Backseat of the Car, by Phillip Hoyle

I recall all too clearly the opening lyric of a song from the mid 70s, one that had its origin in the Jesus Movement and made its way to Wichita, Kansas, where I worked in a church. Someone in the youth group had heard it and since it had only three or four chords picked it up and sang it to us while strumming his guitar. “I’m just sitting in the backseat…” Although I was appalled at it for both its musical and theological simplicity, I saw clearly why it appealed.

I could just picture the California newly saved young person sitting in the backseat toking while Jesus, his ever so polite chauffeur took him here and there in the spiritual fantasy that dominated his smoke-filled imagination. I wondered if the Jesus driving the car was wearing a uniform or a long white robe. And I wondered at the sanity of the person singing the song—not the young person in my youth group-- but perhaps a generation of true believers who hopefully assumed that the good God would solve all their problems. Just believe, they asserted, and open the back door of the car.

Immediately upon hearing the song my mind went to a lyric written years before by Paul Evans of six girls complaining to the driver, “Keep your mind on your driving/Keep your hands on the wheel/Keep your snoopy eyes on the road ahead/We’re having fun sitting in the back seat/Kissing and a hugging with Fred.” We laughed as we kids sang that song from the backseat of the car. But the “I” who heard the gospel song sighed, “At least in the gospel ditty Jesus is in the front seat.” There was so much romanticizing of Christianity in those mid-20th century days when people were often urged to fall in love with God or with Jesus.

The little backseat song did nothing positive for me. I hated the simplistic melody that sounded like music in a TV ad for dish soap. Its cleverness seemed so juvenile. Now, my objection wasn’t in its attempt to communicate in a popular medium. Actually my objection was to its misappropriation of John Calvin’s doctrine of salvation by grace alone, and the lyric reminded me too much of the rather unattractive sermon I heard as a teenager from a cowboy preacher in which we were urged to make Jesus our Pardnuh. This song encouraged one to let Jesus, with whom the singer had a personal relationship, take the wheel. Why? So he could drive you to heaven? So you wouldn’t have to take responsibility for your life and decisions? It was just too sappy for me. I didn’t attack the song; the kids liked it and with all the social change underway churches were always interested when any kids wanted to go to church or church youth groups. Churches were in a great hurry to accommodate the culture. That’s not a bad program in a culture based on capitalism, a society given to popular advertising gimmicks, a religion offering some kind of salvation—I suppose. The problem is the basic one of all religious communication. It is based on metaphor. I though this song chose a flawed image—especially for teenagers. Had I said so out loud I would have been seen as hopeless for work in youth ministry. That didn’t worry me. I already knew I was or at least was little interested to continue with that job description.

© 6 March 2017

About the Author

Phillip Hoyle lives in Denver and spends his time writing, painting, and socializing. In general he keeps busy with groups of writers and artists. Following thirty-two years in church work and fifteen in a therapeutic massage practice, he now focuses on creating beauty. He volunteers at The Center leading the SAGE program “Telling Your Story.”

He also blogs at artandmorebyphilhoyle.blogspot.com