For my final summer living in Eugene, Oregon, I started bicycling to church. It is a great blue-collar faith community, but was seven miles away. I went to the 9am service, so it was never too hot by the time I got there. Still, my decision to do this got some attention from fellow churchgoers. Their responses were never mean or discouraging, but they were certainly varied. “Hard ride, huh?” “It isn’t that hot out there already is it? Oh, you biked, I see.” “Why in the world…” “Good for you!” “Sure you don’t want a ride next week? I have room in my truck.” “Sweating already? Worship hasn’t even started yet!” I didn’t mind it, and thankfully it wasn’t a continued point of discussion or anything. I don’t particularly hate living without a car, and this was no different.
Still, it wasn’t too long before I decided I’d much prefer to attend a church closer to home. As much as I loved that church, if I had to bike that far year-round, I’d get pretty tired of it and want to attend somewhere closer. Especially as the Pacific Northwest’s de facto weather, rain, comes back into season this fall and winter. Unfortunately there aren’t many churches that are any closer that I like. They’re too big, or I don’t agree with their theology, or they’re not missional enough, or too Pentecostal, or not Pentecostal enough, or they’re too old, or they get really weird about certain parts of the Bible. Since I knew I’d be moving soon, I easily resolved to continue biking to that church.
But all this got me thinking: the 20th-century American church has been radically changed by the tremendous convenience of the automobile.