Hooray for domestiques

I’m afraid “bike genes” got dropped from my DNA when I was being “created.” Though I rode a trusty old Schwinn with a pert basket to the grocery store when I was a single living in southern California, don’t ask me to do that now. Zooming downhill our main road to the nearest grocery wouldn’t be a problem, but uphill with groceries? Pant, pant, no.

Yes, I do have a bike. It has “spiritual” credentials, having come from a church group’s fund-raising yard sale. In tough shape. Went to a fix-it man who did his best to make it roadworthy. It’s probably a youth bike, but it’s a good bike for me, a short (ahem) mature woman who prefers a lower center of gravity. I’m not comfortable with bikes that sit you as high as a horse. But don’t take this one to the Tour de France.

I find beyond belief the endurance of professional bikers who churn their way through the nearly 2,000 miles of the Tour de France, marking its 99^th run June 30-July 22. In our town, it would just be another small story on the sports page, except a young man from my daughter’s high school graduating class has been in the race a few times. In fact, his father was the one who pieced the puzzle of broken bones when I fell and broke my ankle a few years ago. (His dad said to me, “You schmooshed it real good.”)

Though I’m not much of a devotee of bike races, I’ve learned something of the race culture that is a powerful spiritual analogy.  In Reflecting God (Beacon Hill, 2000) by Wes Tracy, we’re told the French team has a domestique who rides in front of France’s presumed leader. The word means “servant” and that’s exactly his role. He doesn’t ride to win, but to shield the top cyclist from wind, giving him the advantageous “draft.” Mile after weary mile he chugs on, knowing the fans will cheer for someone else.  The author adds:  “The one he has enabled to win the race is crowned—and that is enough for him.” For Christians, the analogy is this: “Holy service is all about becoming a domestique for Christ and our fellow travelers” (p.158).

Yes, those who volunteer in their churches are body-life domestiques. What would we do without faithful diaper-changers in the church nursery or those who don full body armor to take the junior highers on a retreat?

But in researching last week’s column about thorns and George Matheson, I encountered someone who was a spiritual domestique in every commendable way. This great Scottish preacher (1842-1906) became blind as an adult and never married. But he was able to have a fruitful ministry because one of his sisters learned Greek, Latin, and Hebrew to help him in his theological studies. When he became a pastor, she was his faithful co-worker, helping him with calling on people and other pastoral duties. In considering her willingness to serve her brother, I recalled something I’d just read in Charles Swindoll’s book, Hope Again (p.120): “Maturity begins to grow when you can sense your concern for others outweighing your concern for yourself.” Being others-centered for the cause of Christ is the way of a spiritual domestique.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go take (pant, pant) a bike ride. Maybe around the block. Hey, it’s a start.