Motorcycle Theology

So a couple of weekends ago I spent three days traveling the perimeter of the state of Maine, inasmuch as there are actually roads on which to do so, this side of the Canadian border. My brother and I do this every year - not Maine, necessarily - but take off together on motorcycles for a couple of days; just to ride, sleep in the woods, get exposed to some beauty and weather, and more or less pretend to be rootless for a little while. Time spent on a motorcycle, particularly whole days at a time, provides a lot of opportunity for thought. And, as this has been a summer that has provided a great deal to think about in my own life and ministry, this ride was particularly 'full'. In fact, I had to confess to Michael that our Sunday morning on the road in the heart of the Maine woods had even brought with it a moment of genuine pastoral/existential crisis, which was interesting.

It went something like this: I was riding along and realized that for perhaps (though I'm not totally sure, but perhaps) for the very first time in my life I was in the act of missing church for a second consecutive week for purely recreational purposes. The weekend before had been spent camping with friends, the weekend in question I was in the middle of a ride; ignoring the fact that this, in fact, simply constituted an honest use of vacation time, in my heart at that moment I was a minister gone AWOL. For two Sundays in a row, for no other reason than to fully enjoy the glory of northern New England in late August, I was not setting foot in a church. And the problem? It was awesome.

We woke up Sunday morning in the heart of Maine, rode our motorcycles to the nearest small town to see what local flavor we could discover. We took in a leisurely breakfast at a previously unknown 'greasy spoon' called the "Bears Den". I ordered a blueberry pancake the size of a pie plate, ate in no particular hurry, laughed with my brother about the adventures of the weekend thus far, and enjoyed his company. After loosely planning a route that would take us west to the NH border and south through the Great North Woods and the White Mountains, we set out.

And there I sat, basking in the warmth of the late-summer sun, taking in the vast and breathtaking beauty of God's creation as fresh air was pressed into my face at 60mph. It was then, rounding a corner to take in yet another mountain vista, that I realized that it was Sunday and that for a second week in a row, I would not be present for church service. Suffice it to say, I was not disappointed to be where I was at that moment; I sang God's praises from the seat of my motorcycle and thanked Jesus that in the depth of His love He had created such a world as this for us to bear His image within. It was a private worship service in the cathedral of creation and I realized that, given the simple choice between this and the Sunday church gatherings that I have known all my life, this would win out every time. Hence my crisis, as a vocational minister.

It was as if it suddenly became clear to me what it was that we were "competing" against with our weekly worship gatherings. I thought of what, from an outsider, nuts-and-bolts perspective, a Sunday morning spent in church consisted of: Bad coffee, some canned greetings with a group of people you interact with for 5-10 minutes a week and probably wouldn't naturally spend much time with otherwise, a singalong, listening to a mediocre public speaker do a mediocre job addressing the deepest and most significant questions of the human experience, and an appeal for money, just so we can keep all the fun going.

And so, the million-dollar question: if a person could be fishing, or traveling, or sleeping in - or literally ANYTHING else even mildly enjoyable - why would that person opt, instead, to spend a Sunday morning in church: mine, ours, or otherwise?

Of course, I DO believe in the importance and beauty of the local church; I am, after all still a pastor. But this realization, and this question, have pressed home for me in a new way the conviction that so often the forms and functions of what passes for 'church' in our experience are simply a shadow and a farce of what Jesus intends for us to be. As awesome and life-giving and beautiful as a Sunday morning spent among the mountains may be, in the end should not the communally incarnate vision and presence of the very Spirit of God be even more compelling? Whatever it is that "church" is supposed to be, if the Gospel is true - and TANGIBLY true - as the transforming power of God's own grace in the lives of His people, should not the gatherings of these people for worship and mutual exhortation - echoes of the ongoing praise of the courts of heaven itself in all eternity - exhibit something of a beauty and Truth that simply could not be found elsewhere on earth? Should not seekers and skeptics come away from a gathering of the people of Christ with the inescapable impression that they have just witnessed something HOLY?

In the end, the trap of thinking of a worship gathering as a sort of "experience" that must out-compete other experiential options for the sake of drawing attendees is obvious: we must be talking about more than mere emotionalism, and about more than crafting a higher quality spiritual-consumer experience. But, that being said, our Sunday morning clock-punching that passes for worship, or church life, is simply insufficient. God wants to do more in, through, and with His body; of that, I am sure.

(to be continued...)