This 'low Oil' Light Led To Some Spiritual Repair
One was a 250-horsepower turbo; another was 4-wheel drive. There was a sports car, pick-up, hatchback; the old, new, domestic, foreign; you name it, there’s a good chance I’ve driven it or one of its competing brands. All told, between 2-wheeled and 4-wheeled machines, I think I’ve owned 15 now. I’m almost embarrassed to admit that averages to a new car or motorcycle for every 2 years since I got my license.
Given the above, I have a reputation at the Catholic Center for knowing cars. In reality, I only know features of cars. Other than oil, tires, and replacing a water pump on a ’77 Ventura, I'm not really knowledgeable. But I was once able to find a leak in one of our priest’s car, fix a hubcap for someone else, and identify a noise for another co-worker. I'm pretty good at diagnosing issues based on peoples' descriptions. Hence, the reasons they think I know cars.
One day last week, my phone rang just before 4 p.m. A monk from St. Meinrad was in Evansville when his "low oil light" came on. Not knowing who to call, he stopped at the Catholic Center and asked if anyone could help him; the front desk called me. You'd think I was a mechanic based on the monk's impressed demeanor when I discovered how to unlatch the hood alone, and my actually knowing where the dipstick was located sealed the deal: I was, in his mind, a bona fide mechanic. We headed up to AutoZone for a quart of 5W30, and again, even knowing there are different grades of motor oil put me on a pretty lofty mechanical plane with a guy who lives in a monastery. After adding oil, the level was right in the middle of the dipstick, so we started the car. The now unlit "low oil" light inspired awe, and I am happy to say the monk-in-distress was happily on his way back to the abbey.
My office is deep in the throes of our busiest time of the year; so being candid, a little voice in the back of my head was angry that I was pressed into automotive-repair duty. As I smiled on the outside, inside that voice was reminding me of all the work I had waiting upstairs, and telling me I didn’t have time for this. You know the voice … the one that tells you how urgently you need to get through the intersections at Burkhardt or Rosenberger and the Lloyd, so you violate both safety and courtesy.
It’s the voice that tells you to race in front of the older lady at the just-opened checkout lanes at Target because you have more urgent things to do. The voice has screamed selfish thoughts at us for millennia, and it began with the question, “Did God really say not to…?” (Genesis 3:1). As I heard that voice hiss, I knew what God was inviting me to do for my Benedictine friend.
As I shrugged off the urging of the work upstairs, I settled into a nice conversation about friends at St. Meinrad. My monk friend recounted a story of a Christmas gathering many years ago, one I had completely forgotten, at which I had played the fool (an elf, actually) and given people a jolly laugh. We talked of places and people who had slipped into the trunk of my memory and been forgotten, and a real sense of happiness began to well up inside of me. St. Ignatius urged that we should discern the spirits that motivate us, both positive and negative; the sense of satisfaction I received from helping a friend in need soothed away the worries of pressing work.
God appears to us in numerous unexpected ways, and in this Christmas season, this is the message of the manger. A defenseless baby lies in a feeding trough, in a humble stable-cave, and yet this child is Emmanuel, God with Us, who paves the way to salvation. As the days draw on, may God grant us the grace to accept His invitation in all the unexpected places , people, and ways in which He appears to us. And may these occurrences bring the Peace of Jesus Christ into our hearts.
