Defensive driving for disciples

As my family know only too well, I am a slow driver. So slow that I frequently have to pull in to allow tractors, even cyclists, to pass.

This week I was reminded why I tend to drive so cautiously, as I reviewed the ministry of a young vicar in a neighbouring deanery. It was his father who originally signed me up for a police driving course.

Way back in 1971 I had just passed my driving test — first time, I hasten to add. However, my driving experience was limited to just 17 one-hour lessons. I mentioned this to a friend at church, himself an experienced police driver. His response was to sign me up on a driving course with the Liverpool and Bootle Constabulary.

Naturally I was delighted. Enthusiastically I looked forward to learning the techniques of high-speed pursuit, even the skills required to drive at 100 mph in the days before the maximum speed limit of 70 mph. Even hand-brake turns.

The reality could not have been more different, except — that is — the afternoon on the skid pan at Tuebrook, learning how to drive out of a skid. For five days I was taught what the police then called defensive driving, a whole way of thinking not only for how to drive but how to live our lives.

At the heart of this police philosophy is the realisation that everyone on the road, if not exactly an idiot, nevertheless is capable of doing something stupid, even dangerous. Moreover, you can never be sure what is around the next bend: it could be a stray cow or a road traffic accident.

And so you drive accordingly, which usually means slowly, prepared for the worst, in the centre of the road and as far away from the pavement as is safe. You just never know.

As the Bible reminds us again and again, we are all flawed human beings. Yes, we are made in the image of God (Genesis 1:27), but we also “fall short of the glory of God” (Romans 3:23). Left to ourselves, we are easily swayed by temptation, inclined to put ourselves first, and sometimes even willing to let others suffer if it serves our own advancement.

In a word, we are all sinners. As the apostle John writes, “If we claim that we’re free of sin, we’re only fooling ourselves” (1 John 1:8).

This is the sober realism found across Christian tradition. Augustine famously observed, “My sin was all the more incurable because I did not think myself a sinner.” And C. S. Lewis put it succinctly: “We are not merely imperfect creatures who must be improved; we are rebels who must lay down our arms.”

So we live our lives accordingly, knowing that we - and others, whoever they are - can so easily stumble or go astray. In the words of the Book of Common Prayer, “We have done those things which we ought not to have done. And there is no health in us.”

And we never quite know what lies around the next corner. As the old saying goes — often attributed to Woody Allen — “If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans.” It’s a humorous reminder of a deeply biblical truth: “You do not know what tomorrow will bring” (James 4:14).

And so we live our lives accordingly.

Another lesson from my police driving days was this: never allow yourself to be pushed — even bullied — by the car behind you. As my instructor wisely put it, “They won’t be the ones to stop and help you if their pressure causes you to crash.”

And there’s a Christian lesson in this too. The New Testament repeatedly warns us not to let others “push” or pressure us into actions that are unwise or contrary to the way of Christ. Paul writes, “Do not be conformed to this world” (Romans 12:2).  We refuse to be led astray, whatever the pressure. 

Just as on the road we mustn’t be bullied by the car behind, so in life we must not be driven by the expectations, impatience, or manipulations of others. Instead, we “keep in step with the Spirit” (Galatians 5:25), letting Christ — not the crowd — set our pace and direction.

One final surprise from police driving training: if, during your test, you give a signal when there are no other vehicles on the road, you fail. You don’t indicate “just in case.” The principle is that you must be fully aware of your surroundings and signal only when there is someone to benefit. It’s all about total road awareness.

So Jesus teaches that we must be entirely alert as we navigate the road of life. “Stay awake,” he says, “for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming” (Matthew 24:42).

Christian alertness is not nervousness or suspicion; it is a Spirit-shaped attentiveness to God, to others, and to the moment we are in. We know what is happening around us.

Paul echoes this when he urges believers: “So watch your step. Use your head. Make the most of every chance you get” (Ephesians 5:15). In other words, pay attention — to your surroundings, to your influence, and to those who may be helped or harmed by your choices.

Just as a skilled driver remains fully conscious of the road, the wise Christian stays awake to the presence, purposes, and promptings of Christ.

For what I learned from my police driving course all those years ago is that the Christian life is not a high-speed chase but a patient, purposeful journey in which Christ himself is both our companion and our guide — cautiously, gratefully, and alert to his leading at every turn.