I woke up yesterday to a picture-perfect day. The sky was cloudless and the sun was bright. I decided to begin with a bike ride. Looks can be deceiving. After riding a mile or so, I turned back and added another layer of clothing. It was colder than I had expected. With the right clothing, my bike ride was delightful. The water in the bay was calm, creating a mirror for the shoreline and the islands. The tide was in. There were a few other bicycle riders, runners, and pedestrians alongside the bay. When I reached one end of the bay, I rode up the hill and around the point for a view of the Cascades. The mountains appeared close in the clear skies, their snow-topped beauty reminding me how lucky I am to live here. Changing direction, I rode along the high bluffs with a view of the Cherry Point Aquatic Reserve before circling back through Birch Bay State Park. The herons and seagulls wait until the tide is out to look for food along the shore, and the eagles have the shallow waters to themselves for fishing.

I ride a bike with an electric boost, so I am careful to be aware of pedestrians and those riding conventional bikes. I slow when approaching them, ring my bell if I need to get their attention, and give them space and the right of way when passing. I also make it a point to wave to everyone I see. As I rode yesterday morning, I was struck by how many people I met who didn’t wave back and who looked at me with gruff expressions. I try not to judge others. I have no way of knowing their stories. They may have good reasons for the expressions on their faces. Someone might be walking early in the morning, trying to process sad news. Maybe that person or someone they love has received a frightening medical diagnosis. Perhaps they have experienced recent grief and are walking to sort out their feelings. I don’t think I appear to be dangerous, but a woman walking alone might have been the victim of violence and is fearful of each adult male she meets. I can speculate, but there is no way I can know the stories of those people. I think of all of them as my neighbors and want to acknowledge their presence with a wave or a “good morning” greeting, but I don’t expect them to share my feelings.

After a good bike ride, I stopped at a local coffee shop. I’ve been stopping there a bit more frequently lately. Business is down for all of our local merchants. Canadians are staying on their side of the border. Crossings are down by nearly 50%, and local businesses are struggling. I don’t spend enough to make much of a difference, but I like supporting the shops in our village and getting to know more of the owners and clerks. After parking my bike, I entered the shop where a customer conversed with the barista. After a few minutes, she politely excused herself from the conversation and took my order. The switch allowed the other customer to talk to me, and after exchanging greetings and names, he had a lot to say.

While my coffee was being prepared, I learned that he tried retirement, but it didn't work for him. He returned to work, but I don’t know his current job. I did learn that his wife is retired after 20 years in the US Navy and 20 years as a professor at Western Washington University. I also know he has two children, four grandchildren, and two great-grandchildren, with one more on the way. I learned he grew up as the son of a US Army officer who taught at West Point before moving the family to Hawaii while on assignment. In Hawaii, the man met his wife and they go back to visit her family every year. I know that the pastor of his church keeps bees and that the man thinks that people today are unaware of what he sees as unmistakable signs of the end of time. I learned a few more details that I have forgotten. The point was that the man seemed to be lonely and wanted to tell me a lot. I hardly got a word in edgewise before he walked out the door. I took my coffee outside to sit quietly, looked out at the bay, and noticed that he had cornered another person in the parking lot and was talking animatedly.

When I returned my cup to the shop, the barista thanked me and said, “Thank you for rescuing me from him,” referring to the other customer. I didn’t see him as a threat, but I could understand how a young woman in her twenties could be looking for a way out of an extended conversation with an elder who seemed not to know that she had work to do other than talking to him. It is a big responsibility to open the coffee shop and serve the early customers before the other employees arrive an hour later.

As I rode my bicycle home, I reflected on the man in the coffee shop. As a minister, I have often avoided theological discussions with strangers. A topic like the vision of John in the Book of Revelations is complex, and I frequently choose to listen rather than launch into the history behind the book and how it fits into the broader pattern of Christian thinking. Unlike that person and others who share his viewpoint, I don’t go through life looking for signs of the Second Coming of Christ. I don’t interpret current affairs as the symbols in Revelation or as indications that the end of human history is at hand. I much prefer to look for signs of resurrection as I go through my days. I see the return of eagles after being threatened by pesticide use as a form of resurrection. I see the bright new day as a sign of rebirth. I see the season of spring as a reminder that death is not the end. I see the people I meet as witnesses to the strength and resilience of life.

I don’t always feel the need to speak to witness to the resurrection. Sometimes, I can make that witness by listening. Sometimes, I can listen to someone who needs to talk enough to give a young person the opportunity to do her job. Salvation takes many forms, and one lonely man isn’t enough to ruin a beautiful day.