soulwerker

Yesterday’s ride from Baraboo to Richland Center was only 45.1 miles. It took us about six hours to make the trip — with much less speed than our desired average of twelve miles per hour. In our defense, I will simply say we were spending lots of time climbing hills — at speeds barely approaching four miles per hour.  The good news about the uphill battles was the opportunity for downhill respites. One such “respite” exceeded forty miles per hour (with me doing a good bit of riding the brakes!).

We began our trip a bit earlier in the day, anticipating temperatures in the low 90’s. I’m so glad we made that decision. Climbing the last hill of the day (a hill that went on for about a mile and a half), with the sun beating on my neck and the reflective heat oozing upwards off the pavement, water was escaping through every pore of my body –even my pinkie fingers were sweating! During this climb, I was steadily slurping water from my hydration pack…even though I didn’t feel particularly thirsty.

I’d been warned about dehydration and I took those warnings seriously. Unfortunately, there are far too many places in this world where people are thirstier every day than I will probably ever be. These are places where clean, accessible water is a luxury to have and requires substantial commitment to acquire. I took sips at my leisure. Others in our world take a daily trip of miles for a commodity that is rationed in sips. This lack of clean water access is the reason part of the funds we hope to raise on the Tour will go to clean water initiatives underwritten by Episcopal Relief and Development.

As I cranked along, thinking about thirst and water, I found myself re-imagining the story of Jesus at a well in Samaria (John 4). A woman comes along in the heat of the day (probably every bit as hot has the hills of Richland County yesterday!). Jesus asks her for a drink. The two of them begin a conversation, and Jesus says, “…those who drink of the water I will give them will never be thirsty. The water that I will give will become in them a spring of water gushing up to eternal life.”  By the end of the conversation, the woman’s life is changed and a thirst she never knew she had was quenched.

In the parishes we have visited thus far, we have witnessed communities of people who have tasted this living water. They give witness to the ways in which our spiritual thirsts are quenched when we have places of worship, prayer and fellowship. They are living springs, more than willing to share the water of eternal life with their friends and neighbors. They are also aware of the necessity of reaching out to do the “practical work” of the Gospel — feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, sheltering the homeless and yes…giving water to those who are thirsty.

Yesterday’s 65.8 mile journey from St. Mark’s Episcopal Church in Beaver Dam to Trinity Episcopal Church in Baraboo took us through beautiful vistas of rolling farmland. The smell of freshly cut hay,  the sound of cattle, and the sights of farmers at work were abundant. Also abundant were long stretches of road where the only sounds I could hear were wind, birds, frogs and insects — a symphony of sounds often drowned in the 24/7 noise so much a part of my life as a city dweller. We crossed the Wisconsin River by ferry and then took on the steepest (and longest!) hill so far in the Tour as we pedaled past Devil’s Lake State Park.  The trip took seven hours (which included time for brief respites off the saddle, snacks and conversation).

Two of us pedaled the route. But we were not alone. We had three “support” people — the two person team in the “Supply and Gear” (“SAG”) vehicle and a third person in a second vehicle, which we have dubbed “the chase car” (if one considers an average speed of 12-13 mph worthy of a chase!).  These three people spent the entire day, scouting the route ahead, checking and double checking the map and marking the way for us so we didn’t lose time doing those things for ourselves.  And occasionally, when we topped a particularly challenging hill, we had a cheering section! For much of the day, though, these folks were simply sitting somewhere waiting for us to pass them so they could tavel to the next spot a mile or two down the road and wait some more. For good portions of the day, I couldn’t see them, but knowing they were nearby was reassuring  in a way I can’t quite explain.  I suspect this feeling will continue to be present for me as the Tour cranks out each mile over the remaining nine days.

For this pedaling pilgrimage, our support personnel are the “outward and visible sign” that none of us gets through this life alone.  We are dependent upon others. Family, friends, our faith community, our neighbors and our fellow workers are obviously part of our support system. But what about the vast number of people whose efforts and labors are unseen and unknown to us? The people who clean hospital floors in the middle of the night.  The migrant worker sweating in the fields during harvest time.  The truckers who haul products from one part of this country to another so we can pluck them off the shelves at our local box store.

At the risk of sounding preachy (occupational hazard!), how often do we forget we are ever surrounded and supported through this life by the One in whom we “live and move and have our being”? We may not see the Holy One. We may not hear the whispers of the Spirit. We may not feel particularly close to God’s Presence.  Yet our faith maintains we are never alone — even in times of profound loneliness. The Holy Community we Christians call “the Trinity” is (to borrow from an ancient hymn), “behind us, before us, beneath us, above us and within us”. And for this assurance, I offer a hearty (and humble), “Thanks be to God!”