Davenport, Iowa
SKATE CHURCH
When you walk into Skate Church, you’re not just walking into
Skate Church. Housed in the same building, a former furniture
warehouse now called the Center, are a number of nonprofits. There’s Quad
City Harm Reduction, which helps people who are addicted to drugs use
them safely by giving people clean needles and Narcan. There’s a donation-
based coffee shop in the back. There’s a food pantry and thrift store. There’s
a studio where they screen films and teach hip-hop classes. The sanctuary,
which includes a low stage with a cross on top surrounded by folding chairs,
is in the middle of it all. And in the very back is an indoor skate park, which
sprawls across two floors through a maze of ramps and bowls. It’s much
larger than the pictures online would have you believe.
Pennie Kellenberger, who has been running Skate Church for twenty-
one years, knows everyone in the Center by name. And they know her;
she’s the one they go to for help. It had been raining in Davenport the past
few days before I visited, and one houseless man’s quilt had gotten wet. He
wasn’t sure how he’d be able to dry it, since this was no job for a household
dryer and it would likely need to be professionally dry cleaned, so they
brainstormed solutions. Would the church dryer be able to dry out a quilt
on site before it became irreparably mildewed? Probably not. Could they
replace the quilt with other blankets? Pennie would check her supplies.
She mentioned she’d just given away her last sleeping bag. She often gives
supplies away the same day she gets them. Demand is high, supply is low,
and the need is constant.
“Are your shoes wet?” she asked the man. He nodded.
“Take them off and dry them out,” she said. The man looked a little
unsure, as though he shouldn’t be walking around barefoot in a church, but
Pennie insisted that it would be okay, and he agreed. After all, Christian
iconography often portrays Jesus barefoot. It’d be a hell of a thing for him
to judge.
At the Center, “come as you are” is a philosophy that weaves throughout
the organization. It’s the same philosophy that led Pennie to start Skate
Church over two decades ago.
“We kind of fell into it,” she said. “We started doing skate ministry
because I was working at the church across the street and I realized that
the kids I was drawn to didn’t fit the kids inside the church. They didn’t
feel as comfortable being inside the church, so we started doing things
outside in the parking lot. They’d come with their skateboards, so we
started building ramps.”
***
“One thing skaters have in common is you can’t stop them. Persistence
is a personality trait that threads through every skater,” Pennie said.
Skaters skate in defiance of the police, of the government, and
of private property, so it only makes sense that skaters would skate in
defiance of the church too. Institutions, no matter how much power they
believe they have, cannot stop skating. They can either get on board (pun
intended) with skaters or prepare for nonstop opposition.
Skate Church is a testament to the fact that if you listen to the people
you want to serve, they’ll tell you what they need.
“When we started, there wasn’t a skate park in Davenport,” Pennie
said, although one was built about ten years after Skate Church was
established. “But my goal isn’t to build skate parks, it’s to build up people
and communities. I didn’t set out to build a really cool skate park, I set out
to build really cool people.”
I don’t believe in much, but I do believe in skating. I believe in the
wind on my face when I go down a ramp. I believe in sweat dripping down
the small of my back and pooling under my breasts. I believe in knee pads
and helmets, compression socks and freshly cleaned bearings. I believe in
doing a trick you’ve been too scared to try for months and feeling powerful
when you realize you have the skills and just needed to dispense the fear.
I believe in falling and immediately doing the trick again so I don’t give
fear time to settle in my bones. I believe there’s something about skating
that makes it feel bigger than it is, like it’s a reason to live and a metaphor
for life, like it’s a calling beyond the mortal self.
It’s enough to make me almost—almost—believe in God.
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