I have a new found and a deeply profound respect for those who commute into New York City for work. Along with receiving a wonderful education into the history of Anglicanism, I've also been schooled in the hectic and exhausting activity of the daily commute. I will thankfully return to the exponentially smaller commute within the rectory next week.
The opportunity to experience another person's reality is a powerful thing. We can get so caught up in our own worlds--and the rhythms therein--that we may find it difficult to imagine what life is like for another. The past two weeks have made this abundantly clear to me. Theoretical hypothesizing is quite different from actually experiencing time, space, and, in the instance of commuting, the crush of humanity. It goes without saying that this actual change in our schedules can be uneasily disruptive.
Yet, such disruptions--within reason--can be helpful to our growth and development (and certainly for our appreciation of how life may be for others). In outdoor education, there is a wonderful phrase that seems applicable to all of life. Getting out of your comfort zone is encouraged in low and high rope course work. In the best of all possible worlds, and in a safe and protected environment, getting out of our comfort zone allows us to learn more about ourselves in ways we did not even know. My comfort zone was certainly challenged this past week.
What I learned is too long for this piece, but I can say that I have gained a critical sense to the sheer exhaustion that can come with commuting. I suppose people "get used to it" but the physical toll on this activity cannot be minimized. Conversely, I also enjoyed and was energized by seeing a wave of humanity that is amazingly diverse and unique every single morning. As one who grew up in the confines of rural Minnesota, I never quite get used to the radically complex amalgamation of human beings in New York City and on the East coast. It truly is amazing and refreshing. Lesson one attunes one to the fragility of life and the need for care. Lesson two awakens one to the mystery and wonder of life. Both found in the same commute.
Finally, I connect this commuting experience with the class I'm taking. Yesterday, we were focused on one of the dismissal phrases of worship found in the Book of Common Prayer. "Let us go forth into the world, rejoicing in the power of the Spirit," is a phrase I had not stopped to consider critically. The professor challenged the class on the implications of the phrase. Does it mean:
A. That the worship is divorced from the world? Basically, we are outside the world in worship and NOW we are heading into the REAL world.
B. That the world does not enter into the worship? Basically, what we have done is true worship in the sanctuary and it has no affect in the world to which we now go.
Clearly, neither option is satisfactory. As a tradition that is rooted in the incarnation, we seek to find ways to hold up that intersection of worship and world. They are not divorced from each other, but they are parts of each other. The world entering into our worship so that when we pray and commune, we do so rooted and grounded in reality. The worship moving out into the world, so that the world is seen as an extension of the sanctuary and that the holy is potentially found everywhere and in each moment.
While commuting is exhausting at times, I am acutely aware of how it is also a part of the world which enters into our worship, and I would hope that the awareness of the holy would impact the nature of this travel. It's not just getting to work. The travel, with the myriad others who make up this on-the-way-to-work community, can also be holy time. Time and space to reflect, time and space to read, time and space to rest, time and space to dream. Time and space where world and worship meet as they do so often in so many other parts of our life.
Blessings,
Mark
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