Bikes and Being

When I was very young, I had a tricycle. I don't really know if I imagine this, but I remember that this was the biggest tricycle around...bigger than any other kid's tricycle. My trike was decked out with a Tigeroo (with the furry tail attached to the back). We lived out in the country on a very busy road, so there were few places to ride. But, I remember that I loved riding that tricycle in our driveway, roaring around like a king of the concrete.

As a young adolescent, I had a two-wheeler with sissy handlebars and a gold banana seat. That was true love. Growing up in Pittsburgh, one learns quickly about hills. I used to walk up about a half mile hill (the bike had one speed - Jeff speed) just to get to this area of streets that was totally flat and I would ride around the blocks for hours. Eventually, I gave my golden stallion to my nephews. But, I never forgot that bike or the countless rides on Osage and Valleyview Drives.

I have not ridden much as an adult. Bicycle riding stopped being fun when it became exercise; it stopped being fun when the seat resembled a medieval torture device; it stopped being fun when it contorted my body into the position of a human torpedo; and it stopped being fun when maintaining a bike became as difficult as maintaining my car. All I should have to worry about is keeping air in the tires and slapping some grease on a chain occasionally -- that's it.

Walking to work today, I passed a bike that gleamed in the morning light, reminding me of my golden beauty of yore. I experienced a nostalgic pang for those days of my youth when riding my bike meant just being alone and thinking. I wasn't burning calories or fine tuning a finely crafted investment. I sat upright in comfort and weaved a path along the cracks in the asphalt under a canopy of elms and buckeye trees.

Riding my bike trained me for managing the rigors of adult life. Whether I am pushing a shopping cart, mowing the grass, or driving down a highway, I can send my mind into that time of simplicity on wheels. Maybe someday, I'll create a park with nothing but winding bike trails and no-speed bikes with sissy handlebars and banana seats for everyone. And Tigeroos, too.

Tilting Your Perspectives

I believe that we all have a muse. A sad reality of "civilized" life, however, is that few of us are ever empowered to embrace our muse and allow its fullest expression. Many people spend their entire lives with their muse locked away in a dusty attic, or secured with heavy chains in a dank basement. But, the funny thing about muses -- no matter how hard we try to suppress them, they still find little ways to make their presence known. One goal of my muse kennel is to bring together those creative forces in all of us that resist the leash and provide a space for them to play.

This week, I worked with the Director of Religious Education at our church on our intergenerational Thanksgiving service coming up in three weeks. I have known Jen for many years and consider her a dear friend. The funny thing is that we have worked together on religious education and youth events for 10 years. We have supported each other as colleagues with a common commitment and passion for Unitarian Universalist children and youth programming. But, I do not recall the two of us ever really creating anything together.

We met a couple of times over meals (muses aren't alone in needing food), hashing ideas back and forth, and generally just letting our muses romp. What a joy! A couple of times, I sat back in my chair and told her just how much fun I was having writing this service together. What happens, of course, is that the more freedom you give your muse, the more energetic it becomes. I left our last meeting buzzing with words and ideas begging to be typed into the computer. I was amazed at how just a slight change in my view of our professional relationship resulted in such a fresh approach to our artistic and spiritual expression.

I am a huge fan of paradigm shifts. But, revolution is not always the answer. We don't always need to tilt at windmills. Sometimes, all our muses ask of us is to tilt our perspectives just a little and approach projects from a different point of view.

A Pizzatorium Moment

I don't get many opportunities to wear my kilt, and I could not pass up the chance of being the only Scottish zombie at this past weekend's Pittsburgh Zombie Fest (actually one other young man also came in a kilt and I enjoyed commending him on our spanning the generations of kilt-wearers at the event). The highlight of my weekend occurred during the record-breaking zombie walk Sunday morning. I ran into a young couple dressed as Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. I was busy admiring their excellent costumes and neither of us recognized the other. But, then we realized...I am officiating at their wedding next month!

Of course, I realize the silliness of the whole thing (and I wholeheartedly support a little silliness in everyone's life). But, even in the midst of this bizarre moment among 1,000 shambling undead, entered a ministerial opportunity. A true pizzatorium moment.

I believe that our lives are vectors traveling through space and time, bent and twisted by forces known and unknown in this vast universe. Sometimes, our paths cross in more than passing ways, offering us the opportunity for deep human interactions. These amazing instances of synchronicity are the house specialty of my pizzatorium. I do not ascribe supernatural or mystical origin to these coincidental conjunctures, nor do I ignore their potential for significance.

Braaaaiiiins!

After about nine straight months, I finally took a Sunday off from church work (well, at least until 5:00 p.m., when I met with our Director of Religious Education about our upcoming intergenerational Thanksgiving service). Why am I still tired Monday morning? Because I spent much of the weekend at the Pittsburgh Zombie Fest! In the picture from the front page of this morning's Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, you can just barely see my arm holding up my shillelagh in the lower right corner.

Pittsburgh is the undisputed zombie capitol of the world. Since the filming of Night of the Living Dead back in 1968, Pittsburgh has been famous for great football, being named America's Most Livable City (twice!), and zombies. Last year, the Sunday morning Zombie Walk in 2007 attracted 894 shamblers, setting a Guinness Book of World Records mark (that was actually published in the 2008 edition). Other cities have tried to break our mark over the past year, most recently including Orlando and London. But, no one came close. Yesterday's Zombie Walk smashed our own record, attracting 1,124 of the living dead to Monroeville Mall, site of the filming of George A. Romero's Dawn of the Dead.

Aside from now being part of a world record, I am so proud of everyone involved in this event, and am delighted to call them friends. For the most part, the entire weekend was planned and executed by a dedicated group of fans (called the Lifeless on the bulletin board of The It's Alive Show broadcast locally on WBGN here in Pittsburgh). The Lifeless consist of an enormously friendly and talented group of folks who come together out of their love of horror movies. We call ourselves the Lifeless because, instead of going out on Saturday nights, we stay at home and watch The It's Alive Show. In addition, the Zombie Fest hosted a number of charity opportunities, from collecting donations to the Greater Pittsburgh Community Food Bank and Central Blood Bank (of course), a charity auction that raised over $1,000 for Komen for the Cure (breast cancer research), and a booth for the Animal Rescue League of Western Pennsylvania.

(I am just under the front of the banner with my left hand holding up the bottom right center)

At the Zombie Ball Saturday night, people from older teens to folks in their sixties came together talking and admiring their costumes. We listened to the music of the Ubangis, the Forbidden 5, the Motorpsychos, and Deathmobile, knowing that music is a universal language that speaks to all ages (even punk and metal). In fact, I would argue that "garage" sounds have a visceral appeal that can appeal to a level we all share (but that is a subject for another posting).

There are many communities that make up our lives. I think all of them have what one might call a "religious" component to them. Our church community obviously represents a gathering with a substantially religious purpose. But, I think even communities like our Lifeless serve a fundamentally religious purpose in our lives. They help bring together diverse people over areas of common interest. They help focus our energies on issues of importance while having a good time in a spirit of fellowship. They provide support for participants in times of stress and turmoil (one of the great benefits of the Internet when people are geographically dispersed). And, they offer opportunities for people to come together and express themselves openly in an atmosphere that is welcoming and respectful.

Wiener Dogs and Polka

Another favorite word of mine is "entendre." A cousin of the pun, another low brow figure of speech, the entendre relies on innuendo (yet another cool word) as a way to to express oneself in a playfully risque manner. Now, appealing to my base sense of humor, while immensely gratifying, is not enough to warrant entry in the pizzatorium. Oh, no. Pizzas are all about combinations of tastes and textures. So, the truly effective double entendre must be couched within a framework of aburdity to merit attention.

We have a radio show here in Pittsburgh every Friday on Carnegie Mellon University's station (WRCT). DJ Zombo, tends to play bizarre and silly music from all eras. A recent favorite is a song called the Wiener Dog Polka. Not only is this a "roll on the floor laughing" piece, loaded with double entendres, but it is performed by a group called Polkacide. Here is where the surreality steps up a notch.

Polkacide (the band's logo is a skull and crossed kielbasas) was originally organized to play a one-night stand for the Deaf Club in San Francisco in 1985. The Deaf Club (an actual club for deaf people) had been hiring punk bands to perform. When it was suggested that some did not want a punk band, founder Ward Abronski, along with his long term girlfriend and Polkacide's first drummer, formed a "really loud polka band" to play. When the gig was cancelled (ironically for noise abatement), Ward realized it was too good of an idea with too many great musicians, to let it die. I love synchronicity.

The challenge, of course, for a minister, especially a somewhat irreverent reverend. Is to find some "appropriate" way to insert such wonderful snippets of human creativity into a sermon. I find such reflections entertaining, as well as challenging. And, no, doing a "Humor in Religion" service doesn't count. That is low hanging fruit.

I have yet to think of a good spot for this little tidbit, yet. But, I firmly believe that every dog has its day (so to speak), so the opportunity will arise sometime. That is one way to get people to read their church newsletters.

Irreverent (but Respectful of Boundaries)

Certain words delight me. They find their way into my speech and writing, partly because they have deep meaning. But, they also usually possess something interesting as words in either a visual or auditory sense. For instance, I love the word "paradigm." Ever since I read Joel Barker's book on the subject years ago, the concept (and that silent 'g') have given me immense joy.

I was reminded of another delightful word recently. In closing an email, a friend signed off with "Yes at times irreverent, but respectful of boundaries." What an absolutely wonderful expression! Of course, now that I travel the path toward a life of ministry, the word "irreverent" has new meaning. How exactly does a minister act irreverently? Can a "reverend" be irreverent?

Well, I certainly intend to explore irreverence as a "reverend" in my ministry. For one, I strongly encourage people to challenge assumptions in their lives and to facilitate paradigm shifts. My most commonly asked question is "Why?" Why do we follow certain rules and behave in certain ways? And, please, never expect me to accept as a valid answer, "Because we have always done it that way," unless you are able to substantiate the tradition with detailed justification.

Another favorite form of irreverence is humor, particularly satire. My ministry is as informed by the "sermons" of George Carlin as it is by any theologian past or present. Humor gives us permission to lower our guard, so that we can examine ourselves safely and with an open spirit. The act of laughing relaxes our bodies and eases tensions that might make us less open to insight and sharing.

Perhaps my favorite form of irreverence is the use of popular culture as religious metaphor. I frequently infuse imagery from movies, television, and so-called "lower" art forms into my sermons. This summer, I delivered a sermon on the Gospel According to Ed Wood, and I am currently writing a paper on Themes of Religious Humanism in the films of George A. Romero. If someone had not already written them, I would have composed religious education curricula on the Simpsons, Star Trek, and Dr. Seuss.

Irreverence, however, should be wielded with a substantial degree of precision. Like any tool in the arsenal of the minister, irreverence can hammer a point home, or smash its intended target indiscriminately. Sometimes, paradigms exist for legitimate reasons. Sometimes, making light of a topic is simply not appropriate. And, sometimes, we need to appeal to a "higher" state of intellect, emotion, and being to achieve a desired affect. So, I shall strive to always maintain a healthy irreverence, while remaining mindful and respectful of boundaries.

New Orleans Trip: Afterword

The past week seemed to be immensely rewarding for each of the participants. It is hard to assess the impact one short week of effort by our little group had on this city still recovering two years later from the trauma of Katrina. In some ways, our presence alone appeared to have as significant an effect on the residents as did the weeds we pulled, the nails we hammered, or the food we sorted. And, even though we paid Hands On New Orleans for room and board for the week, we brought to the trip additional financial resources by purchasing a good deal of food, drink, and souvenirs, and through charitable donations.

For me, the experience was an interesting contrast of the close quarters and strenuous effort for six days among adults with my many past weekends spent at weekend district youth conferences. As the week progressed, we learned a good deal about each other and many friendships developed. We spent much time in the common lounge area at Hands On talking and sharing. At the same time, the living quarters presented unfamiliar challenges that created moments of modest tension. Living in bunk beds in a room with 8 to 16 people, and sleeping in the Southern heat and humidity, fosters forces that bind folks together in shared intimate exploit, but also produces strains that accentuate the differences that can separate us.





A lesson that this week strongly reinforced for me was the importance of assuming the good intention of others. Affirming and promotion the inherent worth and dignity of every person entails an appreciation of the very different personalities we all possess. When these personalities clash, we can avail ourselves of many tools to resolve conflicts and reunite in common purpose - a caring thought, humor, a gentle touch or a hug. But, most important, I believe, is the discipline of walking in another's shoes just long enough to see the world from their perspective, and hopefully understanding the influences that produced the person as they are today. Just a moment of reflection can help all of us see the basic goodness that lies in each person.

Living in a human society, our lives intersect which each other on a daily basis. At school, at work, and at church, our interactions can create moments of shared joy and wonder. But, crossing paths can also generate friction. When that happens, before we look for the hurtful cause, or the evil in another, it helps to first assume the good intention of others. Finding the good in others may also help us intensify the good within ourselves.