
Late one Saturday night, after a long and difficult day of visiting hospitals, nursing homes and elderly members of the congregation, a vicar was making his weary way home. As he travelled the hilly, curving, country road, he overtook a car. The slow-moving car was weaving from one side of the road to the other in a most disturbing manner. Being familiar with most residents of the area, he recognized the car as belonging to a member of his congregation. ‘Oh no,’ said the vicar to himself, ‘Frank Johnson has fallen off the wagon again. The way that car is weaving, he must be really plastered. I’d better pull up beside him and get him to stop before he hurts himself.’ Putting thought to action, the preacher pulled alongside Frank’s car just in time for the next swerve to run him off the road. Over the shoulder, down a steep bank, the vicar’s car rolled over twice and came to rest against a large pine tree. Not completely senseless to the world, Frank stopped his car and staggered back to a point above the vicar’s car. Fortunately, the vicar had been using a seat belt. That and the relatively slow speed had prevented any injury. When Frank saw someone struggling out of the wrecked car, he yelled, ‘Who the hell are you?’ The vicar yelled back, ‘Frank Johnson, don’t you talk to me like that.’ ‘My God, Vicar, that you?’ ‘Yes, Frank, it is, and I’ll thank you not to take the Lord’s name in vain. It’s already bad enough that you’re drunk.’ ‘You OK, Vicar?’ ‘Yes, Frank, fortunately the Lord was with me.’ ‘You better let him ride with me. Way you drive, you gonna kill him.’