For Wilshire Baptist Church
Leaving Wilshire on Monday night after deacons meeting, I saw ahead of me an SUV that was turning right from Abrams onto Northwest Highway. I’ve gone home that way a thousand times but I chose not to this time, because the SUV was traveling without lights. When it slowed at the intersection, the brake lights lit up, but before and after that, the SUV was almost invisible. I took another route because I was tired and afraid.
I’ve been amazed over the past few years by the growing number of vehicles on the road after dusk or before dawn running dark without headlights on. It seems almost epidemic, and the worst thing is it’s dangerous – to the driver but also to others on the road. I recently learned that one of my first scout masters was killed in a pre-dawn car crash when he made a left turn in front of an oncoming car that he didn’t see because its headlights weren’t on.
I don’t know if it’s happening because the drivers have automatic lights and they aren’t working correctly, or they don’t have automatic lights and they forget to turn them on. If I’m behind someone like that or coming toward them in the opposite lane, I’ll usually honk and flash my own lights at them. Sometimes I get their attention, but more often it feels like a line from a Robert Earl Keen song: “I keep switching on my bright lights, but you’re just too dim to know.” And lately, I’ve become fearful of getting involved, what with road rage being all the rage nowadays.
And so on Monday night I watched the SUV turn east down Northwest Highway toward the dangerous darkness of White Rock Creek and I continued north on Abrams. I should have whispered a prayer for him, but I might have whispered “dimwit” instead.
Earlier that evening at the deacons meeting, former deacon chairs shared stories of serving with George Mason, our retiring senior pastor. We heard how when George came to Wilshire 33 years ago, his first baptisms were a bit brusque, and the first time he baptized an adult, the water splashed over the glass wall and doused some choir members. Things settled down, of course, and eventually George started the lovely tradition of handing the newly baptized a lit candle and touching their lips with salt as he said, “You are the salt of the earth and the light of the world.”
It’s a wonderful reminder for everyone witnessing the baptism that as Christians we are called to be salt and light — to live in a way that spreads the light of Christ’s mercy, grace and unconditional love to those in the world around us. That includes those who are wandering in the darkness, but I struggle to know how to do that in a culture where so many people are angry and hostile, lazy and careless, mean and selfish. Do I flash my lights at them, so to speak, and risk their rejection or rage? Do I follow them at a safe distance in case they get into trouble so I can provide aid? Do I whisper a prayer for their safety but go my own way? Or do I mutter a word of contempt and turn my back?
I know the correct answer, of course, but as with dealing with drivers without headlights on, I’m often tired and afraid. For the record, I drive with my headlights on all the time, even in broad daylight. I pray that I live the same way, but I admit to being dim sometimes myself.