c. 2007 Religion News Service
(UNDATED) When this year’s Day of Pentecost comes around on May 27, I will be seated in row 69 at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, near the start-finish line, for the 91st running of the Indianapolis 500-Mile Race.
Around our family group will be some 400,000 race fans _ “all together in one place,” as St. Luke might say _ plus a global radio and television audience.
On the track below us will sit 33 open-wheeled race cars, powered by 3.5-liter 8-cylinder engines producing 675 horsepower and capable of accelerating from 0 to 100 mph in less than three seconds and “running flat” around the 2.5-mile oval at 220 mph.
Each spectator will have unique interests. Many follow the drivers, an international set of Europeans, South Americans, good old boys and a new breed of American drivers. Others follow racing strategy, from “drafting” to “pitting under yellow,” or admire the intricate ballet of pit crews changing four tires and adding fuel in mere seconds.
I am fascinated by the cars. I attended my first 500 when the cars were front-engine roadsters powered by 4-cylinder Offenhauser “bangers” and reaching 144 mph. I saw the switch to rear-engine cars and 8-cylinder engines and speeds roaring above 230 mph.
A few, no doubt, will hope for accidents, a few will ignore the race and concentrate on beer and babes, and some women might quietly rue the cost of “stand by your man” on a day they might prefer to be elsewhere.
As the race proceeds, attention will focus on whichever drivers have a chance of winning, all will stand for the likely two-driver duel at the end, and then one will take the checkered flag as 400,000 roar their delight.
There will be no riots, no beer bottles raining on the track, no muttering about national honor, and no particular dismay over who didn’t win. The 500 tends to be a remarkable display of civility, or what Jesus called “being one.”
In a world bitterly divided over religion and politics, how does this event accomplish oneness? This event is the exact opposite of those strange bedfellows, religion and politics. That’s why it works.
The Speedway has many approach paths and many entrances, not just the one “narrow gate.” There is room for all sorts, from diehard aficionado to mildly amused. Those who bring binoculars to look closely at specifics watch whatever they choose. No partisan zealot tells them they must focus here and not there.
Owners and league officials might fight for supremacy, but fans watch the race, not the prelates.
Even though the 500 is steeped in tradition, it has little use for rigid orthodoxy. Change happens constantly _ new engines, chassis, fuels, tires, strategies _ and change is celebrated, because speed matters more than avoiding change. The history of winning engines reads like the global economy: Honda now, and before that Toyota, Chevrolet, Oldsmobile and Ford.
The 500 has done a decent job of welcoming women as drivers _ three female qualifiers this year _ because driving skill matters more than driver gender. If Danica Patrick averages 224.076 in qualifying, she starts at No. 8, no matter what Paul said about women staying quiet in church.
The 500 has a healthy patriotism. Pre-race traditions include a moment of silence and then “Taps” for all who died in battle, an invocation spoken on behalf of all faiths, the national anthem sung by all, and “Back Home Again in Indiana,” when Hoosiers happily share their nostalgia with the world.
America’s religious and political movements could learn a lot from “the greatest spectacle in racing.”
(Tom Ehrich is a writer, church consultant and Episcopal priest in Durham, N.C. He is the author of “Just Wondering, Jesus: 100 Questions People Want to Ask,” and the founder of the Church Wellness Project. His Web site is http://www.morningwalkmedia.com.)
KRE/PH END EHRICH
650 words
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