Although I loved playing with my Tonka trucks as a tyke, I never recall having a desire to be a truck driver. I certainly never thought that I would be one – yet here I am. My actual truck driving experience was rather limited. My father did own a rather large pick-up truck for a time. It had a long bed and a crew cab. A short time after getting my license, I drove it some distance to a tree farm where my buddy and I cut our own Christmas trees that year. It was quite the adventure for two teens. My next foray into truck driving came years later. It was even more of an adventure – darn near a fatal one. The vehicle was a huge box truck. It was a rental. The Center City tech school where I worked had a suburban location that was closing. Equipment and furniture had to be retrieved and stored. Volunteers were needed. I stepped right up. Besides, it would get me out of the office for the day. Three of us went on expedition that day. There was one of my female co-workers – a pleasant, tomboyish young lady…and there was John. John was our crack security and maintenance team all rolled into one great man. John was not petite to say the least. He looked like Chef from South Park and man, could he make some mean ribs! One day we had an office party. John parked his “rig” right outside our door in a no parking zone and blocked it off with orange cones so that the police would know that he was on “official” business. His son’s big Ford truck hauled a flat bed trailer that had a large “grill” bolted to it. It was a split and blackened five hundred gallon steel drum turned into the greatest barbeque grill of all time. From it came the best BBQ ribs of all time. As the smoked wafted along 30th Street, people started to stand in line thinking that they could buy them. Even the police stood in line. They were heavenly and I’m hoping to discover one day that they’re available there. Office moving day arrived and our petite co-worker said that she would drive. Chef gave me a look as he rolled his eyes. It was an adventurous ride to say the least, but it was the merge on to the Schuylkill Expressway that changed things. We almost had the opportunity to sample those heavenly ribs, because our tomboy driver almost got us killed. Chef was seated in the middle between our driver and me. He clasped my thigh very firmly with his huge hand and declared quietly in my ear: Brotha, you drivin’ home! She gonna get us killed! The homeward drive from Plymouth Meeting was less eventful except for Germantown Pike. It was there that I discovered that a fully loaded box truck takes longer to stop. The light turned red at the bottom of the hill. I applied the brake and…nothing! OMG! I pushed harder – and then harder. I almost put my foot through the floorboard. The truck finally stopped after lurching a bit into the intersection. Fortunately, there was no cross traffic at that point. My co-workers didn’t really notice the problem that I had, but I’m sure that they heard my heart pounding. Somehow I then managed the Schuylkill and some Center City streets before pulling the big box truck into our subterranean garage below the train station area. It was quite the feat. I was a truck driver. Did you know that Jesus was a truck driver? From weddings like Cana to funerals like that of Lazarus, sometimes the truck was fully loaded and hard to stop and other times it was empty waiting to be filled. There were drives uphill to the mountain tops and downhill to the shores of Galilee. There was one final transit to Jerusalem fully laden. That delivery is still being unloaded. Yes, Jesus was a truck driver. All priests are. I only realized this after I was ordained. All those times playing with my Tonka trucks as a kid really paid off. Jesus was constantly shifting gears. The same is true for His priests. Constantly shifting gears, they journey uphill and down day to day sharing in peoples’ joys and sorrows intent on delivering their precious cargo which is that of Jesus Himself. So, buckle-up for the ride and remember to save room for some heavenly ribs!
Peace!
Fr. Wilson