Pentecost on Two Wheels
Acts 2:1-21
First Reading for the Day of Pentecost (Year B)
My parents texted me a few weeks back and asked me what I wanted for my birthday. Birthday presents aren’t quite as exciting in your late 30s. My oldest son, whose birthday is just a few days before my own, asks for toys and Lego sets. Alright, in full disclosure, I have very recently asked to receive Lego sets for birthdays. But I wasn’t feeling that this year and I always ask for books. So I told them that I was trying to save up for a new bike and thus money to go towards that would be greatly appreciated.
“You don’t want your old bike?” Mom responded.
This isn’t the first time Mom has asked me if I wanted my old bike. Frankly, I wasn’t sure it was in decent shape. I probably haven’t touched the thing in over 20 years. But it wouldn’t hurt to give it a try. My dad took it for a short ride. The tires were surprisingly good, the gears were a bit of a question mark, but it was decent. I figured I’d give it a shot. Mom and Dad put it on their bike rack and drove it up here from South Carolina when they came to visit us for our May birthdays.
It’s been awhile since bike riding was a regular part of my life. When we lived in Columbia, I would ride it all around my neighborhood; pretending that I was going fast enough to travel through time like Marty McFly. When we moved to Spartanburg, we lived on a curvy and narrow street on which teenagers in pickup trucks would do their best NASCAR impersonations. Riding a bike on that road felt like courting death. So I didn’t ride my bike too much after 3rd grade; not even when, as a teenager, I got the dark granite Murray that my dad set down in our Nashville driveway.
As my folks played soccer in the yard with our boys, I lifted the kickstand and pushed off into our neighborhood. And it was like decades melted off of me. There is something about riding your bike around on a warm spring evening that feels like the entire world is pregnant with possibility. When you get a bike as a kid, it feels like everything starts to open up. You could go explore brand new places. Streets that you’d never walk to were just a few push of the pedals away. The world becomes smaller and your neighborhood gets bigger. It was like everything was starting to unfold in front of you and who knew how far you’d go.
Riding through the streets, trying to find the right gear, and feeling the warm breeze in my face felt for a moment like a kid’s freedom. The stresses of work and adulthood receded into the recesses of my mind. There was a world to explore and suddenly it felt like there was time.
I did a small loop of our neighborhood and began to make my way back. Sweat making my t-shirt stick to my back. When I got to an intersection at which crossing traffic wouldn’t stop, I did the thing I always did as a kid when I wanted to go fast. I threw all of my weight down on the pedal while simultaneously leaping off my seat. Push, leap. Push, leap. Push, leap. The bike swaying tightly like a metronome playing to the tune of renewal.
Maybe wind and fire felt like a warm breeze in the face. Today we celebrate the birth of the Church and the Holy Spirit rushing like wind to open the world up. There is something exciting about Pentecost. There is this giddy kid energy of starting something new and seeing only possibilities. It was leap of faith after leap of faith and the followers of Jesus pushed into the world in love.
It was by no means perfect. As all people do, these early Jesus followers would sometimes crash and burn. Yet even in the burn there was a fire and that passion fused with a desire to love God and neighbor did a lot of good. The Church grew. Hungry people were fed. Outcasts found community. Barriers of gender, race, and social status broke down. Hope and possibility spread through towns. The world became smaller and the neighborhood got bigger. The Church was like a kid pedaling with all her heart down the street, yelling for friends to come out and play.
On this Pentecost, may we hear those childlike shouts of joy. May we push and leap and move in time to a tune of renewal.
