When I was growing up, my parents had a fairly old car. It worked well enough for our purposes, but — like many older cars — it had its share of quirks. One of them was a Check Engine light that was perennially on. It became a running joke in the household to comment on it in some fashion: “Check Engine!” “Yep! It’s still there!” And so on.
I suspect many households have their own variation on acknowledging the seemingly useless Check Engine light. I recall the radio call-in show Car Talk suggesting to someone a fix for an old clunker car: a piece of black electrical tape you put over the Check Engine light on the dashboard so you don’t have to look at it.
So, what is the purpose of the dashboard warnings? Well it’s to spur you to some action. While the Check Engine light is almost certainly the most cryptic, it does have a purpose; at the very least, when the car goes in for its oil changes and maintenance, it’s good to mention it to the mechanic. The other warning lights also serve to drive you to some kind of action: Low Gas (“get fuel soon!”), Temperature (“The car’s going to overheat; stop as soon as you can and check it out!”), Traction (“the antilock brakes aren’t going to work as well; be careful!”), and so on.
None of the lights exist as an end to themselves. In a very real way, they’re like emotions.
Emotions are the dashboard indicators of our body and mind. If you’re happy, reflect in gratitude that which makes you happy (presuming it’s righteous, of course), and see if you can repay that happiness to others. If you’re scared, then you’re supposed to try to resolve whatever the issue is you’re scared about, and keep on going. If you’re hurt, then you’ll ideally deal with whatever pain is being caused to you physically or mentally: remove the thorn, see a doctor, confront the friend who betrayed you, or whatever.
The idea of emotional dashboard indicators came to me as I reflected on today’s readings, in particular, the indicator of worry. In the Gospel selection from Luke, Jesus makes a pretty bold proclamation: “Take nothing for the journey, neither walking stick, nor sack, nor food, nor money, and let no one take a second tunic.”
The implication is clear: The Twelve were supposed to trust in God implicitly, relying on God (and others) to provide for their needs as they went on their journey. They needn’t worry, because God was with them . . . literally!
So, what does this mean for our own journeys? This has been a difficult reflection to write — and I’ve spent even more time than normal in prayerful reflection — because I don’t want to give the wrong message. First, I don’t think the idea was a one-time thing, a specific “trust God” anecdote only related to the Twelve at that specific episode; Jesus proclaims elsewhere in the Gospels that God is with us, that God loves and will provide for us, and so on.
However, in the day-to-day world, I don’t think God is telling us that we shouldn’t make any effort to provide for ourselves, our families, our communities, etc. Even if you’re doing God’s work, it seems there’s still a duty to ensure that we are doing what we can to care for families, take care of our obligations, and so on. Even the Twelve were supposed to travel; Jesus did not say, “Hey, let’s just sit here in the shade and wait for would-be believers to come to us!” The Apostles were still expected to put in the effort necessary to make the journey successful: going from place to place, looking for opportunities to help, spreading the word, etc.
In the same way, God has said that he would provide. Maybe that way of providing is giving us a strong back or sharp mind to be able to get a job. Maybe that way of providing is a strong and good community, willing to help those who can’t work for whatever reason. (Sacred Scripture calls out two such groups — widows and orphans — as being especially worthwhile to help.)
So what can I take away from this? Well, it goes back to the Check Engine light. Nearly all of us have an endless capacity for worry: from the newborn baby who thinks Mommy must be gone forever and ever because she went to the bathroom for a minute, to the working husband who worries if he’s providing enough for his family, to the elderly believers who worry they may not get to see one more Christmas to visit with their grandchildren.
And, in a way, worry is good. Like the dashboard warnings, worry spurs me to action. If I worry I don’t look good enough to go in public, then I’ll check my clothes and hair in the mirror. If I worry that I left a stove on before I leave the house, then I double-check the appliances. If I worry that I haven’t treated my spouse with the love and respect she deserves, then I’ll check with her to see how she’s doing, and redouble my efforts in the future. And so on.
But, since our capacity for worry is endless, we need to understand that — at a certain point — more worry doesn’t mean anything. It’s a paradox that we can each prepare endlessly for our own journeys, and yet find ourselves utterly surprised and unprepared at what transpires. (The Crucifixion of Christ was certainly shocking for Jesus’ believers!)
But the solution to this paradox is not to worry more, prepare more, clutch more fervently to the physical trappings that promise a sliver of additional comfort. It’s to let go of worry and anxiety, and trust that God is with us on the journey.
Once a light illuminates on the dashboard, squinting at it harder won’t make the problem any less. If the worry in your own life is something that you can do something about, then great! Do something about it, and keep on driving. If you can’t do anything about it, then the worry doesn’t serve any real purpose; like the Check Engine light, it’s not an end to itself, and maybe you can put a piece of spiritual black electrical tape over it and trust in God for the rest of the journey. (And remember that if you do have worry but can’t seem to do anything about it, prayer is always a concrete action you can take.)
Since I’ve come into the faith, over a decade ago now, I’ve found my own worries greatly lessened. I think it’s because I have faith that God is there for me in good times and in bad . . . and if that’s the case, how bad can things really be? I know that what others see as the “worst case scenario” — death — actually holds the promise of a great new life offered by Christ; that gets rid of a lot of worries! And I recognize that all I can do is all I can do, and once I’ve done all I can, there isn’t much point in worrying anymore.
Right around the time I went away to college, my parents finally got rid of their old clunker car. The Check Engine light was still on. If the “worry” light is on in your life and you’ve done all you can, maybe you can give those worries over to God; I pray that helps make the rest of your journey easier.
Today’s readings: Ezr 9:5-9; Tobit 13:2,3-4A,4BEFGHN,7-8; Lk 9:1-6
