Car Trouble

Building Bonds of Respect with Our Neighbors

I’ve recently entertained the possibility of getting rid of my car. My cherished 2013 Hyundai Elantra is getting on in years; and we’re getting to the point where I’m going to need to make some substantial and costly repairs for a vehicle that I barely use. In fact, I recently went out to my parking garage to take the car in to replace my leaking tires only to discover the engine wouldn’t turn on. Aarrgh! AAA came and informed me that the battery was dead from me rarely driving it. Besides the weekly trip back and forth to church, a big grocery run every 2-3 weeks, and the occasional trip down to the Jersey Shore, the car sits unused in the parking space for which I pay a small fortune every month. It seems ridiculous and financially irresponsible for me to try to invent occasions to drive my car just to keep it running.

So, I decided that I would let it hibernate in the garage for the time being, and I would test my ability to live car-free. After all, I could just go to the grocery store more often and purchase only what I could carry. My apartment building has a Zipcar branch, so if I want to take a trip down the shore or to the mall across the river in New Jersey, I could always rent one for the day. It would certainly be a lot cheaper than maintaining a vehicle I seldom use. And I discovered that I could easily get to church by taking the subway and then walking ten minutes from the station. Forty minutes door-to-door, only about 10 minutes longer than driving.

I’m a long-time urban dweller, so I don’t mind walking or taking public transportation. I live in Center City Philadelphia, and I already walk almost everywhere — to the doctor and the dentist, to the Gayborhood, to the gym and local restaurants. If the walk is too long, I can take the subway, the bus or an Uber. How hard could it possibly be for me to adapt? The biggest challenge is probably overcoming the programming inculcated in my youth that owning a car is simply part and parcel of being an adult. It’s also a bit of a crutch or a security blanket that’s hard to let go of, as if having a car made me more independent or self-reliant. It’s a mindset I’m working to change.

Two weeks ago, I took the plunge. On Sunday morning, I put on my clerical collar and my cassock, walked to the subway and took the train to church. Easy peasy. In the earlier days of my priesthood, I rode the subway in my cassock all the time; and I always marveled at the people who would reach out to me for a conversation, a prayer, or a blessing. I found those encounters deeply fulfilling. There’s something about a clergy person wearing the collar or cassock that alerts people in need that we’re available to them. This past Sunday, while waiting for the subway, a woman experiencing homelessness approached me, told me I was beautiful, recounted her spiritual journey, and gladly accepted my offer of a prayer and blessing. It was lovely. A woman waiting next to me on the platform then asked me for my parish’s address, because her pastor had left and she was looking for a new church. All this before I even got to church.

Once when interviewing for a new parish job, the bishop of that diocese told me that on the morning of his official visitation to a parish he would often walk in the neighborhood and ask local merchants what they thought of Father or Mother so-and-so. If people didn’t know who the local priest was, he’d be concerned, because it meant that the priest wasn’t walking around and getting to know the people who live in the parish’s neighborhood. That struck me as a little bit of a sting operation (I mean, in this secularized culture, why would we expect anyone to know or care who the local Episcopal clergy are?); but I also saw the wisdom in it. It really does seem to matter when the Church through its clergy are visible and engaged in the world where they minister. I have often noted at the protests and demonstrations I attend that people seem to be surprised and appreciative when the clergy show up to take a stand with them on an important social justice issue.

This is not an exhortation for the clergy to wear their collars or cassocks in public — although I highly commend it. Rather, it is an example of a more general conviction I have long held that putting ourselves out there, being present, being vulnerable encourages connection with others. And many of us are hungry for connection in the midst of so much isolation — in politics, on social media, in our virtual offices. If we signal to people in whatever way we can that we are available for some kind of meaningful interaction, it will be life-giving. Particularly in our current environment, which is so polarized and alienating, the ability to create moments of real connection is more urgent than ever. As a start, maybe it amounts to taking our earbuds out of our ears when we’re in public to signal that we are not try to block out the rest of the world, that engagement with others won’t be perceived as an irritant or intrusion.

If I end up getting rid of my car, it will undoubtedly feel like a sacrifice; but I’m sure I could get used to the deprivation. Maybe in the fullness of time, it will even feel like a blessing. Instead of a transitory and transactional experience of driving back and forth to church on Sunday, maybe I’ll start to feel like I kind of belong there by walking around and seeing others and being seen, in turn. Maybe, as in the photo above, it will help to create greater bonds of respect.

Abundant blessings,

Ethan Alexander+