soulwerker

When I was planning this ride, I included two days for simply “being still”. I figured I would need a bit of a break from the saddle, but I honestly didn’t know how much I needed a break until I got out of bed yesterday morning! Everything was sore! So what did we do on our day off? Thankfully, not much!

The big task of the day occurred early — when our host rector, The Rev. Don Fleischman, Elizabeth V. (Executive Director of the Haiti Project and one of our support drivers for the Tour and whose last name is Dutch so I can’t ever seem to spell it correctly!) and I were guests on the morning radio show at the local station in Richland Center. We talked about the ministry of St. Barnabas’, the aims of the Tour and the work of the Haiti Project. The broadcast will be available later today on the WRCO website as an MP3! There will be a link posted on the Tour de DioMil website as well.

Following the interview, we were off to a home style breakfast at a local institution, The Center Cafe and then back to St. Barnabas’, where we spent the rest of the day getting our cyberspace fix, catching up on some logistical planning for the next several days of the Tour, and generally “hanging out”. In the early afternoon, we were joined by two members of the Haiti Project Board, one of whom is a parishioner at Trinity Church, Wauwatosa. We enjoyed several hours of conversation and a number of rounds of a particular domino game called “Mexican Train”. At the end of the afternoon, one of our visitors provided much needed neck massages to the two of us who had pedaled the three days prior. What a gift! We topped off the day of respite with a Wisconsin tradition — Friday Night Fish Fry — and I even treated myself to a few hush puppies! (I figured I could spare the extra calories!).

And so, after a good night’s sleep, we are up and at ’em, waiting for today’s riders to arrive at St. Barnabas’ so we can head out to the next destination — Holy Trinity Church, Prairie du Chein. More tomorrow! Pedal on!

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!”

The first day on the Tour de DioMil (from Port Washington to Beaver Dam) could not have been a more perfect beginning to this pilgrimage!

We left our starting point around 9:30 a.m., with a total of five riders — three of whom are parishioners at St. Mark’s Episcopal Church in Beaver Dam. We had a lovely, mostly overcast, slightly cooler than usual late August day for the entire trip, which was nearly the perfect way to begin this eleven day adventure. We also had our support vehicles to scout ahead on our pre-planned route to insure we were going the right direction.  We had maps to use as reference to clarify any murkiness in those directions, and help us plan an alternative route in the event of construction detours or road closures. But we also had an additional resource on yesterday’s ride — the lived experience of the bikers from Beaver Dam whose “home turf” are the back roads of Ozaukee, Washington and Dodge Counties.

By the time we stopped for a lunch break, we had traveled a bit over twenty miles. We had stuck precisely to the route directions “as printed”. But at our lunch break one of the riders from St. Mark’s said, “If you are willing to entertain some changes to the route, I have a suggestion or two that will take put us on a much quieter, less traveled (and for bikers, safer!) road immediately and will allow us to avoid another heavily traveled road closer to Beaver Dam.”  I was all ears! So we spent about ten minutes after our lunch with maps stretched across the hood of our supply vehicle, and our guide from Beaver Dam telling us a different way — a way that couldn’t be read from our map because it was a part of his experience of actually riding on the roads we were discussing.

The rest of the afternoon was sheer pleasure! OK, to be honest a couple of the hills were rugged! But, our route changes took us through beautiful Wisonsin farmland on roads where the only “traffic” we often saw was our two support vehicles. And the other bonus for listening to our guide’s suggestions? A shorter trip — 63 miles (instead of the 70 or so miles the original route anticipated).

The first day of the Tour de DioMil reminded me again of the gift of community. Throughout the planning for this event, I have depended upon others to help me with innumerable details. Indeed, the Tour would have never begun as smoothly without all of their efforts. And yesterday, the community of riders from St. Mark’s Episcopal Church in Beaver Dam showed their fellow pedaling pilgrims the hospitality of travelers — helping those of us who were unfamiliar with the area navigate the trip more efficiently, if not effortlessly (there were those pesky hills after all!).  A map is no substiture for the wisdom of a guide!

Hmmm….maybe this is the reason Jesus didn’t say, “Read a book.” but rather, “Follow me.”

The hill, though high I covent ascend;

The difficulty will not me offend;

For I perceive the way of life lies here.

Come, pluck up heart; let’s neither faint nor fear! 

— John Bunyan, Pilgrim’s Progress

We aren’t going to the Celestial City today (with all due respect to Beaver Dam, Wisconsin!). But we are beginning our pedaling pilgrimage throughout southern Wisconsin. The supplies are stowed. The route directions have been printed. The anticipation is about to become a reality. Someone asked me yesterday, “Have you got everything together? Are you all ready?” My reply was, “I’ll know how ready I was three days into the trip! By then I will understand what we should have done better.”

But at this point, the team of folks who have worked so hard to make this day (and the ten days after) possible, have done their best to account for contingencies and plan for safety. Mr. Pilgrim in Bunyan’s classic didn’t have the benefit of my logistics team! And yet, I will say that at the end of all the dreaming, talking, planning and training, today is the day we put all of those efforts to good use, get on the bikes and ride.

Over the past ten months or so, I’ve told folks repeatedly, that the Tour is not a race. We’re not aiming to see how fast we can get from one place to another — although we do want to get to our daily destinations before dark and in time for dinner! In a culture that craves speed like a drug (and I’ll admit to always wanting to “do more, faster” myself), this ride is an opportunity to see things at a different pace, from a different angle, and hopefully, with different eyes.

I have been a priest in the Diocese of Milwaukee for over seven years. Wisconsin is where I make my home. Yet sometimes as I hurtle along the highway, intent on my to-do list, I fail to see the “beauty that surrounds me on every side”. Sometimes in the rush to meet a deadline or get on to the next thing, I have neglected to see the people in my life as the gifts from God they truly are.

The people I will meet in the parish churches along the Tour are my brothers and sisters in Christ, even though many of us have never met. My prayer is that over these next few days, I will learn much about these fellow pilgrims who follow the Way of the Cross throughout southern Wisconsin in the quiet, understated and practical ways that characterize Episcopalians. I will learn about their commitment to the Gospel and the challenges that are a part of their ministries in the places where they live out their Baptismal Covenant.

But for now, enough talking (and writing).

Time for some riding!

In about 48 hours, a few folks will gather in the parking lot of the Episcopal Church of St. Simon the Fisherman in Port Washington, Wisconsin. There will be the customary milling about while people gather. Greetings will be exchanged. Details will be discussed. Prayers will be prayed. Finally the moment will arrive when those present will sling their bodies on the back of their bikes and head out along a county road — beginning a journey that will occupy three of us for the better part of two weeks.

I dubbed this approximately 500 mile trek the Tour de DioMil, since the route will take us on a point to point journey to ten of the parishes of the Episcopal Diocese of Milwaukee, which encompasses the southern third of Wisconsin. When this (crazy?) idea first occurred to me, I simply thought of hopping on my bicycle and doing a solo trip — a combination personal endurance test/vision quest sort of thing. Then the idea of raising funds for several outreach ministries occurred to me. Then I thought it would be fun to invite others along for some (or all) of the ride. Then before long, I had dozens of folks helping with the logistics of such an undertaking: designing a basic website for the Tour (http://www.tourdediomil.weebly.com); coordinating details with each parish stop; producing a brief promotional video; arranging for a vehicle to serve as the Tour’s “SAG” (Supply and Gear) Wagon, generating announcements of all sorts to publicize the fundraising efforts, designing and procuring the “official” Tour jersey and countless other details that would have certainly escaped my attention.

I am profoundly grateful for all the people who have taken the time and energy to assist me in this undertaking. I can hardly wait to get going! Simultaneously, I want to be fully “present” to all of the ways this journey will unfold.

Since July 15, I have been on sabbatical from my work as the rector of Trinity Episcopal Church in Wauwatosa, Wisconsin. For some of this time I have been a traveler with particular destinations in mind — Ireland, the Upper Peninsula of Michigan and California (with North Carolina and Florida yet to come). I have also been a tourist, seeing the sights (and sites!) of the locales I’ve visited — from a Norman castle and Cistercian Abbey in County Wexford to the Picture Rocks of Lake Superior to the redwood groves of White Sulphur Springs and Los Altos. For the next two weeks, though, I aspire to be a pilgrim. *

I’ve narrated the route of the Tour countless times by now:  Port Washington to Beaver Dam to Baraboo to Richland Center to Prairie du Chein to Platteville to Monroe to Beloit to Kenosha and back to Port Washington. But for me, this particular trip is about more than a travelogue. Along the back roads of Wisconsin, in the company of others, I look forward to the shared community that only a shared experience can evoke. When we stop at each day’s end and share a meal with fellow Christians (of the Episcopal variety), I fully expect to meet the Risen Lord in the breaking of bread and the sharing of stories of faith. And like any pilgrim, I pray that I will learn something about God and something about myself in relationship to God in the process.

Let the pedaling…and the pilgrimage begin!

* I am grateful to The Rev. Lyndon C. Shakespeare for first sharing the differences between traveler, tourist and pilgrim in a phone conversation some years ago.

June 1: Judges 1-9

June 2: Judges 10-18

June 3: Judges 19 & Ruth

June 4: 1 Samuel 1-11;   Psalm 1-5

June 5: 1 Samuel 12-21; Psalm 6-10

June 6: 1 Samuel 22-31; Psalm 11-15

June 7: 2 Samuel 1-11;    Psalm 16-20

June 8: 2 Samuel 12-18;  Psalm 21-25

June 9: 2 Samuel 19-24;  Psalm 26-30

June 10: 1 Kings 1-7;     Psalm 31-35

June 11: 1 Kings 8-13;   Psalm 36-40

June 12: 1 Kings 14-22; Psalm 41-45

June 13: 2 Kings 1-12;   Psalm 46-50

June 14: 2 Kings 13-25; Psalm 51-55

June 15: 1 Chronicles 1-9;      Psalm 56-60

June 16: 1 Chronicles 10-18;  Psalm 61-65

June 17: 1 Chronicles 19-29;  Psalm 66-70

June 18: 2 Chronicles 1-12;  Psalm 71-75

June 19: 2 Chronicles 13-24

June 20: 2 Chronicles 25-36

June 21: Ezra

June 22: Nehemiah

June 23: Esther

June 24: Job 1-15

June 25: Job 16-31

June 26: Job 32-42

June 27: Proverbs 1-14

June 28: Proverbs 15-26

June 29: Proverbs 27-31

June 30: Ecclesiastes & Song of Solomon

May 9:     Genesis 1-9

May 10:   Genesis 10-19

May 11:    Genesis 20-26

May 12:    Genesis 27-34

May 13:    Genesis 35 -42

May 14:    Genesis 43-50

May 15:    Exodus 1-10

May 16:    Exodus 11-22

May 17:    Exodus 23-33

May 18:    Exodus 34-40

May 19:    Leviticus 1-10

May 20:    Leviticus 11-20

May 21:    Leviticus 21-27

May 22:    Numbers 1-10

May 23:    Numbers 11-21

May 24:    Numbers 22-30

May 25:    Numbers 31-36

May 26:    Deuteronomy 1-9

May 27:    Deuteronomy 10-17

May 28:    Deuteronomy 18-28

May 29:    Deuteronomy 29-34

May 30:    Joshua 1-12

May 31:    Joshua 13-24

This past Sunday, I led a group of Trinity folks through a time of reflection upon the sermon I preached at liturgy that day (to read the sermon, find the blog post from May 11 — it is printed there in its entirety.) As we discussed our varied views on the death of Osama Bin Laden, I became aware that the one thing we weren’t really doing was reflecting upon the sermon. We were certainly involved in a spirited discussion. Passions and tensions were somewhat “elevated” because we all knew there was a diversity of political opinion in the room. But it was as if the sermon couldn’t carry the weight of offering a different way of engaging the subject at hand. We were having difficulty engaging the reflection from a “Christian” perspective.

I wanted us to reflect deeply about the call to living toward our baptismal vows. I wanted us to think about how to live the Christian faith calls us to be at odds with the world (and even the country!) we occupy. And we couldn’t quite get past our discussion about U.S. foreign policy. But then, maybe we (including me!) have a better developed understanding about the latter than the former. The longer I reflect upon the Church’s role (whatever the denominational flavor) in this culture, it seems to me that, in a great many instances, we’ve allowed ourselves to become the bunker into which people flee during times of distress and the place where we can happily hide out from the parts of the world we’d rather not deal with, while simultaneously getting ourselves simultaneously injected with a spiritual booster shot of “feeling religious” — our own little spiritual “moment”, customized for our entertainment and enjoyment.

Sometimes under the rubric of tradition, we hold on to all sorts of accretions — liturgical, theological, practical and social — that have very little to do with the Risen Life of Christ. But it all makes us feel good. We are surrounded with our familiar things! Predictability is more important that passion. Getting by more important than encountering the life-shattering and life-restoring Gospel of Jesus. In some cases, I wonder if the Church has built such a secure bunker that we’ve not only managed to shut out the “scary world”…we’ve managed to fortify ourselves against the “scary Jesus” who calls us to love our enemies, refute violence and take up our cross to follow him — even to death if necessary.

From the Epistle of the Day: “You know you were ransomed from the futile ways inherited from your ancestors, not with perishable things like silver or gold, but with the precious blood of Christ…you have been born anew, not of perishable but of imperishable seed, through the living and enduring word of God.”

Last Sunday morning, gathered around our font, in a picture perfect sacramental moment, we welcomed Cora, Truman and Jack Peter into the Body of Christ. These newest Christians, with their wide eyes and unfurrowed brows, their wrinkle-free skin and open innocence — take those of us who’ve lived our share of life into a place of hopefulness and joy. We get near enough to their innocence to imagine a time when we were innocent as well.

Water gets splashed. Chrism oil gets smeared. Smiles are wide throughout the congregation. Sounds of spontaneous joy erupt all around. And we forget. We forget that the gift of new life in the waters of baptism comes at a price — a price we’d prefer not to think about. Before the water of baptism is poured out into the font, the blood of Jesus was poured out upon the cross.

Last Sunday evening, while we gathered around our televisions, a different sort of picture came into focus. We listened as we were informed of the death of a man whose diabolical scheming has haunted us for nearly ten years. Throughout these years we’ve watched him taunt us all — with his fanatical rants and weathered face, with his ever-present gauntness and his embodied hatred. We were certain we were looking into the face of evil incarnate. Thousands upon thousands have suffered immeasurably as a result of the works of his hands.

Shots were fired. Some of them found their mark. Mission accomplished. Evil thwarted. Target neutralized. Killed. Dead. One life ended. Justice served — at least, that’s we have been told. But then, almost instantaneously, we began seeing other pictures — pictures of our fellow citizens cheering, shouting, laughing…giddy with joy. Partying over the death of a man. People rapturously reveling in the bloody details of the death of someone we no longer considered human, but merely a “thing” — the very symbol of the Terror this nation’s leaders say we are at war against.

Baptized into the peaceable kingdom, Cora, Truman, Jack Peter and all of us must learn how to remember we are not defined by our nationality — rather, we are identified by a mark — the mark of the cross inscribed in our foreheads — “You are sealed with the Holy Spirit in Baptism and marked as Christ’s own forever.” Baptized into the peaceable kingdom, we are set apart — called to be different, called to make a difference, called to respect the dignity of every human being — even the human beings we believe are inhuman. Even those human beings we so readily dehumanize for our own self-interested purposes.

Let me be clear. This sermon is not a lament for Osama bin Laden. This sermon is a lament for those of us who share the Resurrection life of Christ and who sometimes lose our way. In the midst of a world of Sin and Death we can easily forget who we are and whose we are. Rather than witnessing to the gift of eternal life, we become fixated on the enactment of death — death as a means of revenge and retribution; death as a means of exerting power and control; death as a way of life, which in the end does not set us free, but only tightens the chains of our bondage.

Earlier this week, I received a letter, in which the author asked, “Where are we headed? Where is this nation headed? Where or what are our foundations?” These are heartfelt questions arising out of a moment of distress and confusion. I share some of the concerns of the author.

As I’ve thought about my own response to those questions, I’ve found myself returning, over and over again to the scriptures and what I understand to be our foundational story as followers of Jesus. If the Christian Gospel teaches us anything, it reminds us, over and over again, that God refuses to play by our rules. The Power of the Almighty will not bomb us into submission and forcibly make us love our neighbor. The God we worship is the God who shows us power, not through shock and awe, but through the awesome shock of a man bleeding and dying in apparent weakness, in a cursed fashion on a cruel cross. A Superpower has its missiles and tanks and ships and planes. God chooses the power of a Body broken and Blood poured out.

The God we claim to worship is the God who works, time and time again, through the poor and the lowly, the weak and the marginalized, the cast downs and the cast offs. The mission of the Church — the mission of each one of us as constitutive parts of the Body of Christ — isn’t to figure out how we can leverage our power as a voting block to get our will done. Our mission is to pray for God’s will. Our mission isn’t to figure out how to make everyone in this country behave in a particular way. Our mission is to figure out how we are supposed to behave.

But what good will that do, Gary? Aren’t you simply advocating for us to keep our religion separate from our lives? Absolutely not! I am challenging all of us to figure out how to embrace our story as the Baptized — the followers of the Crucified God. I pray moments like these won’t drive us to the helplessness of despair or drive us to simply fire off flurries of e-mails to our elected representatives. I pray that times like these will drive us to the Scriptures — to search the Word of God for a Word from the Lord.

And I pray that as we search those Scriptures our hearts will burn.  Burn with anger for the evil and injustice in this world. Burn with sadness for those who are caught in the crossfire and who are innocent victims. Burn with pain for our losses. Burn with compassion to be instruments of healing. Burn with fervor to share the Good News in a world filled with Bad News.  Burn with resolve to act like the people of God — people who extend hospitality to strangers, people who embrace one another in the midst of our differences, people who encourage each other in moments like these when we are simultaneously full of emotion and empty from the intensity of it all.

We are called, dear friends, not to despair, but to hope. We are called to be the witnesses to the peaceable kingdom — the kingdom where the only sword drawn is the sword of righteousness and the only power known is the power of love. We are called to be the emissaries of this new way of living. A way that is marked by the cross. A way in which the old life is drowned in baptism and we are raised to new life in Christ. A way where Death does not have the last word.  A way where Death is assassinated by the Resurrection.

To the powers of the world, our tools don’t look like much. Some words. Some water. A broken piece of bread and a sip of wine. How, for Christ’s sake, do we intend to make any difference at all in our war on the terror of Death with such wimpy weapons?

And that, sisters and brothers, is the point. God uses weakness to thwart the powerful in their tracks. God leverages our skewed ideas of justice to open our hearts to mercy. God points us toward new creation even when we are hellbent on destroying the present one. God offers us glimpses of the Good News of Resurrection, not in a gleaming, glittering other-worldly ghost of a man, but in the unassuming power of a simple meal. The gifts of God for the people of God.

Come to this Table, dear people of God, feast upon the sacrament of grace. Be reminded of the hope implanted in you at Baptism. Let the tears flow. Feel your hearts burn. Embrace each other in the bonds of fellowship. Christ, the Crucified One, Christ the Risen One is among us — and nothing — no power in this world or any other world can tear us away from his love.