I just returned from my first visit to the Department of Motor Vehicles in Connecticut. Friends had warned me that it was an ominous place, but I felt an obligation to go. To be honest, I felt more than an obligation. In order to be a loyal citizen and faithful taxpayer it was absolutely necessary that I make a trip to the DMV.

Personally, the DMV does not have much to offer me. I am not particularly drawn to large institutions - "bigness" doesn't impress me. I shy away from formality and rigid structure. I take no pleasure in the complex minutiae of an endless series of laws. Furthermore, I despise waiting in lines. Ask my wife: I simply refuse to wait in line at a restaurant. However, paradoxically (or hypocritically, as she would say) I don't mind waiting in line to buy books, music, or attend a movie or concert.

As I said, the DMV does not have much to offer me. More than anything, it is just a necessary annoyance that I must attend occasionally in order to fulfill my responsibilities as a private citizen. You would not find me visiting the DMV simply to relax or enjoy some leisure time. The fact that I will only go when I absolutely have to reveals my feelings towards this institution. And if my feelings are shared - which it appears they are - perhaps they reveal much about the institution itself.

Entering the building, I am immediately overwhelmed by the gloomy atmosphere. The people walking the halls do not laugh or even crack a smile. Everyone seems frustrated, bordering on meltdown. This is true, not only of those paying their dues, but also of those to whom the dues are paid - the doorkeepers and tax-gatherers themselves.

Eye contact is rare, and when successful, fleeting. The passing glance communicates a shared sense of frustration and desperation. Most people are not there to find a greater measure of fulfillment or significance in life. Instead, they are simply doing their best to fulfill their duty as quickly as possible. Real "life" - the life worth living - is left outside the doors. One's entire experience within is simply a hurried rush to get out again.

Transactions are mechanical and impersonal. People keep to a tight script and refrain from exchanging niceties. No real concern is demonstrated by anyone. There is no real sense of hospitality. One gets the sense that one really isn't welcomed at all, but simply tolerated. Insult is added to injury by the mission statement on the wall that claims that people will be treated with dignity and respect. Yet, I don't feel dignity. I feel like a number.

The DMV is a dreary, depressing, and miserable place. However, one positive thing can be said about the DMV: Everything is being done right. By the book! The rules are followed with meticulous scrutiny. A rule for every situation leads to an endless parade of specialized lines. One wrong turn and you may hear, "That is not my department. You need to go to another line." The "lawful" place leads to a maze of hoops that must be passed through before one is able to break free to life outside. The "lawful" place seems to completely crush the life out of its inhabitants, causing them to frantically do everything to get their duty done, and escape out of the stifling environment into the joyful freedom of life outside.

Put simply: The rules are followed. Everything is done right, properly, and in order. But the life is gone. Joy and delight are nonexistent. Relationships are mechanical, impersonal, and transactional. No one wants to stay. Indeed, no one really wants to visit, but necessity demands at least an occasional trip.

For many people, the church is like the DMV. Read the words above again and replace the DMV with the Church. Do you notice any similarities to the public's perception of the two institutions? The same disgust, dreariness, and soul-deadness I felt at the DMV is the reaction that many people have to organized religion, that is, to the church.

Rules can only take us so far. They cannot give life. They can give direction, but even this is limited. We can attempt to do everything right and completely forget people. We can cross every "t" and dot every "i" correctly and, in the process, crush the very life out of people. We can keep things neat, orderly, and precise and subsequently lose the possibility of real relationships - in all their messy, complex, and sloppy glory!

A lawful institution can be completely unloving. Relationships need more than order; they require affection. It is impossible to legislate love. Any attempt to do so will ultimately lead to the dreary vacuousness of the DMV.

© Richard J. Vincent, 2004