Some years ago I bought the perfect pastor’s car — a boring Pontiac Bonneville, well used, just-get-me-there-and-back kind of car. Jani and I name our cars just for fun, so this one was Law. Then one night a big doe jumped in front of Law and WHAM!
When the insurance company settled with me, I went out and bought the perfect non-pastor’s car — an absolutely fun Camaro Z-28, 305 HP. Every time I cranked it up I enjoyed it. We named her Grace.
I don’t rank cars at the top of my emotional commitments. I rank risk and loss and pain and hard work and sacrifice for Christ way above cars, to say the least. But even a car has its place in his grand scheme of things. I accept by faith the sanctity of our blood-bought freedom in Christ to enjoy even the common things of this life within their modest but legitimate places.
One time I drove to the airport to pick up a famous Scottish Presbyterian preacher. His comment when he got in the car was, “Rrraymond, this carrr is verrry Rrreformed.” Yes, under Christ, along with every other lawful aspect of this life.