Christ on a Bike

Friends in need

Last week, the Kensington neighborhood of Philadelphia was devastated by a 7-alarm fire that left at least 27 families homeless or "severely affected," and over 400 homes without power. The Simple Way, a radical Christian community, is based in that neighborhood and lost one of their two buildings, the one that houses their after-school program, community arts center, the Cottage Printworks t-shirt microbusiness, and two community members (Jesce Walz and founder Shane Claiborne).

Two donation funds have been set up, one to help the many neighborhood families affected, and the other to support the rebuilding of The Simple Way's space and ministry. Please click to donate now.

The Simple Way is a phenomenal and inspiring community. They are living out their faith with community programs and a lot of love in one of the poorest neighborhoods of Philadelphia. Check out Shane Claiborne's book The Irresistible Revolution, which is a beautiful read.

While I may have some theological differences with these kids, particularly about sexuality, I can't let that keep me from being inspired by their work and example. I think most of what they have to say has incredible possibilities for radical theologies of other flavors, and I think we should get right on that.

What would "Christ on a bike" look like, anyway?

One thing I pride myself on is being kind, or at least polite, to pretty much everyone. It's kind of silly to believe in peace and nonviolence when your actions show the opposite. But let me tell you, that's really hard sometimes. I mean, people do dumb things, and maybe we can learn to ignore them. But if the dumb things they do actually put you in danger, the situation gets a lot more complicated.

I've been struggling with this recently. I bike in a city that's really unfriendly to bicyclists (at best), or downright hostile (at worst). There are a few scattered bike lanes, but they're full of potholes, everyone double-parks in them, and they're no guarantee you won't get honked at, doored, cut off, or have to dodge pedestrians. Every time I venture out of my (remarkably low-key) regular commute, it seems inevitable that I'll get into an argument with someone who steps out in front of me, doors me getting out of a cab, runs me into a Jersey barrier, or otherwise ignores me and my right to be on the road. Even on that commute — two miles crosstown on residential streets — I was hit last week by someone running a red light. There are legitimate safety issues — riding a bike here is a dangerous proposition. Therefore, in some ways I have every right to scream and curse at the people who do dumb and/or illegal things that put me in danger.

Sometimes I think it crosses the line of my actual safety, though, and I end up yelling at people for doing things that could be dangerous, or just generally being distrustful of and cranky at every driver and pedestrian on the road, because experience tells me there's a good chance they'll do something dangerous.

At the same time, screaming and cursing is not a thing I particularly enjoy doing. It feels bad to me, it feels bad to the person I'm yelling at, and it just adds to the number of people screaming and cursing around the world. I feel called to be a voice of peace, hope, revolution, and love; not another voice of anger. I bike because I love being able to transport myself wherever I want to go, without relying on fossil fuels or anything else; because it's the fastest, cheapest, and most convenient way to get around New York; because my very presence helps advocate for the right of bikers to share the roads; and because I feel good when I do. I do not bike because I enjoy angry confrontation and the constant threat of being creamed by a taxi.

So what, then? Is my choice between being angry all the time and giving up biking? I don't think it has to be. I made a conscious decision years ago that I am not going to let fear rule my life. I am a firm believer in the basic goodness of people — they just do dumb things sometimes.

Honestly, the streets of New York are no picnic for anyone. Driving is insane (but you're encased in steel), walking you're frustrated at slow folks on the sidewalk and in constant danger of getting hit by something (but there's safety in numbers), and even cabs are both expensive and terrifying. The big reason biking is unique is there are so few cyclists — no one expects you, even in the bike lane.

I guess I can try to focus on that. People cut me off because they're just as stressed out by the situation as I am, not because they necessarily are trying to hurt me or inconvenience me or insist that I have no right to be on the road.

Or, you know, I can always just imagine myself in a preacher collar or a habit and remember to act appropriately!

"These are the scriptures of today..."

Today was supposed to be a cleaning day. I was not particularly excited about that. I was bored and frustrated and kind of lonely, and the last thing I wanted to do was scrape burned food off my stove.

So I dragged my unenthusiastic self outside to get more vinegar, and for some reason I brought my camera with me. At 3rd Ave., there was some kind of parade going on. Yeah, it's New York in June, we have a lot of parades. On my way back, I slowed down to watch a bunch of girls (most of them 11–14 or so) with red and white pompoms.

What were they cheering? It took me a second to figure it out.
"Je-sus! Je-sus! Je-sus!"

Turns out it was something like the festival of los niños evangélicos—every group in the parade was a local church youth group! There was even a float reenacting Samson's destruction of the temple in Judges 16, complete with a small boy in padded muscles and a long wig :-) It amazes me what ridiculous things we do in the name of Christianity. Though, I mean, a lot of times they're pretty fun.

Later on I was trying to make my Saturday night alone a little less depressing, and I headed down to the Village to check out a vegetarian café I hadn't been to yet. I got there and realized I had no cash, so I figured I might as well trek over to my bank several blocks away.

On my way back, I noticed a pair of fabulous gay boys going my way, using their giant umbrellas as canes. (The strutting kind, not the old-lady kind!) They came up next to me and said, "We love your calf tattoos. We've been noticing them and just had to tell you that." So we started chatting as we walked along together, and it came up (quickly) that the text on my tattoos is from Micah, and that I'm in seminary, planning to be a minister. They were really fascinated, which I'm sort of coming to expect. (I guess I don't really look like your stereotypical minister...!)

As we walked the several blocks together, we had something of a whirlwind theological discussion; one of them uses theater in his therapeutic work, and we agreed that might be profoundly spiritual; they asked me about new images of God, incorporating all this artistic work and queer theory and feminist theology—and of course I'm no closer to settling on one image of God than I was before I started this journey—so I told them about some of the reading I'm doing now (particularly Ivone Gebara and Marcella Althaus-Reid), exploring the concept of the Trinity as a metaphor for community and relationship. We have this beautiful image of 3 beings who are different and yet the same, separate and yet part of the same essential Oneness, and it's high time we recognized that. Even our traditional imagery tells us we need to connect to one another in fluid, dynamic, tri-fold ways, yet we insist on walling ourselves off, whether individually or in couples. Neither one will let us form the kind of communities we need to thrive as spiritual beings.

And then we went our separate ways. Though not before one of them (John) declared his undying love for me, and we had a nice hug on the corner of 8th Ave.

Several hours later, I've walked myself all over SoHo and the Village and I'm worn out. I shuffled into a subway station I'd never been in, and there was a guy playing guitar. I sat down near him, halfway listening, and part of the chorus was "These are the scriptures of today..." but I was too tired to follow the rest of what he was saying. As my train pulled in, I stood up and dropped a dollar in his case, thanking him. He said, "God bless," and I looked up. His t-shirt had a fancy cross design made out of a ton of rhinestones. I smiled, snapped his picture with the little film camera I had on me, and ran to catch my train. I should go back and see if I can find him with my nice camera, when I'm awake.

---

So. Here I am, and here you are, a meeting in this wilderness of the internet.

I've just finished my first year of seminary, and I'm pursuing ordination in the Presbyterian Church, USA. This blog will be, at best, a place for me to share the loads of thoughts, questions, and theological AHA!s; and for you, my dear audience, to walk with me along this undoubtedly rocky and amazing path. I am certainly not what most people expect from a minister, at first glance, but I do have a deep love for this thing we call God, the Divine, the Spirit, and an incredible desire to discover God in the places and people where no one expects God to be. But I know God's there, I've had enough surprise God-sightings to know that I should never stop looking.

Also, I bike. Creation is an amazing thing, and we're a part of it. When we destroy it, we destroy ourselves, we destroy parts of the body of God. Let's start paying attention.