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When Jay LeRette preaches the Word, he transforms from a mild Midwesterner—one who loves country gospel, rides a horse he’s trained to roll over and grin, and has a neighing laugh of his own—into a human glow. Sixty-four, 5′ 5″, and dressed like a cowboy, he rises in stature; his voice crescendos to a crack. Uppercuts the air. “Amen, Chuck?” A man in the second row with a great, ZZ Top-esque beard croaks Amen. “The devil mopped the floor with me,” LeRette continues, mimicking a cleaning job. “But God – but God! -” he yells, thumping and jumping on the lectern, “…had pity on you and me.”
It’s a weeknight in December 2021, heading into Christmas, and I’m in the trailer of an 18-wheeler that has been converted into LeRette’s chapel. It is permanently parked at the Petro Travel Center, a truck stop off Interstate 39 in northern Illinois. Around it are acres of commercial trucks, stopped for the night, hauling cargo of all kinds: cows, weed, pro-wrestling rings, grain, petroleum. One side of LeRette’s trailer reads “Transport for Christ”; next to it, a neon cross shimmers in the dark. John 3:16 graces the back: “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” Next to the writing are two divine hands rocking a truck.
There are tornado warnings all over Illinois. Threatening storms sweep across the parking lot, causing the trailer to shift and groan; we are out of range of any siren. Yet every minute the door opens and a new truck driver enters. Each takes place in one of about 20 chairs arranged in rows in the center of the chapel, which is quite minimalist: framed Bible verses along wood paneling, a lectern at the front, a desk and bed at the back.
The drivers—all men tonight—come straight off the road, their bodies suggesting the slow entropy brought about by bad food and decades of sitting. All but one appear to be over 50. Some know each other: When LeRette started the service by singing hymns and strumming his guitar, a straggler came in and several men yelled, “Rip!” Rip hurried in and gave them a high five or hugged them.
LeRette hands out copies of the King James Bible and asks us to open Luke 10:25. Chuck appears to be back in Exodus, and when LeRette repeats “the Gospel of Luke,” Chuck replies, “Oh, I thought you said Mötley Crüe.” So they are irrepressibly funny, suddenly schoolboys.
LeRette asks John, a short, older man in a hoodie, to read the verse. “A certain lawyer stood up and tempted him, saying, ‘Master, what must I do to inherit eternal life?'” He struggles to say “eternal,” but the men nod along, supportive, patient.
Then LeRette interprets: A skeptic tries to tempt Jesus into contradicting Judaic law, expressing a heresy. “How many knows he won’t? Jesus is the living word of God, amen? Our savior cannot be trapped.” Chuck yells, “They’ve been setting him up for three years,” and LeRette replies, “Come on, that’s right!” The speed with which he beckons these weary men to call-and-response is extraordinary. He stomps and claps, steps aside and kicks until his lungs give out. “Jesus carries us load, amen?”
