So much that passes for spirituality is dissociated from ordinary life. I have no idea where to lay the blame for this, but it's clear to me that many people believe that Christianity is in this dissociated camp. Call it dualism; that's the correct word for it. On one hand is the world, on the other hand is God, to be utterly simplistic about it, and you cannot have one without giving up the other. That's dualism. Hymns known from childhood either made this split or communicated the faith in ambiguous ways that seemed to separate it from daily life.

"I'm but a stranger here, heaven is my home."

"What is the world to me? A vain and vaunted pleasure."

I understand the intent of such hymnody to turn us from distorted passions, fleeting emotions and overconfidence in worldly matters. The net result, however, may be to make us think "God's in his heaven" and all's wrong with the world.

There is an alternative: to see the holy in the ordinary, the transcendent in the momentary, vast infinity within the confines of place. In the Christian tradition this is sometimes called "seeing the cosmic Christ," and its biblical roots are in the two letters, attributed to Paul, of Colossians and Ephesians. When I was younger and even today, I find these letters not only comforting, but also incisive and even thrilling. The idea came through loud and clear in the early church, particularly in the writings of St. Irenaeus of Lyons, second century divine of the church in Gaul (France). The face of Christ is everywhere; the offbeat Gospel of Thomas knew this when it has Christ say, "Split wood and I am there. Lift the rock and you will find me."

Where does this ring true for me? The specific bears the universal. I've written about the spiritual aspects of baking and calligraphy. Every craftsman experiences the spiritual aspect of her craft. Experiences with birding over the years have given me the same feeling. Today I'm thinking of cycling about which I've also written a number of columns. Here's a great quote from Anglo-Irish writer Iris Murdoch:

"The bicycle is the most civilized conveyance known to man. Other forms of transport grow daily more nightmarish. Only the bicycle remains pure in heart."

Pure in heart? Isn't that from Jesus' Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5-7)? Of course it is, and Iris Murdoch had a twinkle in her eye when she wrote that. Jesus' saying is, "Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God." Is Murdoch saying that we will see God when we cycle? We can't be sure, but that seems to be the most likely meaning. The bicycle will, so to speak, transport us to where we can see God. It's about the wind, freedom, connection to earth, and human-friendly speed. Cars and trucks are conveyances: they get you where you have to go, they hold your gear when you work, they can be filled with stuff you haul, so on and so forth. But with singular exceptions that have to do with the beauty of design or the dance of driving, they're, well, pedestrian. The exquisite design of the bicycle, the simple perfection of the diamond frame, the extraordinary engineering of an internal or derailleur gearing system: these things thrill the soul as well as satisfy the body.

Notice that the human dimension is precisely the dimension in which you discover the divine. So it is that all the little things of human life can bear the Presence of God to us. That's the secret to the cosmic Christ.

Fr. Gabriel Rochelle is pastor of St. Anthony of the Desert Orthodox Mission, Las Cruces, and an avid cyclist. The church web site is http://www.stanthonylc.org.

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Paths of the Spirit: An old theme that never seems to grow old