“Just an oil change!” I said to the attendant while sitting back in the comfort of my Volvo wagon, Bible propped on the steering wheel, enjoying a few minutes of rest as the mechanics did their thing in the underground cavern beneath my car.
“It’s recommended that you change the drain plug,” Mechanic #1 interrupted, sticking his head in the driver’s side window. “Would you like me to put in another one?”

“Uh, no thank-you,” I said and went back to reading the judgment passages in Ezekiel.

He came back again. “It’s recommended that you get a radiator flush; you’re due, sir.”

I politely declined.

A few moments later: “Would you like to consider a differential fluid change?” This went on a couple more times until I gave in. Another Mechanic showed up. “Sir! Would you like me to change your wiper blades?”

“How much is it?”

“$11.54.”

“Okay. Do it, please.”

The oil change was nearly finished when Mechanic #1 came beside my window. “So you want the blades changed? That will be $23.08.”

“Wait a minute!” I was told that it was $11.54.” Both mechanics had already taken off the wiper blades.

“No, no, sir. That’s per blade.” He started to ring up the transaction.

“But the other guy told me it was $11.54! I’ll pay $11.54.”

“He’s new and he made a mistake. It will be $23.08.”

“In that case, I don’t want the blades. I can get them cheaper at an auto parts place. Y’ know… you really should let me have them at the cheaper rate. That is what I was quoted.”

“No sir. That would be immoral—and wrong,” he said staring into the computer as he changed the billing.

I was bugged. By golly, I had my rights and I’m the customer and the customer is always right. Didn’t this young punk know this? “Immoral? Why is it immoral?” I asked, irritated.

“Because it is; it would be immoral—and wrong.”

I wanted to insist! I wanted to get out of my car, puff up my chest and, and, shove it into his. I wanted to start my car, rev the engine real loud, and squeal my tires as I threw the payment in his face.
But I didn’t.

In all humility I blurted out, “I’m a pastor and I know about these ethical dilemmas,” or something lame like that. “But I’m gonna forget it because the guy’s new.” What an idiot I am. I just blew that witness.

The new guy came over and apologized. I told him it was no big deal and not to worry.

Then I asked him, “If you were to die today, would you go to Heaven or Hell?”

“Probably Hell because I’ve done a lot of bad things.”

We talked about his violation of God’s Law, Judgment Day and Hell; he was interested in knowing how to be saved from eternal punishment. I had the pleasure of telling him about the Savior. Then I invited him to church.

“I was gonna go last weekend to church,” he said, “but I backed out at the last minute.” I encouraged him to visit and hoped he didn’t hear my conversation with Mechanic #1.

I experienced a host of mixed feelings when I handed over my American Express card and paid my bill: Did I get in the flesh when I argued about the “morality” of the situation. How good an example was I? Did they think that I was just another stereotypical poseur, one of those fake-Christians who “asked Jesus into their heart,” but bear no fruit?
What would Jesus have done if he pulled in with His Volkswagon?

I drove away from the oil change place wiper-less, and thankful that God still continues to use immoral guys.

-Steve Sanchez