Centerline Freedom

On most weekdays, there's very little traffic in my neighborhood at 5:30am. Still, a few early birds making their way from Point A to Point B require us to the road. The other morning, I caught a lucky break– I encountered only parked cars for a full mile on a straight stretch of one of my regular loops through Brighton and Newton– and shamelessly indulged it by running on the yellow centerline. It was a rare treat that represented a brief reprieve from the subtle biomechanical stress of running on crowned roads (imagine walking on a sideways-tilted surface for an hour, and you get the idea), a throwback to cross-country courses marked by a single line of chalk or paint meandering over hill and dale for five kilometers, and a deeper sense of having the pre-dawn darkness all to myself.

As I rolled through that swift and quiet mile, it felt strange to be away from my usual space on the side of the road. Though perhaps only an inch or two higher than the curbs, I imagined myself tracing a sharp ridgeline with an expansive view of the valleys on either side. The two lanes, despite their breadth of asphalt, seemed narrower than the thin space between them that my feet smoothly paced. Until a car appeared, I had no obligation– or desire– to choose a side, even while following that centerline as rigidly as any trail weaving through the woods where I raced in high school.

One of the things I've enjoyed about my theology studies thus far is the breadth of positions, perspectives, and approaches that my classmates have brought to our conversations, both in and out of the classroom. Particularly in a course on pastoral care and a seminar on ministry in congregations characterized by cultural and racial diversity, there could be a wealth of well-argued positions about everything from liturgical style to approaches to grief, from the role of a minister to the influence of family dynamics on a given individual's development. I regularly experienced the blessing of dialogues with students and professors in which we debated firm positions without taking sides; we could each maintain a clear direction while also acknowledging the signs and directions that we exchanged to keep one another on course.

As a new semester begins on Monday, and my early morning training runs continue– the Boston Marathon is 100 days away– I'll continue to enjoy as much centerline freedom as I can. The goals are clear, there's still much of that youthful cross-country runner in me to sustain and motivate a few months of hard work, and there are plenty of views to enjoy and appreciate as I press on towards the next finish line.