Here is a question for all your gearheads, would you rather drive a car
that feels like 80 at 120 mph, or a car that feels like 120 at 80 mph? When I
was asked, it was in reference to motorcycles, but my mind immediately raced,
pun intended back to my MG’s, who’s motto of “SAFETY FAST,” always made me
smile. We all know the jokes about Lucas Electrics, he being the Prince of
Darkness, and how gentlemen don’t proceed out after dark. From an old Lucas
ad. It reminded me how a true sports car must be one where the top comes off,
or goes down. That you use spanners, spares, and make sure your tyre in the
boot has air. And I thought of sports cars growing up. Today we sports
editions of mini-vans, SUV’s, and other aberrations that fill the roads, but at
one time in history a sports car meant British. With Italian a close second.
They came from across the pond after WWII, and never left. At least until 1980
when the last MGB was built, the company aka works closing for good. But I had
two MG’s, a 1972 Midget, butterscotch with black interior, try that against you
shades of grey, and my 1980 MGB was russet brown, a strong British color with
biscuit interior. How many colors today bring honor to potatoes and bread?
Tops that were impossible to fold the same way twice, reliability that never let
you wander far from home, or a tow truck, and an excuse to look for alternative
roads that bent and curved. My MGB even had a tonneau cover, so the top could
be left down as was proper. British sports car meant MG, Triumph, TVR, Jaguar,
Aston Martin, Austin Healey, Lotus, and Caterham. All very proper and very
English. Cars bought by the pound sterling, back when it was the reserve
currency, and the sun never set on the British Empire. Which made top down
motoring even more fun, and for a country known for its liquid sunshine, open
sports cars ruled the countryside. And in many places and hearts in the
colonies, America to you blokes.
But Britain never kept up with the times, stuck somewhere between just
before and just after WWII, and combined with high taxes, the highest rate was
95%, unions with unreal demands, factories that should have been closed long
ago, or at least after were, and liberal government policies executing their
unworkable theories, the sun finally set on the British Sports car Empire, with
only Jaguar and a few other brands existing, in very small supply, and even
smaller demand. A friend of mine who worked in the London factories at the time
said the joke was “will the last person out of London please turn off the
light.” Times were not good for the sports car devotees, but back to my
MG’s.
Perhaps its most endearing quality was you felt like you were going 120 mph
at 80, if you could achieve it. 60 felt like 90, so not going real fast was
needed to get the thrill achieved. You entered curves differently relying on
the car and driver prowess instead of electrically controlled suspensions and
steering. You learned to heal and toe when shifting and braking, not using a
paddle aided automatic. You learned how to pick your lines in the curves, and
most importantly how to dress for the weather, just in case the British sun
invaded your sunny afternoon in your drop head coupe. On my Midget the top
never really did keep the rain out, or the wind, it somehow magically directed
it onto you. Which maybe explained the musty smell most older British cars
possessed. But for those few shining moments their was Camelot, where the
skies were clear, the roads curvy, the top down while you wore you British cap,
and listened to the song of the exhaust. British sports cars on the right day
were almost a religious experience, and on bad days a reason to be forgiven
later. Safety Fast if possible, fun even in the rain. And I want another one
bad. For short trips, no freeways, but taking the old surface streets, maybe
stop at a café that isn’t some franchised glop, wave at another brave soul if
one happens to be brave enough as I am, and stop and talk over a pint, Diet of
course, and talk of how the car let me down, never ran right after dark, was the
one I met my wife in, and trade stories of British humor in their engineering.
And of how I wish I had never sold it and want it back. Talk of cars sold, and
intuitively agreeing in unison, they were the best cars we ever had. All the
while knowing all the parts that were falling off were made of the finest
British quality. Good show don’t you think?
And so we became slaves to our cars, who every once in a while would let us
exercise the freedom they were intended for. We found no freedom in ourselves,
for although we were the masters, the owners, we had very little or no freedom.
We were a slave to the car, depending on when or if and where it wanted to go,
or break down. Paul ran into a man in prison named Onesimus who had stolen from
his master, and although he had been set free, his conscience now made him a
slave to it. He found out that there was slavery in freedom, and after meeting
Paul in prison, would find there is freedom in slavery. Paul told him how he
was a bondslave to Jesus Christ, how he had cast his cares on him, and he had
taken the yoke of Jesus, for it was easy. And in becoming a bondslave, found
freedom in the spirit, when being yoked to Jesus. We are all yoked to something
or someone. Usually an inanimate thing that cannot love us back, but yet we
worship it. Once it was with MG’s, and today many worship at the altar of BMW.
But when Paul chose Jesus, he voluntarily became a bond slave, yoked to the one
who would not only save his soul, but guide him in life. And give it purpose.
When yoked to Jesus we are joined to the creator of the world, the savior, the
master who loves us. The great shepherd who guides us, the friend who shows up
on the side of the road at 3am with parts for our car. And installs them for
us. Jesus is the one who is good to us and for us-all at the same time.
Onesimus was to find this out from Paul, and find it to be truth when he
accepted Christ.
Sin finds us out, but if we know Christ he has taken the beating for us,
for it. When we worship anything but him, when we have the spirit of
anti-Christ, the instead of Jesus attitude, we become a slave to it, and lose
our freedom. A car that may run great when it runs, will eventually let us
down. And when we least expect it. The rain will fall on the just and the
unjust, top up or down. But when we are yoked by Christ, to Jesus, we are
protected. And it is a yoke that we are invited to take, to take voluntarily.
Free, to make the choice. Yet many get stuck with no parts, no gas, no lights,
and no way home, when they knew better. Knowing Jesus is knowing better.
Better than AAA, with no mileage waivers. And his yoke is free for all.
But yet we yearn for those days when the car runs, the sun is out, and we
have the top down. Days we really appreciate when we have the freedom of the
wind in our cars, and we can have that freedom in Jesus. He is the finely tuned
machine we need to lean on, who keeps us in tune, and has what we need when we
need it. Lucas may be the Prince of Darkness, but Jesus has overcome the dark,
he is light! And top down motoring at its best. Stuck in your so called
freedom? You need Jesus, who will set you free in your slavery to him. Paul
knew, Onesimus found out, have you? Everyday without Jesus is like a day in
prison with walls and bars that keep you from being free. But you can be free
in his spirit, and lost in his love. Just by turning to him now.
Their may be no other freedom like a British sports car on clear, sunny
day. Top down, the exhaust singing a tune, and the curves inviting. But all it
takes is one Prius, or pothole to ruin your day, and interrupt your ride. Don’t
become a slave to something you have no choice in, Jesus offers you the choice.
No other god or religion will. True freedom.....
So maybe 60 feeling like 120 can be good. At age 61 I don’t want to feel
like 120, I want to feel like 25. Only in Christ will I be the kid I want to
be. All because a loving father sent his son to die for me. And give me
eternal life. Guided by his yoke, so remember whatever you are yoked to, will
never be a substitute for being equally yoked with Jesus. The sun finally set
on the British Empire because it had lost its way....being where the Son sets is
the best way to tomorrow. Starting today. Jesus Christ, he is the light left
on for you.
love with compassion,
Mike
matthew25biker.blogspot.com
