Bumper Sticker Love

(5-minute read) – I saw a man in his car in the glorious morning sun and the haze of urban traffic. The car had nice clean bumpers and a bumper sticker that read, “I Love Jesus”, all clean and bright in red and white and black.

“That’s wonderful,” I thought. I wondered if he really loved Jesus, as I am wont to do when people proclaim such existentially profound things on a bumper sticker.

The man with the bumper sticker

So I pulled up next to him at the robot and glanced nonchalantly across to see what he looked like. I couldn’t tell much, other than he had a big nose… which obviously had no bearing on whether he actually loved Jesus or not.

His car lurched forward as I tried to make out other features of his face through the tinted window. The big nose tilted slightly skyward as his head bobbed backward into the headrest.

I thought he’d violently stalled. But then I realised someone had driven into him from behind.

In an instant I saw more of his features as he craned his neck around to see what had hit him from behind. There was rage etched into his brow and the narrowed eyes that flanked that nose. He fought to get his belt off and get out of his car.

I watched in my side mirror as he stormed up to the driver’s window of the car behind him.

The offending driver didn’t exit his car. He was probably too scared.

Where are the fruits of love?

Was he guilty? Yes. Forgiven? Most definitely not. Not by the middle-aged man with the big nose waving his finger at the window to the rhythm of his rampaging temper. No forgiveness was on the cards there at all. Surely that was strange for a man proclaiming to love Jesus.

I thought, “I’m a witness, I’d better get out.” I pulled my car over to the side out of the traffic.

As I opened my door, the middle-aged man was shouting at the closed driver’s window, “Get out, you bloody fool. Get out. You’re going to pay for this. Look at this! Idiot!” He’d been shouting and ranting at that window for at least three of four minutes by now.

By the time I reached him, a minute or so later, his volume had at last decreased and he seemed to be shouting more in dismay to himself.

So the guilty driver felt it was safe to exit his car. He looked shaken as he sheepishly emerged, muttering, “Oh God, I’m so sorry. My insurance will pay. Don’t worry.”

The three of us stood and surveyed the impact area where the two cars had met by accident. It was not a pretty site. Both cars had those modern plastic bumpers and crumple zones, so even the relatively minor impact had made quite a mess of their strong façades.

The middle-aged man’s bumper was crumpled and bent like his brow. It looked unnatural. Like anger is unnatural for a healthy brow.

Dented love

I could just make out the red and white and black sign on the back of the middle-aged man’s car. The edge of a dent had bisected it. The “I Love” part had been scraped off and disappeared into the dent. All that was visible was, “Jesus”.

“Jesus!” said the middle-aged man, perfectly on cue. “What a mess.”

Whatever love might have been there, had disappeared from him as well.

Just like that, in one of life’s minor tests, he failed. He’d discarded the so easily claimed words. Imagine how he would react to a real affront, if this is how he’d reacted to a simple mistake, I thought. What a fickle love he seemed to live by.

I turned to look at him. The rage had subsided from his features and been replaced by a distressed, anxious look. I could tell this car was very important to him. It was hard for him to cope with the violation of his prized possession. Or maybe he was finding it so hard to cope because this incident had disrupted the usual routine of his day.

We finished the usual swapping of details, accident scene evidence gathering and clearing up, and I went on my way. I glanced back as I crouched into my car. The middle-aged man kicked a stone and stamped his foot. Clearly he hadn’t gotten over it yet.

This man definitely loved his car. He definitely valued having smooth and routine days. As long as he lived in his little world of car ownership and stayed in the confines of his predictable, so-called productive picket fence life-style, he was happy. And hell yes, under those circumstances he thought he loved Jesus.

Unconditional love

But his so-called love for Jesus depended on a smooth life, like a smooth bumper. It depended on picket-fence delusions that everything was okay in the world. Any sign of a chink and the whole pack of cards fell to pieces.

The cute little bumper sticker on that false plastic bumper that meant little to begin with and that was now worth nothing, was a metaphor for his life. A shiny façade, easily succumbing to the most basic of life’s challenges.

His “I Love” was actually loaded with conditions and prescriptions. It wasn’t love at all. It was a contract. Contracts have conditions and prescriptions. Love is unconditional.

The Jesus he loved was supposed to look after him and not let things like this happen. If Jesus breached the contract, the man had no obligation to love. Why would he continue to love if not given his contractual dues?

But the delusional life of a middle-aged man continued in the sun and the haze of fumes.

His little life was well planned, so he had good insurance in place, which sorted out a third party claim. He was fixed up with panel beating and a new bumper for next to no cost. All he had to pay was a small excess. “What a saving”, he thought with a self-righteous smirk on that big-nosed face.

He got himself a new bumper sticker too. It read “Jesus Saves”.