Who Is Rev Diesel?

Before he became the high-octane shepherd of the Church of the Carburetor, Clarence Dillard was just a drunk drag racer with a lead foot and a loose jaw. Born in a trailer behind a bait shop, he was baptized in antifreeze by accident and raised by an uncle who swore Chevys were divine.

He spent his 20s preaching horsepower at backroad gatherings, where folks would circle up, crank engines, and listen to him quote modified scripture like, *“Blessed are the low-geared, for they shall pull mountains.”* He once tried to convert a Prius by strapping a lawnmower engine to it. It exploded. He called it divine rejection.

One stormy night, while blackout drunk and trying to replace his alternator by candlelight, he claims to have received a vision. A chrome angel with headers for wings told him to “build the holy engine, for the world has forgotten the fire.” When he woke up, the alternator still didn’t work, but the sermon did.

Now he leads Sunday Service under a rusted tin roof, preaching from a pulpit made of an upside-down transmission. Instead of hymns, the choir revs Harleys. Communion is taken from jugs of moonshine, and the offering plate is just a toolbox passed around by a raccoon named Clyde.

He’s spray-painted the Ten Commandments on an El Camino hood, installed holy dipsticks in his altar, and claims he can smell a catalytic converter from five miles away. He once baptized three men at once in a kiddie pool full of 10W-30. Only one got pinkeye.

Legacy

Rev Diesel is the burning engine of a broken revival. The man who turned broken parts into belief. He’s shouted down government inspectors with scripture and shotgun. He’s exorcised electric scooters and once tried to marry two tailpipes together “in holy combustion.”

He doesn’t fear death — he fears quiet engines. When he dies, he’s asked to be welded to an F-150 frame and launched toward the sky during a burnout vigil. His final sermon was reportedly “Repent! And change your spark plugs!”

As long as there’s gas in the tank and noise in the pipes, Rev Diesel’s gospel will roll on — wide open and unfiltered.

Rev Diesel don’t chase folks – they show up when they’re broken. Bo comes by sometimes, stands by the fire, and don’t say a word. Rev hands him shine and lets the silence work. Joe picks up the CB signal from deep in his woods, tuned to the gospel frequency Rev built out of tractor parts and stubbornness.
Bubba? Bubba once tried to preach – shirtless, greased, and on top of a flipped lawn tractor. Rev didn’t stop him. Just whispered, “Even prophets misfire.”
Bobby Ray showed up once, too. Took the wrench, drank the shine… then vanished with the offering jar. Rev just nodded and said, “That boy ain’t calibrated.”