Should A Pastor Drive A BMW?

Jesus drives a forklift at my job at the chemical plant. (Not Messiah Jesus - Hispanic Jesus. Pronounced "Hey SOOS"). He is a good soul who tries to watch his language around me because, as he puts it, “I was taught to RESPECT my elders.” He was explaining to me the other day why he doesn’t go to church. “Why should I go and listen to some guy who lives in a mansion and drives a fancy car and he’s still telling me I should put a lot more of my money in the offering plate?”

It seemed to me that Jesus’ mental image of a pastor was strongly shaped by the sons of hell and servants of Mammon that preach on TV. But I had a pretty good card to play in response. “Jesus, look at me,” I said, as I stood before him in my shellac-stained industrial uniform. “You know I’m a pastor. Does it look to you like I’m in it for the money? That I’m living a much-too-luxurious lifestyle?” Thankfully he granted the point, and acknowledged that it was possible to go to a church where the pastor wasn’t some low-life money-grubbing bastard.

Just a few days after that an associate pastor told me that she was going to buy a new car, and some friends advised her to get a used BMW. Same price as a modest new car, they explained, but really a better value. “I can’t do that,” she said. “As a pastor I can’t be seen driving a BMW.” She was right, and I commended her restraint and self-awareness on the matter. A parishioner might see her driving that and not know that she got it used. Back at work the next week I put the following scenario to a couple friends. “Let’s say you go to church this Sunday. As you pull into a parking space, you see that the car pulling in next to you is a BMW. Out steps the pastor who will be preaching that morning. Is that a problem for you?” In the ensuing discussion they made it clear that yes, it would be. Among other things, “How could a pastor tell me to be humble and give generously when he’s cruising around in a luxury car?”

I can already hear the chorus of boos from many of my spiritually corrupted ministerial colleagues. “Why should I care about what the poor rabble think of my spending habits and profligate self-indulgence?” they ask. But to ask such a question is to answer it – at least for a sincere servant of God who lives his life in the shadow of the cross. We do care about what others think. We must. We’re trying to reach them for Christ. We must pay all kinds of personal sacrifices in order to remove hindrances to the gospel. The Apostle Paul, a happy meat-eater like myself, once said that he would become a life-long vegetarian if that’s what it took to keep people from sin (I Corinthians 8:13). I confess my spiritual immaturity, that I would find it terribly hard to forgo hamburgers forever for Jesus’ sake. But to drive a Toyota Corolla rather than a Jaguar even if I could afford one? Come on, that should be a snap.

It is just possible that some minister would respond to this attempt at moral persuasion with, “No. I will enjoy nice things. As for anyone who wrestles with tithing from a meager paycheck to support the lifestyle I think I’m entitled to, well, nuts to him. I don’t care how he perceives me.”

Really? Tell that to Jesus. Either one.