Things have changed. We had not bought a car for seventeen years. The problem is that the Japanese know how to build good cars. Our seventeen-year-old Toyota Yaris was still running very well, and our mechanic said it could continue to run well for another ten to fifteen years. But still it was time. So, my wife and I went out and bought a brand new Toyota Corolla Hybrid. Only had to wait twelve and a half months after we ordered it.

That is when we found out things have changed. The new car is a highly sophisticated electronic marvel. It goes 1,000 kilometres on a tank of gas and a year between oil changes. The car is so advanced that I think I need an engineering degree and a computer science degree to understand it. When I tried to plug our old iPod (full of even older songs) into the new car’s sound system, the dealer explained that it was too old and obsolete to properly interface with the new car. I am beginning to suspect the same could be said of me.

The car door unlocks as soon as I touch the door handle—as long as I have remembered to put the key into my pocket (which is not actually a key but a fob, whatever that is). The lights come on and switch to bright automatically. There is a thermostat that automatically adjusts the temperature inside the car. The emergency brake comes on automatically when the car is in park. The car automatically slows down when it thinks I am getting too close to the car in front. If I deviate over the yellow line, the car gently guides me back. It warns me when there is a car in my blind spot. (I have a lot of blind spots.) It warns me when I am going faster than the speed limit. It tells us how long in kilometres and minutes our current drive is and how many kilometres before I need to fill the car up with gas or take it in for servicing. When I get out of the car, it reminds me not to forget the stuff I left on the back seat. My wife is almost redundant.

It took some time, but I finally found the gizmo that opens the hood. On a previous car, I remember removing the air breather and inserting a pen into the carburetor to resolve a flooding problem. Looking under the hood of the new car, I couldn’t find the carburetor, if there is one. The only thing I recognized was the dipstick (the one holding the hood open because I couldn’t find the supporting rod).

I am not sure how to handle a car that is smarter and more competent than I am. I am used to driving the car, not the other way around.

It helps me to remember that cars don’t last forever. We used to say that in twenty years, a car, no matter how elegant, would be nothing but a pile of rust. Now, it is more that in ten years, the car will be a rust-free pile of burned-out electrical components and malfunctioning sensors. I have outlasted all of my previous cars. I am not saying how old I am, but if I was a car, I would definitely qualify to be an antique—old enough to be a collector’s item. Cars, after all, are just things. They eventually wear out, break down, and disappear. The same is true of my body. But because Jesus died and rose again, I have the promise of living eternally with Him.

My car might be smarter, but I will outlive it.