Beer Can Parable

In the fall of 1973, anxious to leave home, I enlisted in the Air Force and was to report to active duty immediately after high school graduation. Confident that I was now economically secure, I went to Melvin's Ford in Hampton and ordered a Mustang with my new found freedom. The new car in 1973 came to $3329 (I have the invoice in front of me as I write this). I traded in a 1967 Pontiac for this car, so it helped a little bit. Just like the hit single by Everclear, we only listened to the "AM Radio" back in 1973. It was also during this time that gas prices went up. During my junior year, a gallon of gas was 32 cents, if you were lucky and could drive into Mason City you might get gas for 30 cents. Sometimes there would be a "gas war" and it might dip down to 28 or 29 cents and you thought you were lucky. It wasn't uncommon for us at all to pull up to a full-service station and say "put in 2 dollars worth" and you would easily have a half tank of gas!

With the oil embargo gas shot up to 39 cents a gallon in January of 1974. I didn't know how this was going to work out, and since the economy was "shot" new for sure that I wasn't going to college and the Air Force was the best option. My parents were not at all excited about my career plans, but on June 3 put me on the bus and off I went to Lackland Air Force Base in San Antonio, Texas for basic training.

We got our heads shaved a day or so later. As we were in-processing, the "experienced" Airman called us "rainbows" as we still had our civilian clothes and hadn't been issued anything more than the haircut. We came from all walks of life. No sooner had we checked into the barracks, the same buildings my father stayed in during the Korean War (he was retired Air Force), that I discovered we had people without a high school diploma to guys that had been in college.

One guy in particular had been "simple minded" and there was always somebody like that in the Air Force. We were learning to march and the drill sergeant would yell "COLUMN-RIGHT" and this guy would turn left. He did it every time.

There would be a long pause as the platoon leader would yell "HALT." He went up to this guy, the sergeant stood maybe 2 inches from his nose" and said "YOUR OTHER RIGHT."

IT was really funny. We would march along again for an hour, this guy did the same thing. The platoon sergeant stops the entire squadron and spots a beer can along the side of the road. It was squashed from a car tire. He gets an idea and sends the young soldier over to pick it up.

Our drill instructor proceeded to yell at him and asked him to sniff it and let us all know if it smelled good.

"NO SIR," the young airman replied.

We chuckled. This was hilarious.  If you laughed out loud though, the sergeant would walk over to your face so one tended to keep it to a smirk he couldn't see.

"From this day forward, every time I see you, you are to carry that beer can around in your RIGHT HAND. I want you to polish it, wash it, and it is to smell like a rose every morning, DO YOU HEAR ME AIRMAN?"

"YES SIR," the shaking soldier responded.

For the next six weeks, this guy carried around the beer can in his right hand. He never left the barracks without it. It was always a joke among the rest of us, but I learned a life lesson out of it as I grew older and never forgot it.


That airman paid a price for his mistake, an embarrassing one. At times this guy was hated by all of us. He made our squadron look bad. Whenever an officer would walk by our platoon he would order us to halt, walk up to this guy and just shake his head. We became the laughing-stock on the whole base. Nobody felt sorry for this guy. The best thing we could do is "hide" him in the middle when we marched.

In the "chow line" we made this guy suffer. He would never be first when we were hungry and bumped him to last. When we hit the showers it was worse than gym class, this guy would walk into the stall with his beer can. When he went to the sink to shave, he had his beer can. We ridiculed him, naked and all. Didn't bother us.

Sometimes I think back to that hot summer day and remember that beer can. How often I should know right from wrong, the right from the left. But, I don't do it. I mess up, just like that Airman. There is a moral choice to be made, but I fail God and go the other direction. So, who gets stuck with the beer can?

I guess Jesus is sort of like that guy when we screw up.

Isaiah 53:2-5 says of Christ "We turned our backs on him and looked the other way when he went by. He was despised, and we did not care. Yet it was our weaknesses he carried; it was our sorrows that weighed him down. And we thought his troubles were a punishment from God for his own sins! But he was wounded and crushed for our sins. He was beaten that we might have peace. He was whipped, and we were healed!" (New Living Translation).

I know, you don't want to read bible verses, but if you made it to this sentence - congratulations! Most people don't think of a beer can when they look up at a "cross" in a church. That symbol just doesn't fit. But for me, I sometimes think of it that way.


Enough, ok? I won't push it. But, if you've never really saw the cross for what it was or the claim that Jesus Christ is there to pick up the pieces when you make a bad choice, would you consider that claim today?