This week has involved a lot of time spent sitting behind the wheel of my car. Between normal ministry stuff, a very sick aunt in Kitchener, and wedding and rehearsal in Brantford, I have spent more than the average amount of time in the car. It got me thinking about the holiness of some of those moments.
There are many places one might expect to meet the Holy Spirit. A quiet chapel. A mountaintop. Perhaps even a cathedral resounding with hymns. Few of us, however, would expect the third lane from the left on the 401 at 5:15 p.m. to be the site of divine encounter. Yet holiness has a stubborn habit of showing up in the most inconvenient places — often, it seems, precisely where we least want to be.
Take, for example, the humble red light.
There you are, late for a meeting (or, if you’re clergy, late for a meeting about a meeting), and the light turns red just as you approach. In that instant, holiness feels less like the serene glow of stained glass and more like the red glare of a cosmic joke at your expense.
But here is the thing: the red light is not an obstacle. It is an invitation.
The Red Light as Spiritual Director
Think of it. For 45 blessed seconds, you are freed from the tyranny of productivity. You cannot fix, you cannot hurry, you cannot persuade the light to change by sheer force of will (though I have tried). The red light looks you square in the eye and says: “Be still and know that I am God. Also, keep your hands at ten and two.”
This is holiness in a traffic jam: learning to see delay not as punishment but as prayer time.
The Temptations of the Jam
Of course, holiness is rarely the first thought. One is tempted instead to:
- Mutter imprecations about the driving ability of the person ahead (who clearly, by the speed of their reaction, is composing a sonnet before finding the gas pedal).
- Glance at the clock a dozen times, thereby bending the space-time continuum not one whit.
- Check one’s phone, which the local police will kindly remind us is neither holy nor legal.
These are the little wilderness temptations of modern discipleship.
The Discipline of Delay
What if, instead, we prayed? Not long, elaborate prayers—just the simple stuff. “Lord, keep me patient.” “Lord, bless the people in the car beside me.” “Lord, may I not honk like a goose possessed.” Even the Jesus Prayer fits neatly into one red light cycle, though admittedly it’s hard to pray “have mercy on me, a sinner” while also plotting exactly how you’d re-time the lights if the mayor gave you one week and a traffic manual.
The Theology of the Brake Pedal
Perhaps holiness in a traffic jam is simply this: remembering that I am not in control. The brake pedal teaches the same truth as the baptismal font: life is not my invention, and God’s timing is rarely my timing. Waiting at a light is practice for all the other waiting we must do — waiting for healing, waiting for clarity, waiting for the kingdom that Jesus promises.
So the next time the light turns red, don’t grit your teeth. Take a breath. Say a prayer. Wave charitably at the person who just cut you off. Who knows? That short delay may be less about getting to your appointment and more about God getting to you.
After all, holiness is not only found in the sanctuary. Sometimes it shows up between the brake and the accelerator, reminding us that God’s love—like GTA traffic—is patient, long-suffering, and quite often stuck at a standstill.
A Prayer for Holiness in Traffic
Patient God,
you are with us in chapels and cathedrals,
and also in the long line of brake lights before us.
When impatience rises, give us your calm.
When anger bubbles up, give us your mercy.
Teach us to see each red light as a chance to pause,
to breathe, to pray, and to remember that life is not ours to control.
Bless the strangers in cars beside us,
the hurried, the weary, the distracted,
and bless us, that we may drive not only with caution,
but with kindness.
Turn our traffic jams into sanctuaries,
our waiting into worship,
and our journeys into holy pilgrimages,
until we reach at last that city with streets of gold,
where every light shines green in your eternal presence.
Through Christ our Lord. Amen.