I
recently enjoyed one of those truly delightful days of being a cycling pastor.
I set out in the cool morning air, joining others making their way to the
workplace, part of the flow of morning traffic. Drivers on this morning were
very mellow. I had a short chat with a man working a stoplight for change. He
wanted to know what kind of bike I was riding. We bade each other a good and productive day.
After
a mid-week church service and some morning office work (yes, clergy have plenty
of that to do), I went to visit a parishioner across the river. The first part
of the journey required some raingear. For some people, cycling in the rain is
hard to imagine wanting to do. I have my limit in this matter, but a moderate
shower (as this was) really isn’t unpleasant at all, especially this time of
year. Having a bike built for such weather helps a lot.
To
get to the river from church, I have to (eventually) cross a few major
thoroughfares. I decided to try a new route, though. It involved a small pedestrian
bridge over one of the many streams rolling through our downtown area. I only
noticed this bridge in a residential neighborhood near downtown once I began
cycling—having driven by it many, many times over the years. It provided a
peaceful respite from the traffic. After crossing the creek, I took the
opportunity in that quiet venue to take off the now-unnecessary rain pants…the
shower had passed.
Getting
to the river was not all creeks-and-willows, though. There was one enormously
convoluted intersection to traverse (the stoplight mounting for which can
almost pass for a modern art sculpture). This was not the best place to cross,
really. I walked my bike through the three crosswalks involved, wondering what
it would look like to have an easier way across—and thinking how hard/creative
a traffic engineer’s life must be.
After
threading my way through some alleys, I arrived at the former railway bridge,
now converted to a pedestrian/cycling bridge. This is one of our city’s most
far-sighted and enjoyable accommodations for ‘active transportation.’
The
bridge was originally completed in 1912, and sports many date plates announcing
this fact. The rhythm of girders and supports seems (to me) to shout “Look, you
future citizens: we did this! Isn’t technology wonderful!” with all the
hometown pride and optimistic innocence pre-WWI America era could muster. No
matter what the weather, travelling on this bridge makes me feel happier.
As
I returned from my pastoral call, the sky was clearing and the air had a clean,
smooth quality to it. People were out walking, taking in the break in the
showers. A fellow on a mountain bike I passed looked at me and motioned to the
river passing silently under us: “Beautiful, huh?” he said. Golden shafts of
light briefly shot through the complex metal web above us.
As
I pedaled slowly along—I didn’t want this moment to pass too quickly—I recalled
the words of a prayer in our church tradition (inherited from our Jewish
forebears) used at daybreak, part of which goes:
O ye sun and moon, bless
ye the Lord;
O ye stars of heaven, bless ye the Lord;
O ye showers and dew,
bless ye the Lord;
praise him and magnify him for ever.
I
often like to make up new verses to this hymn as I deal with various situations
in life. As I glided over the river on my way home, these came to mind:
O ye sunbreaks and
rain-drops, bless ye the Lord;
O ye in-line skaters and joggers, bless ye
the Lord;
O ye cyclists and
saunterers, bless ye the Lord;
praise him and magnify him for ever.
Another
journey, made at a leisurely pace, with time to consider and enjoy, on my upright
bike with a frame design dating to 1892 (older than the bridge!). Another day
of experiencing gratitude for the beauty of nature, the people God puts in our
life, the creativity of community leadership, and the “perfect machine” that is
the bicycle. O, the miracles we unthinkingly
pass by each day.
Sermon
ended!
