95 miles today. Behind us now are the Cascades and the Rocky Mountains; Tim Shenk was almost clipped by some motorcyclists on his downhill crash and Kendra careened into the side of the car that the Mayor of Lander, Wyoming was driving. Seven of eight bikers have taken some sort of spill – we refer to them, reverently, as ‘wipe-outs.’ We’ve outsmarted black bear, coyotes, rattlesnakes – in some ways it feels like it’s us against the elements – the world. Some days I surmise that the Anabaptists would be proud. And at other times I realize that the hardest parts are yet to come. Because we’re doing community – we’re doing life together – we’re doing church.

A couple of days ago, we decided to take a short cut. We exchanged two fifty mile days on pavement for one sixty mile day – two-thirds of it on “unpaved highway.” In Eastern Wyoming, amidst the spectacular mess of the Grand Tetons (part of the Rockies) “unpaved” means sandy, rocky, dirt. We came into the day with three “wipe-outs.” We left, looking back on the Rocky Mountains later that day, with nine.

We learned a lot about balance and bike control that day and we learned a lot about what it means to commit to something. Picture it with us. It’s nine-thirty in the morning. We’ve biked the twenty miles of pavement that ends in a sandy trail leading, apparently, further into the middle of somewhere. Two miles later – tire marks zig-zagging across the impossible road – we come to a junction. “Big Sandy,” still unclear in our minds as either an elusive woman walking the sandy hills of Teton County or the next town where we could, presumably, quench our thirsts, was supposed to have come by now. A decision was unavoidable. I remembered my baptism and said, “I commit to journeying on this road together with this community no matter how rough the terrain and no matter how unexpected the turns.” With consensus, we shifted to our lowest gears and headed for the hills. I took my spill cutting off the road for a “sand is always firmer on the other path” move and couldn’t handle the deep, loose sand in between. When I pulled the bike off of me

there were three people there wanting to help – we had committed to riding this road together. It’s 1:00, we’re surrounded by beautiful mountain scenery, but it’s blistering hot and the terrain is hilly – some of us are whiny. Did we really commit to this? What does commitment mean when we can’t go on – physically, mentally, emotionally? Did they really commit to this? What does commitment mean if he can’t do his part – if she can’t carry her load? Tonight we will remember these thoughts on commitment and discuss them in the context of church – do we want to commit? Are we ready for such a challenge? Could we imagine not committing?

We find a campsite in the Shoshone National Forest near Lander, Wyoming. Bear country. And thunderstorm country apparently. Nine in the evening and we cancel our sharing time and run for our tents. We console and chide one another in our enthusiastic affections and fears of lightening storms. It is suggested that this is like war – we don’t know where the next strike will hit. Are we safe? When will the storm/the war be over? When can we relax? We wake up for our rest-day breakfast free of lightening burns and bear claw marks. Sarah thanks God audibly; we all breath a silent sigh of relief. We’ve been camping many times; we aren’t scared of fire or teeth. But we’re scared of war – at least theoretically – and, since it is brought up in community, we all have to imagine it – if only for a moment and if only in the form of a relatively safe rural,Wyoming thunderstorm. We are thinking of the Middle East.

So there’s baptism, war, cars, commitment, intense heat, sharing, complaints, thunderstorms, rest, scenery and fear. And left unsaid are the shared moments of vulnerability, smores, concern, accountability, questioning, affirmation, disbelief, dishonesty, trust, hope, truth, humility, exhaustion, routine and chaos. We are doing community; we are doing life together; we are doing church. We truly are. The hardest and most real church many of us have ever done.

Keep praying for us – we’ve felt God’s power here, both physically (and on the road) and otherwise (in conversation, questioning, etc.) Thank you all for your support.

Posted by Tim Showalter

This entry was posted on Thursday, July 27th, 2006 at 6:59 pm and is filed under Trip06. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.