Rust

Just a few days ago I changed a couple of hydraulic lines on my old beast of a tractor. Working on old tractors is patience-testing and filthy on the best of days, and hydraulic leaks just make it more interesting. And dirty.

Mid-way through the operation I suffered a tool failure. With a mighty crack, my trusty old crescent wrench snapped in two, right in my hand! After sharing some appropriate language with the onlooking squirrels, I dug out another wrench and finished the job, keeping the broken bits for later inspection.

After the job was finished and I had cleaned up, I sat down to examine the broken wrench. What quickly became apparent was that it had snapped not because of my super-human strength but because of an internal weakness.

On the outside, the tool was as shiny as new. But in a crevice near the worm gear, a tiny flaw in the chrome finish had allowed moisture to infiltrate. Month after month and year after year, deep below the surface, water slowly turned steel into rust. Iron oxide– steel returned to its base state. The black-brown decay, hidden by the shiny chrome exterior, had worked its way deep into the core of the wrench, invisible to an observer, and undetectable until it failed under pressure.

What I thought was one of my most reliable friends failed the integrity test just when I needed it most.

Was it my fault for not keeping the tool clean, dry, and well-oiled? Was it the fault of the manufacturer for allowing a tiny crack in the chrome finish? Had some earlier misuse injured the protective exterior? Or was it some of this and some of that? Who knows?

We’re all a bit like the old crescent wrench. Lovely and shiny and formidable on the outside, yet with flaws and weaknesses on the inside, undetected and undetectable. But unlike the wrench, you and I are different: we’re autonomous and responsible for our own flaws.

Different because we can know ourselves. The politician or the preacher caught in scandal may surprise his public, but he doesn’t surprise himself. The embezzler or the tax cheat usually doesn’t get caught on their first outing– they’ve been practicing their craft surreptitiously for years, rusting away under a shiny surface. They know.

The truth is that every one of us has a few tiny cracks on our beautiful exterior. Each of us has more than one rusty weak spot, somewhere in our souls. Like my old wrench, perhaps these are innate, perhaps they arise from some trauma, perhaps from poor maintenance, but most likely from a little of this and a little of that.

But unlike my poor old wrench, you and I have some control over the rust in our souls. We have a rust-detector. It’s called a conscience. We have an element of self-control, an ability to choose our path and decide who we want to be today, tomorrow and the next day.

We have hope, and we have faith. And we have friends and companions on the journey, good people who keep us true. I especially value those who aren’t afraid to point out the rust. Kindly, of course.