Preaching and Running
All Saints Sunday on the streets of New York
Ten years ago today I ran the New York City Marathon.
It was a 20-year dream come true. I lived in New York in the late 90s, and I used to watch the Marathon every year, standing there crying, watching people push their limits and achieve their goals. ‘Someday, I’m going to do that,’ I said.
And I did.
In 2014, it was freezing. And the wind was so bad that they had to start the wheelchair race on the far side of the Verrazzano Narrows Bridge - instead of having them go over it like the runners did - for fear that people would be blown over.
It was so cold, I thought I would never feel my fingers again. My knee hurt, and I had to walk a lot towards the end. I cried a lot - half the time from pain, the other half from the pure joy and beauty of participating.
I have almost never been so happy in my life. And I have never been prouder of myself.
I wanted to do it. I thought I couldn’t do it. Then I thought I could because I wanted to do it so badly. Then it was hard. And then it was beautiful. And then I did it.
As if that were not enough, I also got to preach that day!
The New York City Marathon is the largest marathon in the world - over 50,000 runners. All the runners have to gather at the foot of the bridge, in a secure space, and wait for hours as the elite runners start, then small groups go through corrals towards the beginning. The athletes mill around for a long time, trying to relax - and in our case, trying to stay warm!
Because the Marathon is on Sunday, there is a worship service, led by all the runners who identify themselves as clergy. I was blessed to be asked to preach at that service.
The NYC Marathon is always the first Sunday in November, which is also All Saints Sunday. I preached about the swarm of runners on the streets, how they remind me of the ‘cloud of witnesses’ that we celebrate on this day - the living and the dead, the great connection between those of us running the race of life and those who have gone before us.
I preached about my great-grandfather, who had come from Italy 100 years earlier, with only $15 in his pocket and the address of a cousin in Brooklyn. How on that day, as I ran the Marathon, I would run the very streets that he walked as a brand new resident of the city, and the country. And I knew I would feel his presence - one of my own saints.
Preaching and running the Marathon were where worlds came together for me - my athletic life and my spiritual life.
Also, it occurred to me, especially on All Saints Sunday, the beauty of God’s Kingdom on Earth. The living and the dead, filling the streets together. Feeling that connection. And the glory of the promises of God.
That was some courageous feat, your marathon. Love All Saints feast, feast of so many women and men I revere and of us all.