“Parson, what in the heck are you doing standing here on the corner? Are you okay?”
“Fred,” said the parson, grinning at the presence of his old friend. “I’m fine.”
“Are you counting the cars that pass by?”
“Oh, no,” the parson replied. “I was just … well, looking over there.” The parson pointed across the drive from where they stood.
“Look at what.”
“See that Honda Hybrid?”
“I see it. That’s your car; isn’t it?”
“That’s my car,” the parson affirmed. “Now, see the car on the right of it?”
“The silver one?”
“Yep, the silver one.”
“I think that one might be a little pricey for you, parson, unless you’ve got a chuck tucked away somewhere.” The vehicle was an expensive luxury sedan.
“You’re right about that,” said the parson. “But it’s not the car itself that fascinates me.”
“What does?”
“Look at the tag,” said the parson.
Fred looked over at the car’s tag and saw the letters “FRM <> GOD”.
“That’s a prestige plate,” said Fred.
“I guess so,” the parson said.
“How long have you been staring at that tag, parson?” Fred asked.
“I don’t know,” said the parson. That tag just fascinates me.”
“Why?”
“Well, what does it mean? Think about it: Does it mean luxury cars are from God? If so, what are the implications that I’m driving a Honda? Does it mean the owner got the car from God? Is it a gift? Or did the owner earn it? And if the car is earned for some good work, should I have been working overtime? Does it mean the owner, himself, is from God? If so, how are we going to fit that into our Jesus concept? And if it’s a gift, I’m back to my driving a Honda.”
“It does raise some questions,” said Fred.
“You know,” said the parson, “I’ve always thought of God as one who’d drive a Ford or Chevy. I can’t bring myself to picture the Almighty in a jacked up pickup with roll bars. But one of those luxury things. Whew!”
About that time a well-dressed gentleman walked by.
“Morning,” said the parson.
The man continued walking; he crossed the street, pointed a key at the luxury car after which the car’s lights flashed. He got in, backed the car out of its space and headed down the driveway.
The parson watched him turn right at the highway and head off.
“There’s a story there,” the parson said, “but I think I’d be afraid to ask.”
Credits: Graphic by subscription with Clip Art Dot Com
Reminds me ofone of Foxworthy's routines...the one where St Peter greets the newly arrived souls at the gate and says: Ya'll pile into the truck...we're go'in onup to the Big House!
Posted by: DannyG | November 01, 2007 at 08:11 AM
Of course, if he was wearing a black suit, fedora, and sunglasses, he might be a Blues Brother....on a mission from God.
Posted by: DannyG | November 01, 2007 at 08:19 AM