THE BIKE RIDE

        I used to ride my bike around the countryside surrounding my hometown of Medford, NJ when I was a kid. A lot of it was made up of dairy farms, of which there are very few, if any, these days. I remember the feeling of freedom I had as I rode along some very safe back roads (which were also main roads in some cases.)

       I didn’t have a particularly fancy bike—just what was then called an “English” bike with three gears. To tell you the truth, it was enough because later in life I had a more sophisticated one with ten gears, of which I think I only basically used three. I sold it for the money I needed to contribute to the expense of going to seminary. It wasn’t a sacrifice—it made perfect sense because I never really made good use of it anyway (the bike, I mean—not seminary.)

       I suppose for most of us there are treasured moments tucked away in our memory libraries that, if we could, we would take them down off the shelf and experience them all over again. My countryside bike rides around Medford would be one of them. But, of course, I’m not a kid anymore nor is Medford the same as it was in those days.

       I will never forget one day in particular when I was riding along, and I came to a spot in the country where there was a large old dead tree standing like a skeleton of its former self in a field. That was interesting in its own right, but on each of the branches and on the ground around it was a huge flock of turkey vultures. It was like being in one of western movies I used to watch. I stopped riding and got off my bike, and took in the scene in a state of wonderment.  

       It makes me think that of all the many days of our lives, even ones that involve doing things that we’ve done dozens of times, there are certain ones that standout from all the rest because they have moved us in some way that none of the others even  came close to doing. Thus the phrase “awe-struck.” That’s exactly what it was for me that day and for many other days of my life when something out of the ordinary presented itself in an almost other-worldly way.

       What is the meaning of those moments, I wonder? Are they divine in nature or merely the result of occasional unique human experiences? I suppose, in a way, it depends on how we choose to look at them, but as far as I am concerned, whichever way we choose, they are sacred in that they touch that deeper part of us that the rest of life’s moments cannot reach. And the meaning of them is not how they change the world, but how they are capable of revealing that there is more to life than what think.

       Or perhaps, there are many others in everyday life that would also deeply touch us if we only have eyes to see and ears to hear, spiritually speaking.

Just a thought.