Jesus, and had no care for bolstering their financial portfolio, or for establishing some kind of financial stability. I think about that couple from time to time whenever I look around at our apartment and realize how very rich we are.

Now, I'm not intending to follow suite... I'm quite certain that one winter in Caronport on a platform without walls would not be 'intolerable poverty', but certain death. It might be easier to get by with little in a place where it's always warm, but the tractor beam of the lust of wealth draws warm-climated folk as much as the colder kind. I know I'm guilty of it. I'm a web developer. I like shiny devices that do fun things. But losing a car is a healthy reminder of the place wealth needs to hold in my life. Things are just things. They don't hold any promise. Neither Jesus nor Paul said anything like, "You are justified by wealth, but stuff alone." So why do I act like that? Why do I think of things I could buy, and look for jobs that pay well, and plan for the future with my fancy spreadsheets?

Well, that's the irony I suppose. Just like my doomed car, I too am fraught with parts that need attention, and am destined for the wrecking yard. But unlike my doomed car, I'm not doomed. Luckily I have a Redeemer who is willing to fit me for a new engine, and fix the rusty exterior, and realign my tires . . .

And the only proper response is one I've repeated often as a new Anglican:

"Thanks be to God."