Finding the clutch to put it in reverse

A friend of mine hates the phrase "going forward." A devotee of plain speaking, even bluntness, the term sounds artificial to him, much the way "downsizing" and "revenue enhancements" sound to me. "Going forward" is a phrase heard in my line of work almost weekly -- and when it is used, an inward grin rises in me. Recalling my friend's distaste for the colloquialism, I find myself forcing down a smile when it escapes another's lips.

The other day, I discovered that "going forward" was all my truck could do. The transmission is failing; reverse gear no longer functions. It's either buy a new (or used) transmission or bid adieu to my Dodge Dakota. I'm still deciding.

Regular readers of this column may not be surprised to learn that at times like this my mind seeks out any possible theological significance. Sometimes we need to back up in life. There are moments when we go too far in our dealings with others, and an apology is in order. That's reverse gear. Some of us can't ever seem to find the clutch.

Remember the old "Happy Days" character on TV known as Fonzie? Tough guy in a leather jacket with carefully coifed hair, the Fonz was the epitome of cool. But he could never bring himself to say the words, "I'm sorry." Fonzie, played with such panache by Henry Winkler back in the 1970s, could only go forward. An apology is reverse gear.

In the sports world, notice how long it took celebrated athletes to put their egos in reverse and apologize: Mark McGwire, Lance Armstrong and Ryan Braun all come to mind. Years. It took each of them years to find the clutch. Many of us are familiar with the boilerplate "non-apology-apology." To wit, "If anyone was offended by my actions, I apologize for this lack of judgment," et al., so on and so forth. These sorts of halfhearted "I'm sorrys" are the equivalent of popping the clutch. It damages everybody's transmissions.

Recognizing the risk of bending this automobile metaphor until it breaks, the cautionary tale of Old Testament Job is now in order. Job, upright and blameless, everybody said so, loses everything and everyone -- apparently with God's tacit approval although not by His hand. Job's wife tells him to curse God and die. ("Thanks, honey.") Job's three friends tell him he must be responsible for his misfortune because calamity only falls on the unjust and the wicked. ("Think again, fellas.") Finally, his body racked by sores, sitting in sackcloth and ashes and with lots of time to brood about the injustice of it all, Job finally lodges his complaint against God. God puts Job in his place and reminds him of the nature of their relationship without ever telling Job why a truckload of the worst bad luck imaginable fell on him.

Finally, in chapter 42, old Job eases in the clutch and puts his ego into reverse. "Surely I spoke of things I did not understand, things too wonderful for me to know."

Job humbled himself that day when he decided not to go forward and instead engaged the clutch for "R." Unadorned humility, not for sham or for show, is one of the biggest things missing from our public life. Too often, we've forgotten reverse gear.

Dr. Jeff Long is executive director of the Chateau Girardeau Foundation, president of the Cape Girardeau Public Library board, and a former United Methodist clergyman.