It was 1977, and the annual
car rally was coming to town. This was the climax of months of preparation, of engineering precision, practice, calculated preparation. The highly competitive nature of this event, kept drivers and mechanics in covert operations, trade secrets, and the newest cutting edge technology were discreetly hidden in basement workshops.
…Yes, the Annual Boyscout Car Rally at the Old Cattle Barn at Landsdowne park was serious business. …As a Cubscout, my Dad and I purchased the start up kit which included 4 wheels, track measurements and instructions on how to build your own high performance hurricane of speed.
Many sleepless nights went into that car, sitting at the front door for my Dad to get home from work, or waiting for him to wake up on a Saturday morning and get to work down at his workshop in the basement. On would go the old tweed radio to CBC, with rusty old Peter Gsowski offering a commentary in the background as we brought together our collective engineering and mechanical excellence.
An old block of wood, cut and sanded, spray painted silver. Finished with lightning bolts down the side with a marker, as perfect as any 6 year old can, and a little driver’s head drawn on the side window.
Nails for wheel axles, and ingeniously, even an emptied compartment to insert metal washers to bring the weight up to the perfect level. No doubt, this ferocity of velocity would strike fear and dread into the heart of any opponent. I could see the those checker flags waving me down the victory lap, the snap of the ribbon, the humble bow at the podium to receive the GOLD…the victory speech…
It was done. The Silver Hornet was ready for action.
Te big day finally arrived, the Silver Hornet packed into a shoe box (with a little baggie of carrots for a snack, care of Mom) We made our way down to Lansdowne park. The place was teaming with Dads and sons, parking was scarce, so we found our selves half sprinting through the rain to make our race time. I clung to the The Silver Hornet, clunking up and down in the shoe box with the carrots.
But as we entered the park and tried to find our racing group, I could feel my pre-victory spirit beginning to deflate, my visions of glory fading and the lustre and splendour of the machine which I held under my arm began to melt.
The machines the other kids had were in a class I had not even dared to imagine. These cars were built of fibre glass, many with aero-dynamic wings, titanium wheels, with on-board electronic weight calculation and self lubricating wheels. Professionaly painted and detailed, and covered in decals – even sponsors and equipped with actual miniature drivers!
Dads and Sons with little brothers wore matching glittering or black leather outfits topped with mirror shades and leather driving gloves. Me in my salt covered moon boots, snowsuit with mittens hanging by yarn from my sleeves, and pockets packed with extra tissue and a juice box just didn’t seem to compare.
Overheated, running nose, cranky, we finally made our way to the track we were registered to qualify on…we watched the Silver Hornet compete in the qualifying round come in second last. The coordinator gave us a ticket and sent us over to a different section of the Cattle Barn – the class for my category of car was in the “Every entry gets a ribbon” category. Surrounded by elderly ladies in crocheyed Christmas sweaters, I received my “You’re number One” ribbon, a cookie and several affirmations about my car: ‘oh, that’s nice.’ We drove home that day in silence, the hornet went straight back to the wood bin.
You see, I had been duped – duped to believe that my value came from how I measured up to everyone else – I believed what they told me.
Isn’t that what they tell us? What is the treasure we aspire to? What is the race we compete in? IS it not about who has the most stuff, the best stuff? Isn’t it about how we look? How we fit in? Isn’t it about what brand we have, what group we belong to? Is it not about the powerful, the successful, the achiever? Who does not want to be perceived that way? Who among us would not want to belong to the 1%? We search and we search for all the things we think we want, and we are never satisfied.
The great 11th century Persian Poet Sada’isays:
“You are pure spirit
But imagine yourself a corpse!
Pure water which thinks it’s the pot!
Everything you want must be searched for except the Friend.
If you don’t find HIM you’ll never be able to start to even look.”
Yes, it is this night, this holy night of Christmas, that we are invited to remember the Friend, Emmanuel, God among us. The one who animates all of life, who is the spirit of life that dwells in each of us and where our true happiness, our true purpose, and from where the source of peace comes.
Yet we walk in darkness, believing a lie. A lie that sustains a world economy that would see some 30 million still under the yoke of slavery, a world, according to Unicef, in which 22,000 children die each day due to poverty. A lie that says there is us, there is them, and I know who I need to take care of.
“The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness— on them light has shined.”
Yes, God does not reveal himself as the elite, the well to do, God does not reveal God’s self in strength and might, in power, not even in success, independence, or achievement. No, God arrives unwanted, in estrangement, in broken lowliness, in dependence and vulnerability. God reveals himself as a helpless dependant baby born in a manger, because there was no room for him in the Guesthouse of success. Yes God does not arrive in our perfectly crafted persons of pious excellence, but rather, here…here within these cracked vessels lies the ocean of life.
The silver hornet turned up again years later – in the back of an old wood box, discarded, unwanted…only one wheel still left. Beatup, worn out, unwanted, no good. And I realized that car held for me the beauty of love shared in a basement workshop, between a parent and a child. And that car is sacred and holy, and perfect.
Just like you. God comes among us, a needy God, a God of weakness, into our midst demanding to be loved and cared for and shows us to love and care for each other, because in God’s eyes – YOU, us, and them are sacred, holy and perfect– lightning bolts and all.
