Iona Pentecost Pilgrimage-The Pilgrim's Path: Its All About the Eyes
I’m well on my way and so far, all of my connections have been seamless. The seven hour flight to Iceland’s Reykjavik is a drowsy memory mixed with some knitting, a book on labyrinths and a bit of the Lord of the Rings. Customs went on a bit longer due to me forgetting to have a printed copy of our lodging on Iona. (NOTE: do bring printed copies of all reservations in your carry on bags. The hope to bring up the email accommodation confirmation on your phone at the customs desk will be thwarted.)
Departure
I’m well on my way and so far, all of my connections have been seamless. The seven hour flight to Iceland’s Reykjavik is a drowsy memory mixed with some knitting, a book on labyrinths and a bit of the Lord of the Rings. Customs went on a bit longer due to me forgetting to have a printed copy of our lodging on Iona. (NOTE: do bring printed copies of all reservations in your carry on bags. The hope to bring up the email accommodation confirmation on your phone at the customs desk will be thwarted.) I got a bit of local currently (Scotland uses the GSP) and headed outside to Stand One to board the City Center bus to Queen Street Station. While I made that connection with five minutes to spare, I fear I peeved off the driver with my large bills. Had I time to get a coffee and break a 20 note, I would have. However, making that bus so to make the 12:20 train to Oban was a priority. He grumbled at me as he handed me change and I quickly sat down, out of his rear-view mirror eyesight, wanting to blend into the fabric of the bus’ seats and Scottish people.
The quick drive into Glasgow reminds me of magic time travel. While in the industrial outskirts of the Glasgow airport, you could be almost anywhere in the modern world. Grey anonymous boxes housing industry and ribbons of smoky highway weave together to create a rather uninspiring landscape. However, soon the drab right angles begin to boast of ancient terraces and sacred spires. Downtown Glasgow rises steeply on either side of narrow streets, beauty and awe etched into the classical architecture. The bus driver tells us when to alight for Queen Street Station, and once again, I am within a 15 minute window of the train’s departure. I have time to get a latte and then its boarding time. This transition always makes me smile; people rush the platform to board this multi-coach train and Scottish brogues and humor abound. Men are calling strangers mates and clapping each other on the back, telling stories that are taller and taller tales of days gone by. All eyes seem to twinkle on this train and I caught my fair share, which always feels like a priceless gift. To me, these are souls on the lookout, and oft are the ones to ensure that me and my bags are exactly where we should be.
It’s the eyes that are important-both the lifting of our own to gaze at the green-washed landscape that whips past the train’s windows, and the willingness to meet the eyes of others. Even in this romanticized countryside, everyone has their devices at which they constantly paw, sucked into the technological, social media vortex that offers them connection with people worlds away, but stunts awareness of the soul within reach. We have all heard the saying that the “eyes are the window to the soul” but I’ve also recently come across a belief that the eyes are the icon of God. When we gaze into the eyes of another being, we discover an essence of the eternal. There is something of the Ancient of Days within the design and movement of our eyes and it is something, that when pairs of them unpresumptiously connect, we become deliverers of grace, one to another.
Oban
A fundamental way of travel for the pilgrim is to be open to engaging others. The pilgrim’s posture is one of openness and receptiveness-open to the opportunity for conversation and receptiveness to the gifts that a place or a person may give. There is nothing that is happenchance or coincidence any longer. Moments are charged with meaning; it is the pilgrim’s charge to have the ears to hear and the eyes to see these opportunities of blessing.
While on the train from Glasgow to Oban I sat near two English men with accents as thick as marmalade. Their humor and laughter filled the cabin and fellow passengers soaked up their smiles as their own. We caught eyes and I chatted with them a bit but fatique cajoled me to put my head against the window and close my eyes to sleep. However, I could hear their crowing cadances through my weariness and it warmed my soul. I felt safe and content on this train filled with such joy and laughter.
This morning in Oban, the seafood capitol of Scotland, as I awaited for a couple hours to pass before boarding the ferry to Craignure, I happened upon these same two men on a seaside sidewalk. We exchanged morning greetings and I was offered gifts of Rollos and a quirky postcard of a golden eagle. And then, in a spontaneous moment, Graham-with Spanish-soil skin and sea blue eyes, invited the three of us to get a pot of coffee together. Had I hesitated and recalled all the little souvinier shopping I wanted to accomplish, I would have quickly and graciously denied the offer. However, I decidedly chose the pilgrim's path and spoke up with a simple yes and off we were to find a place to share time and stories.
It soon became evident that these men were more than just jokes and jests. They were in Oban for an annual international gathering for AA (Alcoholics Anonymous); dinners and dancing, caring and sharing were on the agenda for their weekend retreat. Our synergy gave way to me sampling a bit of what these two are truly about and why this weekend is so meaningful to them. Over the warm steam emerging from our cups, stories were told of the Spirit and sobriety. Graham told of a bright beam of light that bore into his heart the day he was in a hospital bed-given 24 hours to live due to his system failing because of alcoholism. He was watching the news with reports of Michael Jackson just dying and in that moment, cried out to God to help save him. That light, that moment, infused him and Graham hasn’t had a drink since. Five years of sober living have given him grace and peace and a way of living that inhabits every moment and allows for a contagious abundance of joy. His eyes twinkled with mindfulness while the deep grooves in his face spoke to sorrows innumerable. His journey paralleled aspects of pilgrimage and we quickly were aware of our shared spirituality and belief in God, who guides and provides.
Dan-O, Graham’s boisterous travel companion, was full of one-liners and what between his accent and tendency towards tall tales, I didn’t know what end was up with his stories. This, however, seems to be this one’s modus operandi and it maintained the laughter throughout what would’ve been a conversation marked with goosebumps and tears. Dan-O’s story of addiction landed him as an overweight, bearded vagabond with self-defecated pants, wandering the beaches near the southern reaches of England. With a soul knowledge that he was at his lowest, darkest point in life, he waded into the sea and let out a primordial scream; this ancient cry was one of complete surrender. He stayed in the water, allowing the grace-filled waves to wash his pants, and his soul. He hasn’t had a drink in seven years.
This time together ended with three souls connected, encouraged and recreated. I could have spent those two hours shopping for material items to bring home that would have lost value over time. Instead, mindful of the way a pilgrim is encouraged to journey, I was invited to engage an even greater gift. The gift of conversation, authentic stories and friendship. And I am reminded that this sort of relational adventure needn't be reserved for overseas pilgrimage treks. There are people in my own home-city who are desperate for connection and a sense of community. If I embrace the challenge to live as a pilgrim everyday, perhaps I will be all the more willing to lift my eyes and engage those of another, and in so doing, being present to the very eyes of God.
Iona Pentecost Pilgrimage-Departure: Fire and Fear
The last load of laundry was finally folded and last minute pre-travel errands run. Whispered prayers and silent repetitons of the “do not forget list” infused rain gear, woolen layers and inspirational books as they were packed tightly away in the suitcase. Today I departed for my pilgrimage to Iona and I couldn’t be more eager to get past this stage!
The last load of laundry was finally folded and last minute pre-travel errands run. Whispered prayers and silent repetitons of the “do not forget list” infused rain gear, woolen layers and inspirational books as they were packed tightly away in the suitcase. Today I departed for my pilgrimage to Iona and I couldn’t be more eager to get past this stage!
The pilgrimage’s archetypal stage of departure is wrought with tension and conflict. While our souls are desperate for this life-giving journey, our egos are inherently set against anything that would bring about such unity and peace for ourselves. Traditionally, this struggle against Self-- to get over and through the leaving threshold-- is represented by two great sphinxes that stand guard and strike fear into whoever would dare bypass them. The only weapon that can defeat the sphinx is self-assurance and the ability to see through their fear tactics. To garner the strength to acknowledge the ruse of dares and distresses they throw at the pilgrim, is to seek strength from our Sacred Source and boldly call out to these foes that they are but a distraction from our destination.
I’ve studied pilgrimage for years and yet am always surprised at how very real and strong these archetypal stages are. The events and occurrences that lead up to the departure are absolutely hallmarked by despair, and lead one to second guess the need to go on such a soul journey. This particular pilgrimage has been no different and the sphinx have sure been doing their dandiest to scare me away from the day’s journey; it has been a nonstop onslaught of attempts to waylay and mislead me.
Beyond the leading-up weeks of fluish fevers, car problems and financial woes, we almost had a house fire last night. Seriously. To commemorate my departure-and Seattle’s brilliant May weather-we decided to grill a salmon and enjoy our family’s meal outside. I decided to leave the grill on high heat to burn off the residual fish skin following dinner…and promptly forgot about the outside oven as I packed and put the children down to bed. Late into the night, after my husband had swept the kitchen floors and laid the shaken out kitchen rugs on top of the grill, which is inches from a bakers rack containing shoes, coats and outdoor miscellany that stands against the 100 year old wooden paneling of our home (!!!!!), I smelled burning smoke through the kitchen window I just happened to open earlier in the afternoon to get a cool spring breeze through the house. I opened up the back door only to find the kitchen rugs in flame atop our gas grill! Grabbing an un-torched corner, I flung the rugs to the ground and rushed around looking for water to douse the firey inferno. The flames were inches away from our house…I still shudder to think about what would have happened if I had gone to bed at my regular bedtime, and not been awake fussing about my packing.
That incident behind me, I anxiously laughed in the faces of the sphinxes; “Oh you archetypes! Trying to get me all afraid and what not! Nope, I’m getting past you and continuing on with my soul journey!”
It was time to leave for the train, which runs just a block away from our house, to get to the airport in time to catch my flight. My husband and two of my children were home to walk me to the station. The sidewalk to the station takes us past a nuisance property where felons, prostitutes and drug addicts are want to hang out. Typically they are active in the wee hours of the morning and are rarely out and about during the bright sun-filled days. However, just as we were about to make our way to the train, a handful of these unsavory household guests gathered on the sidewalk. Their presence induces silence and fear; and as their eyes bore through my own, I desperately just wanted to turn back home and forget this whole pilgrimage affair. Strengthened by the innocence of my children, and my bold husband, we walked past these people who had become apparitions of fear itself, daring me to be strong enough to pass by them. With an exhale, I tightened my grip on the hands I love most and felt joy returning as we made our way quickly to the train.
However, the sphinxes weren’t through with me yet. It appeared they wanted to throw one more thing of fear at me to see if I truly dared pass them and engage the heart of this pilgrimage journey. We stood waiting at the street’s crosswalk-just beyond was the train station-and directly across from our little family was a man, who with one glance, made my skin crawl and move around me like a snake. His ogling eyes didn’t ask permission as they seemed to look through my clothes, his jeering toothy smile centered on my son and his lips moved with unheard incantations. I clutched my children, for in the urban wilderness, these are the types from which we are warmed to stay far away. Through pursed lips, I whispered to my husband to remember to lock all our doors and stay vigilant; indeed, I was scared! The pedestrian crossing sign changed and we embarked across the street, brushing shoulders with this man as we passed. The snakes swarmed in my stomach, but were released as soon as we made it safely to the other side of the sidewalk.
A beacon of welcome seemed to embrace my safe passage through the threshold of departure: just feet away from me was a transit sign displaying a dove, sacred symbol for the patron saint of the Holy Isle of Iona-St. Columba, for whom this particular Seattle station was named.
Coincidence? I think not. Grateful for this sign of affirmation, my heart leapt past the fear and foreboding; and eagerly boarded the train for this pilgrimage journey.
The Labyrinth: Stepping into the Sacred Path
A powerful symbol, labyrinths are usually in the form of a circle with a meandering but purposeful path, from the edge to the center and back out again, large enough to be walked into. Each labyrinth is unicursal, that is to say it has only one path (whereas a maze is multicursal-they offer a choice of paths, some with many entrances and exits), and once we choose to enter it, the path becomes a metaphor for our journey through life, sending us to the center of the labyrinth and back out to the edges via the same path. In this way, it becomes a microcosm of a pilgrimage or a sacred journey.
“The labyrinth is itself an astoundingly precise model of the spiritual understanding of the universe. Not only are the exact cosmic rhythms built into it, but as well, the other sacred measures that represent our relationship to the ‘journey back’ to our spiritual wholeness.”
labyrinth in new rainier vista, seattle, wa (USA)
Today is World Labyrinth Day! Did you even know such a day existed? Such a designation joins the ranks of days, weeks and months dedicated to a cause and a purpose. And hopefully, such an emphasis does indeed bring a broader awareness to an ancient tool that can be used to facilitate spiritual growth and awareness. World Labyrinth Day, a project of The Labyrinth Society, is a day "designated to bring people from all over the planet together in celebration of the labyrinth as a symbol of a tool and healing for peace." (The Labyrinth Society 2013 promo materials)
A powerful symbol, labyrinths are usually in the form of a circle with a meandering but purposeful path, from the edge to the center and back out again, large enough to be walked into. Each labyrinth is unicursal, that is to say it has only one path (whereas a maze is multicursal-they offer a choice of paths, some with many entrances and exits), and once we choose to enter it, the path becomes a metaphor for our journey through life, sending us to the center of the labyrinth and back out to the edges via the same path. In this way, it becomes a microcosm of a pilgrimage or a sacred journey. We journey inward to discover more of ourselves, to encounter God, and even to receive healing or answers. And like a pilgrimage, after we go, we must return back home, bringing back the "boon" and the blessings that we received at the center. The labyrinth is a spiritual tool meant to awaken us to the deep rhythm that unites us to ourselves, to our collective community on our earth and in the cosmos, and to the Divine Light that resides and calls to us from within. In choosing this ancient winding path, and surrendering to it, the soul discovers healing and wholeness.
Lauren Artress, author of (1995, The Penguin Group), writes about how this ancient symbol and method connects us to the greater community of things:
Based on the circle, the universal symbol for unity and wholeness, the labyrinth sparks the human imagination and introduces it to a kaleidoscopic patterning that builds a sense of relationship: one person to another, to another, to many people, to creation of the the whole. It enlivens the intuitive part of our nature and stirs within the human heart the longing for connectedness and the remembrance of our purpose for living.
We see this pattern repeated all around us in nature-the unfolding curls of the fern, the spider's web, galaxies spinning outwards from themselves. And when we engage this shape, with our eyes, with our fingers and with our feet, we are connecting ourselves to the Creator who manifested this sacred symbol and we come away with a sense of release, illumination, and union to God and ourselves.
While people are universally drawn to this symbol and its rich metaphors, surprise at the inevitable soul-work is a common response after participating in walking the labyrinth. I recently convened a pilgrimage retreat for a group of women in the San Jaun Islands where we walked a labyrinth to further explore the archetypal stage of transformation. Many of the participants had never walked a labyrinth before and, while curious, were doubtful they would be moved or have any kind of soulful experience whatsoever. It was a thing of divine mystery and beauty to witness the unfolding of personal discovery, even while walking the path together.
One woman expressed how she was dubious of the whole process up until reaching the labyrinth's center. However, at the moment she reached the center, which was met with surprise as the long, winding path can seem so long and delusory, she was moved to tears. Relinquishing herself to a posture of kneeling, she remained at the center for quite some time experiencing a sense of release and profound clarity. Another woman scoffed at the potential for an emotional, spiritual experience, and she too was taken off-guard by what she believed to be a very clear message from God for her life.
These women, and people around the world for ages, have expressed how empowered they feel after walking the labyrinth. This sense of union provides a grounding effect that allows the "seeker" to integrate what they experienced at the center with their exterior life, which was, in a sense, left at the threshold of the labyrinth. People desire a transformative spiritual experience that will energize their lives in such a way so to live forward in authentic, integrated ways. We want to serve the world with compassion and self-awareness, believing we were created for a unique purpose that only we can fulfill. Walking out of the labyrinth empowers the seeker to move back out into the world, renewed, inspired and directed. This is what makes the labyrinth a particularly powerful tool for transformation.
Solvitur ambulando...It is solved by walking...-St. Augustine
May this day extend an invitation to your soul--an invitation to get up and go and engage an ancient practice that facilitates relinquishment, illumination and insight. This process is a gift to our souls and to our surrounding world as it nurtures in us a call to live forward with wholeness and authenticity. May you be blessed as you step into the sacred path!
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Further resources for learning about labyrinths and discovering how you can incorporate them into your spiritual practice:
Want to find a labyrinth near you? Use the World-Wide Labyrinth Locator!
Christine Sine's Godspace blog
Cheasty Greenspace: A Place of Goodness and Grace
The detective called inquiring after whether or not we had found "anything" in the woods since the fatal shooting that occurred near Cheasty Greenspace/Mt.View on February 4, 2013. While we have certainly unearthed some curious, and somewhat disturbing, artifacts during our forest restoration work parties (lined up pairs of shoes next to an axe, dismembered dolls, rosaries, and large singular bones to name a few), no, we had not found the weapon involved in this fatal incident.
magical music restores community
The detective called inquiring after whether or not we had found "anything" in the woods since the fatal shooting that occurred near Cheasty Greenspace/Mt.View on February 4, 2013. While we have certainly unearthed some curious, and somewhat disturbing, artifacts during our forest restoration work parties (lined up pairs of shoes next to an axe, dismembered dolls, rosaries, and large singular bones to name a few), no, we had not found the weapon involved in this fatal incident. He went on to inform us that a team of officers with metal detectors and a K-9 unit would be canvassing the area the following day. Mind you, just a few months ago, there was the horrendous reality check that came along with 40 search and rescue volunteers and cadaver K-9 units looking for the remains of a young women in Cheasty/North, so I was already edgy about the resurfacing street-cred of our Rainier Valley forest. However, I don't think I was prepared for the potential emotional unraveling the impact of this dynamic in our beloved forest would have on me. You see, we have been faithfully involved in the reclamation and restoration of this urban forest for the past six years. We have hosted over 80 community work parties dedicated to the vision of reimagining this landscape as a safe and welcoming resource for our neighborhood. We have written for, and received, grants that have funded our hope to build trails within this 10 acre woods that would connect neighbors, encourage walking to public transit, and provide local access to nature. And the beauty that has resulted from this grand grassroots effort is as real and glorious as the noon-day sun!
What used to be a landscape filled with invasive plants, such as English ivy and Himalayan Blackberry, and illicit behaviors, such as prostitution rings and illegal drug trades, has been replaced with the balance that true restoration brings. Our native Northwest understory is thriving due to the absence of ivy. Children now play in the forest, and their laughter mixes with the chatter of songbirds and the cries of our resident Red Tail Hawks. The trails are a resource to neighboring youth organizations who now can bring their students into their own backyards to study, learn and just be in nature. Our neighbors, who have worked literally shoulder to shoulder for years to see the effects of this hope-filled vision, have become a networked community of friends and families. These woods have become apart of the vibrant, social fabric of our neighborhood.
And so my heart was heavy when I saw dozens of marked and unmarked police vehicles lined up against our trees. My spirit sunk when I witnessed uniformed men, shoulder to shoulder, working their way through freshly budded Indian Plum, Trillium and Sword Fern. Their presence conjured up the spirit of negativity that brooded over this place for so many years, the very spirit that we have worked so hard to drive away from this place. I felt my repose unravel and give way to the erosive work of despair and hopelessness. "You can never change these woods," the line-up of police cars seemed to sneer. "These woods will always be the cover for dark deeds! No vision for hope and help can change that!"
I awoke the next day to clouds over my head and heart, hardly able to utter a morning prayer, but with the imperative to get out of bed and prepare for our monthly work party we host. Begrudgingly, I set out shovels, buckets and First Aid kit. Grumbling, I laid out our registration table materials and sign up sheets. Demoralized, I wondered if this slow and steady, long term effort to affect change in our little corner of the world was even worth it anymore. Yup. My little pet dark cloud was beginning to rain on me.
However, contrary to Saturday's Seattle forecast (and my attitude), sun began to beam on South East Seattle and neighbors began to convene at our home to gather up tools and gloves, and log their dedicated time towards making a tangible difference. And then Ed approached, scuffed toe-shoes ambling down our sidewalk, threadbare coated-arms raised in greeting and dusty top hat ready to blow away with the wind. I presumed he was on his way past our home to visit one of our neighbors, who are involved in some unsavory practices...but he stopped. Right in front of me. And smiled. Turns out, he was here for our work party, but his car ran out of gas and stalled in the middle of the street, just up from our main trail head into the woods. Can I help, he asked? My heart softened towards Ed; of course, I can help, but give me a minute to kickstart the volunteers and get the work party going.
Lesson #1: It always amazes me what kind of help shows up in a minute. The momentary pause before immediately responding to a need that you know you can meet is almost an invitation to allow those around you to participate in an assistance that is easy to presume only you can do. All that to say, when I was able to finally direct my attention back towards Ed, Neighbor Mike had already fixed him up with a five-gallon gas container and a Seattle Parks worker was ready in the wings to tow his truck to safety. I felt a sun beam penetrate my hopeless haze. This community that has been created through a hope for the common good, without question, took care of a stranger in our midst. My heart tried to soar with the pride for my 'hood, but quite honestly, I figured I would never see Ed again and that sense of being "had" was enough to tether my fragile mood.
I followed the last volunteers up into the woods and was mentally making a game plan for the variety of ferns we would be planting (grown by spores from a forest friend), and how we would disperse the five cubic yards of mulch, when I was called out of my reverie by the beating of a drum. The repeated rhythm was coming from the trail head where we would be working for the bulk of our work party. I crested the trail into view of the forest's entrance and there was Ed, top hat and all, sitting on a stone, surrounded by a medley of musical instruments and a growing number of children. Ed smiled at me and proceeded to play music for the duration of our work party. Trombones, clarinets, bongos, tamborines, all were enlisted to lift the spirits of the volunteers and provide a special joy for the children. Oh, forgot to mention the unique detail that we were the host-site for a local preschool co-op parent group who wanted to participate in a local Earth Month volunteer opportunity. We had dozens of preschoolers running around the woods on Saturday. And it would be important to note, too, that the sun shone during our entire work party. Sunshine. Children. Music. Ed. My heart was unfettered and finally flew.
Now, some who knew of these back to back unique and unplanned occurrences probably could just attribute it to the Wheel of Fortune, for that would explain such a social spectrum in Cheasty Greenspace. However, I'm one who is always interested in the quiet cadences of God and what one would call a coincidence, I'm eager to see the synchronicity. Essentially, this means that when you really need something, and often when you really want something, it is there. Furthermore, the ancient practice of pilgrimage maintains that help, and the divine answer, are most often found in the company of a stranger. Pilgrimage is this radical practice that turns upside down the ways of the world; in each other and in the strays and strangers en route, pilgrims meet-not the paupers-but the princes. In the gestures and greetings in gravely roadside places, prayers are answered, and what you are in need of is given. In this nontraditional way of journey-living, the road taken to a better place is one where divisions are bridged: race, status, and gender are irrelevant. I would further go on to say that this mode of being also exists in Nature. For in the woods, all are recipients of the goodness and grace inherent in nature. All are apart of the greater community of things. And to a degree, all become Kings.
Lesson #2: Rough, worn edges and the grime of a harder-than-mine-life under the fingernails are trumpets heralding the presence of a stranger who has the potential to deliver great gifts, should we have the eyes to see and the ears to hear. Ed transformed my day and realigned my hope-filled vision for Cheasty Greenspace. He was a vehicle of grace to me and his music was like incense, cleansing and purifying the bullet-weary woodland air.
Following the work party, volunteers (including Ed!) gathered under the large tent we had set up in our drive way. As the expected rains began to pour down, we shared meager cookies and rich laughter together. The rains were washing away the sundry steps of the officers and were watering our newly planted ferns. And we, we were an intimate community of Kings, believing and working together, shoulder to shoulder, for a better place.
Easter: The Place of Our Resurrection
This Easter evening we resurrection-believing types are likely sitting down, basking in the power of today's symbolism, while licking the stolen-from-our-kids'-Easter-basket chocolate off our fingers and pondering what to do with all those hard boiled eggs. Our Lenten journeys over, we are quickly back to sipping on our coffees, wine or whathaveyou's, secretly grateful that that discipline practice is over and we can return back to ordinary life.
This Easter evening we resurrection-believing types are likely sitting down, basking in the power of today's symbolism, while licking the stolen-from-our-kids'-Easter-basket chocolate off our fingers and pondering what to do with all those hard boiled eggs. Our Lenten journeys over, we are quickly back to sipping on our coffees, wine or whathaveyou's, secretly grateful that that discipline practice is over and we can return back to ordinary life.
And here is where the ever ironic and paradoxical-pilgrimage ways of the Greatest Journey ever made continues to resound and clang, making that Lenten home-coming not as comfortable as we anticipated and certainly not what we thought it would seem. For the journey made by Jesus through Gethsemane to Golgotha didn't end in darkness and death. This tormented trek didn't return a man unchanged from his travails. No, this most sacred of all journeys ended in transformation, restoration and resurrection! Nothing in the universe would ever be the same again because God set out on the greatest venture ever beheld, journeying towards an end that really has only been The Beginning.
We set out on the pilgrim-path traveling towards transformation. All bets are in that indeed, this ancient mode of sacred migration will connect us to the divine and that we will return changed. And it most certainly does! For no one who has ever encountered the Holy remains the same, so how can we expect to arrive home, pull up the ottoman, pop open a beer and exhale, "Whew! Glad that is over! ...Now, what's on TV?...." Pilgrimage just doesn't work that way. For you see, from the earliest recordings in the Judeo-Christian tradition, we witness a universal life force that is always on the move. Jehovah was a pilgrim-God, always walking, always moving, always going out towards the edges of society and calling to the least of these. Author Charles Foster in A Sacred Journey (2010, Thomas Nelson), says it fantastically, "[God traveled] in a box slung over the shoulders of refugees and worshipped in a tent."
Pilgrimage is wandering after this nomad-loving God and seeking after a divine-kingdom whose powers are established on the periphery. And if we take up our cross and follow Him to these places, how can we expect to return home, content to put our walking stick in the closet and our souvenirs on the mantel? We were made to walk, hence our amazingly designed bipedal bodies. When we sit for too long, bad things happen, there is really no denying it. We develop physical issues that lead to chronic pain and poor health habits. We start to engage the world through screens instead of through touch, resulting in an apathy that is hardly characteristic of Jesus' radical pilgrimage through Palestine. We get cozy and comfortable and no longer long for a quest that will transform and reform us. Content, we are happy to scroll through our iPad finding hints of God's presence there.
Understandably, our technology indeed offers new and unique ways of engaging the world, and yes, even bearing witness to testimonies of God's presence throughout the earth. However, there is something fundamentally changed that occurs when journeying after God outside, when the created elements are participating in the blessings and bumps that are experienced on the road. In the Celtic tradition, peregrinatio (Latin for "pilgrimage") takes on a special meaning as it refers to a different kind pilgrimage. Instead of setting out to walk to a specific holy site or destination, the ancient Celtic monks would undertake a maritime excursion to find their "place of resurrection," which is a place to which God is calling the wanderer to settle, serve and await death. The boats used at the time were called coracles, which were small vessels made of animal skins stretched across a wooden frame and sealed with pitch. These early Celtic saints would set off in a coracle without oars, trusting the wind and current to guide them to arrive where they are being called to go. They would literally cast themselves adrift to sea for the love of God, following only the direction the wind would take them. In this ancient practice of peregrination, the natural world was a critical element to the journey. The wind and waves interacted with and informed the wayfaring, ever obedient to the will of God.
These journeys were acts of complete trust and faith in God, and resulted in new monastic establishments, some of which would define the Celtic Christian world (Iona and Lindisfarne being great examples). The place of resurrection was one in which absolute assurance in God would become the new normal; this certitude would become the ordinary time in which these pilgrims now lived. And death, let's say death to self, would come in the form of no more comfortable couches on which to recline until the next call came. No, the cross was borne and convenience was exchanged for connection with God through creation.
Our Lenten journey need not be over. Our Easter celebrations should not be checked off the list of this month's activities. Because we set out to experience grace in the pilgrimage conditions of Lent, we were changed. And because we are changed, so will be our home-places. These environs of patterned thoughts, behaviors and lifestyle should be affected by the grace we experienced on the road, thereby causing even these familiar modes of being to be radically impacted, so much so that home no longer looks or feels the same. So much so that we discover that we are hoping more, living more, desiring for difference more.
Our pilgrimage didn't end on Friday, nor does it conclude today in a dyed, candy coated frenzy. Today, because of the Resurrection, we are lit up with our Easter-people reality! And this awe, this grace initiates another inner prompting, to again leave behind the familiar (because indeed, it takes mere minutes for something to become familiar), to again engage the cyclical patterns of pilgrimage, and go where the Spirit now leads to continue to walk to the place of our resurrection!
Traveller's Palm
Tread in solitude your pathway, Quiet heart and undismayed. You will know things strange, mysterious, Which to you no voice has said.
Tread in solitude your pathway, Quiet heart and undismayed. You will know things strange, mysterious, Which to you no voice has said.
Wile the crowd of petty hustlers Grasps at vain and meager things, You will see a great world rising Where soft sacred music rings.
Leave the dusty road to others, Spotless keep your soul and bright, As the radiant ocean's surface When the sun is taking flight.
-from the German of V. Schoffel
Pilgrim's Path: Bringing Home the Boon
The challenge and bitter truth of coming home from a pilgrimage is that we soon learn that what is a pearl to us is mere pennies to others. How can we even begin to describe the depths to which our soul has traveled? Ultimately, it is our changed life that must tell the story of our journey; no picture slide show or souvenir will scratch the surface of the truth found at the sacred center.
It is a strange thing to come home.While yet on the journey, you cannot at all realize how strange it will be. -Selma Lagerlog (1858-1940)
We've been home now for a little while; our Easter arrived and our journey through Lenten landscapes appeared complete. With celebrations and feasts, we marked the homecoming of our pilgrimage-- grateful both for the cross and the completion of the journey it represents. But it soon became clear, perhaps a day or so into the return into the daily rhythms of the Eastertide calendar, that the time apart had changed us. The intentional space created by a journey of abstinence or abundance had not only left a mark on our lives, but elbowed out new permanent places in our spirit. So, while home once again, the hearth is not how we left it. And it will stay in a state of strangeness until we are able to assimilate our learnings and experiences into stories of transformation and actions of justice.
The one thing the pilgrim returns home with is wisdom and the responsibility to share the truth gleaned from the profound pilgrimage. The story that we bring back from our journeys is the boon. There is a universal code of sorts, which requires the pilgrim to “share whatever wisdom you’ve been blessed with on your journey with those who are about to set out on their own journey.”[i] The challenge and bitter truth of coming home from a pilgrimage is that we soon learn that what is a pearl to us is mere pennies to others. How can we even begin to describe the depths to which our soul has traveled? Ultimately, it is our changed life that must tell the story of our journey; no picture slide show or souvenir will scratch the surface of the truth found at the sacred center.
In Joseph Campbell’s popular book of essays Myths to Live By, he described something pertinent to our theme of sacred journeys: “The ultimate air of the quest if one is to return, must be neither release nor ecstasy for oneself, but the wisdom and the power to serve others.” This parallels the belief of the ancient wisdom teachers that the ultimate answer to the sorrows of the world is the boon of increased self-knowledge.[ii] Interestingly enough, this responsibility resonates with Frederick Buechner’s definition of vocation as “the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.” It seems clear that the great value of a pilgrimage is to return with a knowledge of self that will enable one to engage the world’s needs in an authentic and passionate way.
Because of the journey to the sacred center, and the perils experienced to get there, you are transformed. And because you have changed, so will your home. You have encountered the Holy-experienced God in a fresh new way-and as a result of your epiphany and your struggle, you will not relate to your world or those in it as you did before.[iii] Your challenge is to now live into the new edges of your life, inhabiting the new spaces created by pushing through the trails of your inner-soul landscape. These are the places where dynamic opportunities lay for you to share your wisdom and bring back the boon of your journey.
Reflection
Since you have been home from your Lenten journey, have you had the opportunity to share with anyone about your experiences?
Have you identified the ways in which you have changed?
What were the waymarkers that truly transformed you?
In what ways can you continue living forward out of these places of transformation?
Set up waymarks for yourself, Make yourself guideposts: Consider well the highway, The road by which you went.-Jeremiah 31:21
[i] Phil Cousineau, The Art of Pilgrimage, (Boston, MA: Conari Press, 1998), 216.
[ii] Phil Cousineau, The Art of Pilgrimage, (Boston, MA: Conari Press, 1998), 217.
[iii] Sarah York, Pilgrim Heart: The Inner Journey Home, (San Francisco: Jossey-Bass, 2001),149.
Arrival: Holy Week
The traveler has important tasks upon arriving to their final destination. Because the entire journey has been intentionally marked and prayerfully pondered, so must the arrival. This is the time to surround yourself with prayers, poems and hymns that anchor your place and provide the touchstone for this final experience.
We ride into our beloved Jerusalem, the sacred destination of our wanderings these past many weeks. Here we will shout our hopeful hosannas, weep with unexpected sorrow, and celebrate our ultimate Answer. As we look about this place of our arrival, do we feel compelled to echo the behaviors of Jesus as he walked through the expectant streets towards Calvary? What do you feel when you look across your living landscapes, when you touch your city's wealthy and impoverished walls, when you are carried away in the lofty cathedrals? Do you feel joy? Do you pray? Do you weep? Jesus, you wept for the city you loved - in your words and actions the oppressed found justice and the angry found release.... (prayer heading used on Iona)
The traveler has important tasks upon arriving to their final destination. Because the entire journey has been intentionally marked and prayerfully pondered, so must the arrival. This is the time to surround yourself with prayers, poems and hymns that anchor your place and provide the touchstone for this final experience. Phil Cousineau speaks to the essential task of "feeling the thrill of completing your pilgrimage...If we remember that the word thrill originally referred to the vibrations the arrow made when it hits the target, than the pleasure is compounded. There is joy in having arrived, moment by moment." We have come far on this Lenten pilgrimage; we have sacrificed, we have given, we have changed.
There is deep value in going through this seasonal process for what began in our winter, has now come to completion in our spring. With fresh, vibrant colors surrounding us, we too see the contexts of our lives with fresh new eyes. We hear with a new kind of clarity. With this sense of lucidity, comes both gratitude and responsibility. The appreciation for the lessons learned on the long journey translates to a new sense of obligation, a fresh response of advocacy. We have come to love more deeply in this season and like Jesus, we weep with the depth of this love for Others and we know we cannot return to pre-pilgrimage ways. We have been changed by the wintery road, and subsequently, so will be our home-lives. New growth has sprung from the soil of the sojourn. How to respond to our changedness may seem overwhelming; in these moments we must pray and pray according to the lessons learned.
Today I share with you a beautiful Holy Week prayer written by the Iona Community's Neil Paynter. These beseeching words seem a fitting response to the Lenten Labyrinth where we have seen and witnessed the pain and suffering of our deepest selves, which is the pain of so many others. May this prayer be yours today as you anchor into the ancient and present meanings of these most holy days.
Visionary God, architect of heaven and earth, unless we build in partnership with you we labor in vain
Help us work to create cities modeled more faithfully on the plan of your Kingdom -
Communities where children are respected and encouraged where young people can express themselves creatively where the experience of old people is called on where the insights and gifts of all God's people are fully realized where shared gardens and plots bloom in once derelict places where all cultures and traditions are honored and celebrated on soulful, carnival streets where gay couples can dance to the beat of their hearts homeless people are received with loving arms and open borders news vendors cry Hosanna! All are fed and loved and set free...
O God, our maker, open our eyes to new possibilities and perspectives, organizations and projects, structures and outlooks...
Help us to rebuild the walls of Jerusalem:
to break down the barriers in ourselves that prevent us from reaching out to neighbors and making peace; to rebuild communities based on understanding and justice, illuminated with the true light of Christ.
Amen
-Neil Paynter
Pilgrim's Path: Roadside blessings
That ultimate sense of wonder within the experience is what drives so many people to engage in [these] rigorous trials. Father Stephen Canny, an Irish priest who leads a parish in Santa Rosa, California, believes strongly in the effectiveness of pilgrimage. He has climbed Croagh Patrick, a popular pilgrimage site and storied mountain in Ireland, three times himself and has seen it work wonders on the devoted. "You are more alive after you have overcome something difficult," he says. "You're changed by the mountain and the fact that you have confirmed your faith. It's a remarkably effective way to answer the question, What is my purpose?"
This is the great moment, when you see, however distant, the goal of your wandering. The thing wich has been living in your imagination suddenly becomes a part of the tangible world. -Freya Stark
In a few weeks time, thousands of people from all over the world will gather outside of Boston's city-skirts. Individuals committed to a cause, a question, a challenge, with hundreds of miles of distance carried in their limbs, will congregate, and celebrate, in this community. Lithe, strong bodies will arise before the sun to lace up shoes and participate in the consummation of months-yes, even years-of training for The Boston Marathon.
While it is no Delphi, to argue that this notable race isn't a sacred shrine would be to miss the enormous effort and journey it has taken everyone to get there. The rewards of participating in this race are immediate and life-altering, as are the hours of sacrifice it took to reach the point of being able to simply look at the starting line. And while the last 26.2 miles may seem to others the beginning and end of a great race, this really is the final stage of a pilgrimage that one was called to long ago. For one doesn't enter into the rigorous training and sacrificial lifestyle of marathon-preparation without carrying a deep and heavy question about something in their life. And the pilgrim-runner inevitably carries this question or concern with them every single training mile and all the way to the starting line. The race itself sets the stage for the soul-stirring vision and provides the sacred encounter, which can replenish the runner's life.
In what feels like another life-time ago, I had the great opportunity to participate in Boston's 100th marathon. It wasn't necessarily something that I set after, per se. As it often is with the great seasons of life, it calls to and names us, even before we are significantly aware. I had started running with a bit more focus while living abroad in Sweden. After a handful of minor successes at small neighborhood races, I was encouraged (by my mother) to consider training for the Stockholm Marathon. With youth and unfettered responsibilities on my side, I was able to train and prepare well for this race. I wanted to participate in something that would give me a real, temporal perspective of the Apostle Paul's words to the church in Corinth: Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize. Everyone who competes in the games goes into strict training. They do it to get a crown that will not last, but we do it to get a crown that will last forever (I Corinthians 9:24-15). When an athlete decides to run a marathon, he or she commits to serious training. Why would it be any different with my spiritual life? I was reminded of the many stories in my faith tradition that involved transformational journeys, all of which included a road of some sorts and an encounter with the Almighty. I wanted this training to transform me. I wanted to be touched by God and be changed in return. I wanted the milage put in on the road to be full of meaning.
I crossed the Stockholm Marathon's finish line with a time that qualified me for Boston's heralded race. I shook my head in both confusion and surprise as my father this time, nodded his head emphatically: You've got to run Boston, I recall him saying, This is a chance of a lifetime! What I thought was the end of my running race, that which I imagined was the source of divine inspiration for me, turned out to be just the beginning of a greater pilgrimage towards knowing myself and subsequently, knowing God.
Drizzled, fog-filled back-country roads became my training ground. I found mountain's foothills and ran repeats up and down their curves to ready myself for notorious aspects of Boston's course. My dad would drive me 20 miles east into the North Cascade mountain range, drop me off, and meet me at home. I ran in the mornings. I ran in the afternoons. I read articles about running. I studied maps of Boston. And I dreamt of my finisher's jacket. My time, my energy, my life was focused and centered on preparing well for this event, and I believe I truly did what I could to make ready the road.
The morning of Boston's finest race had sparkled with diamond dew and turquoise skies. My strategies to gain ground had worked, my stamina was strong and I was on the clock to PR this race and qualify again for the following year. I was doing great by mile 20. The almost half mile ascent up the infamous Heartbreak Hill began. My feet kept a steady pace, my heart and spirit felt strong and determined: this is what I had trained for all those miles up and down Northwest woodland roads. I crested the mighty climb! The rest of the race was downhill; the finish line was almost palpable! Soon enough I would be drinking beers and eating an amazing pasta dinner somewhere in the city with my family-I could almost taste the joy of that delicious finish line!
But then, at the high descent point, blew a wind so strong, that even my down-hill pace was slowed and swayed by its force. And this easterly gust, being channeled by narrow streets, carried with it a chill for which I could never have prepared myself. My once wet head, a mixture of both hot sweat and hastily poured road-side water, was quickly drying and taking with it my body's crucial temperature and energy reserves. I didn't have additional layers and I was getting so cold. Soon enough, I recall not being able to feel my hands and feet; that sensation moved through my extremities as I began to navigate the tunnel my vision was presenting me. I was staggering. And suddenly, alongside me came an upholding embrace and a warm, gentle voice offered me their top long-sleeve layer and gloves. Somehow, while still running, I was helped into these items, and this loving arm stayed around my side until my vision began to steady and open up again. When I turned to thank this benevolent fellow runner, there was no one there. I mean, yes, there were thousands around me, running past me, not seeing me, but there was no one who had just just stopped and gambled away their race time on ministering to me.
Bewildered and blessed, I tried to keep running and just finish the race. My personal record was shot, as was my chance to run Boston again the following year, but I knew I still must cross the finish line. As I did, my state must've been like a siren, as medics immediately brought me to the first aid tent. I had hypothermia and had I not had these great layers and gloves, I could've been very badly off, I was told. My body lay wrapped in emergency blankets for what felt like hours processing this experience. My heart was warmed by the memory of whomever-or whatever-it was that covered and comforted me on the road. My spirit was stirred by that service; I knew that God had brought me through the race and I now began the work of pondering the wisdom of the finish line.
That ultimate sense of wonder within the experience is what drives so many people to engage in these rigorous trials. Father Stephen Canny, an Irish priest who leads a parish in Santa Rosa, California, believes strongly in the effectiveness of pilgrimage. He has climbed Croagh Patrick, a popular pilgrimage site and storied mountain in Ireland, three times himself and has seen it work wonders on the devoted. "You are more alive after you have overcome something difficult," he says. "You're changed by the mountain and the fact that you have confirmed your faith. It's a remarkably effective way to answer the question, What is my purpose?"
Tomorrow, Palm Sunday, marks the beginning of Holy Week for Christians around the world. In the accounts of the four Gospels, Jesus road into Jerusalem on the back of a donkey, whilst the gathered crowd waved the branches of palm branches and laid them on the ground before the mounted Christ. An incredible journey had brought Jesus to this point, this final stretch of dusty road. His riding into the sacred city proclaimed his purpose, and people blessed him with shouts of Hosannah. His entire life time--nay, all of time--had led him to this pivotal point in the Greatest Story ever told. He would climb the most important hill in humanity's history in the upcoming week. And it would be a heart breaking hill.
But because of this great ascent, and the cross at the crest, we have the potential of knowing our uniquely created purpose in ways that only can occur through a cosmic lens!
Reflections
This week, as we move through the last leg of our Lenten journey, reflect on these questions as a means of bringing you to your place of pilgrimage, your Easter-place:
What sacrifices have you made to get this far? What has the inward experience been for you while you have traveled the outward road?
What are your recollections of images of humbleness on your journey?
The call that has brought you thus far was the call to pay attention to the sacred source in your life. What is your response?
Labyrinth: The Darkest Wood
I need to tell my truth, my story, for another reason. Many of you today are journeying through the wilderness and traveling without the knowledge of company or solidarity. That kind of isolation can eclipse all hopes in ever leaving the labyrinth. Those of us who have gone before you would be false if we withheld the shadowy parts of our own lives. We have the power to provide community and comprehension for others when we share authentically about our own story.
“Meg suddenly finds herself alone in complete darkness. She has no idea what is happening to her. She seems to have vanished into nothingness. She is lost in a void. Then she hears Charles Wallace saying that they have had quite a trip. Calvin reappears too. Meg finds herself in a sunlit field, where everything is golden with light. There is an atmosphere of peace and joy. …They arrive on a mountain peak, from where they can see a moon of Uriel. As the sun sets, they see a faint shadow of darkness that seems to have a life of its own. The stars come out, but the dark shadow remains. Meg feels how terrible the shadow is,and is afraid." Madeline L’Engle, A Wrinkle in Time
Afraid of the dark. How many of us have known that feeling, either as a child in a dark bedroom, or running up an ink-black stairwell, always fearing that someone is coming up quickly behind you to grab at your ankles and pull. Or, even having to take the trash out on a dark night-that skip of the heart, that dread is real and rarely do we dally there. Meg’s fear in A Wrinkle of Time is one based on the immediacy and darkness of evil. But even in her quest to journey to, and confront, this ominous presence, she is brought to a place of self-knowing and light; a kind of self-knowledge to which we can only arrive when we have journeyed through alien lands.
What we call these alien lands in our life may have many names and metaphors, but common themes, however, hinge on the images of wilderness and woods, deserts and darkness. The journey through these themes is often equated to a pilgrimage. Phil Cousineau describes sojourns such as this as “a transformative journey to a sacred center full of darkness, hardships and peril.” We are brought through the wilderness-through the labyrinth, which is often the long way around-to our sacred destinations, to our places of divine answers and self-knowledge and understanding. If we are to arrive at the heart of our pilgrimage, sometimes this means we must enter that dark wood and go into that lightless labyrinth. But we mustn’t believe that we are destined to be lost there. Darkness is just part of the trip. This is the typical point of panic and precariousness. For when are we ever really encouraged to BE in the dark? You know, to be okay with it? At night there are street lights everywhere. In our homes we likely have night lights in the hallways. We are never completely in the dark. But to be well with it is to allow it to be a holy-dark and to surrender to it enables us to journey to the real light.
Dante spoke truly of this journey in the following passage from The Inferno:
Midway on our life’s journey, I found myself in dark woods, the right road lost. To tell about those woods is hard—so tangled and rough and savage that thinking of it now, I feel the old fear stirring: death is hardly more bitter. And yet, to treat the good I found there as well I’ll tell what I saw…. (Canto I)
Traveling through times of darkness will ultimately bring us to that sacred center – full of light and joy. While darkness is not the whole of the story, as pilgrimages often have vistas of beauty and happiness, it is often the part of the story left untold. Parker Palmer writes prolifically about these obscure seasons and offers a mandate that we share with others about our journeys. He wisely recognizes that in telling what we saw in our dark woods, we cross an essential threshold into a place of selfhood and regenerative new life. Furthermore, there is a sense that to tell the whole of one’s story-to illuminate one’s life journey- can actually help to keep us out of the darkness.
I need to tell my truth, my story, for another reason. Many of you today are journeying through the wilderness and traveling without the knowledge of company or solidarity. That kind of isolation can eclipse all hopes in ever leaving the labyrinth. Those of us who have gone before you would be false if we withheld the shadowy parts of our own lives. We have the power to provide community and comprehension for others when we share authentically about our own story.
The tale of my journey through barren wilderness is no more or less important than anyone else’s. Mine is simply mine, and therefore the only context from which I can speak. My dark night began when I was a university student. I was sexually assaulted by someone I knew and called a friend. The darkness of that particular night became that of an endless, starless season. I became pregnant as a result of the rape. Horrified doesn’t even begin to touch the emotional state in which this realization spun me. For so many varied and vulnerable reasons, my overwhelming shock hunkered into my deepest, softest places and alone, in quiet confusion, I made the decision to terminate the pregnancy. I soundlessly screamed against a God who could allow this to happen to me. I reticently raised my fists at systems that seemed to condone such manifestations of mysogony and misappropriations of power. I was in shock. I was in denial. I felt I like was dumped at the trailhead of a trek for which I would never in a lifetime have signed up. But like it or not, my life was taking me into the darkness of a journey that called me to wrestle with dark angels and beg me to ask this question: toward what newness is God calling me?
This assault brought me to my knees, my spirit to the ground. I felt alone and alienated in my pain, and completely unknowable in my experience. This isolation later contributed to factors that diagnosed me with clinical depression. Wise counsel helped me understand that instead of perceiving these attacks as being crushed by the enemy, I could see this rather as an invited time of being laid down on the ground, a place where it would be safe to curl up and cry, but to ultimately stand up tall again as well. I had to discover the ground of my own truth, my own nature, my own mix of darkness and light. This wilderness journey, this labyrinth, wasn’t leading me to hell, but was journeying me towards God.
Now here are where the paradoxes of our faith come into play.
Now, clearly I don’t believe that God willed and allowed me to basely suffer at the hands of that man. That happened because our world is fallen in nature. Nor do I believe that God wanted me to have an abortion and become depressed. There is deep and distracting theology around both those points; here is not the place to delve into either. However, what I do believe is that God inhabits the perilous places in our pilgrimage. The Bible often uses darkness as a metaphor for sin and the absence of God. On the other hand, there are references to darkness being a place where God dwells and seems to take comfort. In Psalm 18:11, the Psalmist describes it this way: “God makes darkness his hiding place, the covering around Him, the dark rain clouds of the sky.” The image of the Creator of the Universe shrouded in darkness with images of distended, dark rain clouds is not our normal frame of reference; the Psalmist’s perspective, though, has sufficiency and solidarity all over it. God in the dark. God living your darkness. Therefore, darkness can feel strangely nurturing, swollen with the mystery of becoming. All of life first incubates in darkness. New development follows and life begins. Darkness indeed is a necessary condition for development. Whenever a new life begins and grows, darkness is crucial to that processes. Whether it is the caterpillar and the chrysalis, the seed and the soil, the wee one in the womb, or the true self and the soul. There is always a time of waiting. In. The. Dark.
In John’s Gospel, there is a story of when Jesus tells a high ranking Pharisee named Nicodemus that in order to see the kingdom of God, he must be born again. This did not mean reentering his mother’s womb; rather, Christ was talking about a spiritual transformation. As Christians, we often just focus on the-life-everlasting after the rebirth and forget to recognize the inherent (and necessary) gestation period. Sue Monk Kidd describes this as a time of “incubating darkness.” I believe that Jesus selected this strongly feminine metaphor not just so we could grasp the power of new life but also to engage in the implications of the womb that precede every birth. If we want to enter the kingdom of God, we will have to enter a place of waiting, of darkness and of incubation. We will have to walk the wilderness. Julian of Norwich wrote that “our wounds become the womb.” This touching image points us to the awareness that transformation hinges on the ability for us to turn our wounds into a fertile place where life is birthed-the womb.
I have now been out of these dark woods for many years now. That devastating time in the desert slowly began to change to seasons of oasis; the shadowy woods became my own personal Tree of Life. I now have a loving, supportive husband and three beautiful children who daily teach me so much about life, our world and how to live well into it. And I have a life that would not be what it is had I not sojourned through that dark, wild forest. The wound of that trespass so many years ago is now the site of great life and fertility. The darkness of that decision and depression has given way to new perspectives on life and the Christ-light. My threshold for empathizing with another’s story and listening without judgement has increased in depth and breadth because of that journey. There is a great sense of light in my life these days and this certainly isn't to say that I won't once again travel in the hard, rocky places. It is simply that I have such a clearer understanding that out of death, comes life. We only know light because of the darkness. I walk in the woods now and I witness a fallen tree on the forest floor and I smile and understand a little bit more; for this wizened wood has now become a nurse log, a fertile place which will provide life, and company, for a gazillion little creatures for a long, long time.
And so today I ask this: let the Christ-life incubate within the darkness of your wilderness. Share your dark journey with a safe-someone else, for it is in sharing our story that we invite others to be light, to be grace, to be hope, and to be Christ to us; thereby bringing us out of the darkness or simply being there to illuminate it.
Labyrinth-The Lorica as Light
As we journey through life, we each come to, and through, seasons of great challenge and often despair. From the time we are children, we face the fears of monsters-real and imaginary-and the dark. We come up against the things that cause us to cringe and curl away from our castles in the air. And we are reminded that in many ways, we are very much like Max, the cajoling, contrary little boy in Maurice Sendak's story Where the Wild Things Are.
As we journey through life, we each come to, and through, seasons of great challenge and often despair. From the time we are children, we face the fears of monsters-real and imaginary-and the dark. We come up against the things that cause us to cringe and curl away from our castles in the air. And we are reminded that in many ways, we are very much like Max, the cajoling, contrary little boy in Maurice Sendak's story Where the Wild Things Are.
In this tale, through a sequence of events that tend to happen to parents of young children between the hours of 4:00-6:00pm, our protagonist, Max, finds himself sent away to his room without supper. That night, a forest grew up in his room, and an ocean roared by, and Max boarded a boat and "sailed off through night and day and in and out of weeks...to where the wild things are." These wild things "gnashed their terrible teeth and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws," but Max tamed and ruled over them, becoming their king. Ultimately, it is clear to Max that it was time to return home. He sailed back over the same vast ocean, in the same little boat, reappearing in his same childhood home...only he found that he was immeasurably changed, even as he ate his hot supper.
Our journeys will not be without trial and darkness. What we have marked as a pilgrimage will most definitely bring us to-but always through!-turbulent oceans of fear and doubt. Just this week, popular author and pilgrim, Phil Cousineau tweeted, "When you're following your passion, threshold guardians will try to hold you back. Getting past them depends on how deep your passion goes." The image of the labyrinth is an ancient symbol for the meandering path of the soul that goes from light into darkness and emerges once again into light. The soul emanates transformed. This darkness (the wilderness) is the heart of the pilgrimage and always involves an element of inner conflict or struggle. It is the time spent within the wilderness where you meet your fears and confront them-where you come up against whatever prevents you from hearing the voice of God or living a life of compassion and generosity.[i]
We may have not be sent to our room, but we have been sent on a soulful sojourn with the promise of sacred encounters along the way and a bounty beyond belief upon our homecoming. But these "threshold guardians," these wild things, will do their best to frighten and influence us away from our goal. Young Max was wise to use power to command his fears. As we progress through the pitchy places of our pilgrimage, we find St. Patrick's timely prayer, The Lorica, and use it as a lantern to light our way.
The Lorica is also known as St. Patrick's "Breastplate" Prayer. These powerful words call out to God to protect those parts of the soul and body that would be preyed upon by evil throughout the day's ventures. These words become likened to the necessary armor that guards, but they also provide guidance as one explores their private seas. Inevitably darkness and dismay will descend on your journey. It has been said that “patience, silence, trust, and faith are venerable qualities of the pilgrim, but more important is the practice of them.” Along with these virtues, this strengthening prayer becomes the light that will illuminate the darkness and reveal that which is at your sacred center. Godspeed!
The Lorica (St. Patrick's 'Breastplate' Prayer)
I bind unto myself today The strong Name of the Trinity, By invocation of the same, The Three in One and One in Three.
I bind this day to me forever. By power of faith, Christ's incarnation; His baptism in the Jordan river; His death on Cross for my salvation; His bursting from the spicèd tomb; His riding up the heavenly way; His coming at the day of doom;* I bind unto myself today.
I bind unto myself the power Of the great love of the cherubim; The sweet 'well done' in judgment hour, The service of the seraphim, Confessors' faith, Apostles' word, The Patriarchs' prayers, the Prophets' scrolls, All good deeds done unto the Lord, And purity of virgin souls.
I bind unto myself today The virtues of the starlit heaven, The glorious sun's life-giving ray, The whiteness of the moon at even, The flashing of the lightning free, The whirling wind's tempestuous shocks, The stable earth, the deep salt sea, Around the old eternal rocks.
I bind unto myself today The power of God to hold and lead, His eye to watch, His might to stay, His ear to hearken to my need. The wisdom of my God to teach, His hand to guide, His shield to ward, The word of God to give me speech, His heavenly host to be my guard.
Against the demon snares of sin, The vice that gives temptation force, The natural lusts that war within, The hostile men that mar my course; Or few or many, far or nigh, In every place and in all hours, Against their fierce hostility, I bind to me these holy powers.
Against all Satan's spells and wiles, Against false words of heresy, Against the knowledge that defiles, Against the heart's idolatry, Against the wizard's evil craft, Against the death wound and the burning, The choking wave and the poisoned shaft, Protect me, Christ, till Thy returning.
Christ be with me, Christ within me, Christ behind me, Christ before me, Christ beside me, Christ to win me, Christ to comfort and restore me. Christ beneath me, Christ above me, Christ in quiet, Christ in danger, Christ in hearts of all that love me, Christ in mouth of friend and stranger.
I bind unto myself the Name, The strong Name of the Trinity; By invocation of the same. The Three in One, and One in Three, Of Whom all nature hath creation, Eternal Father, Spirit, Word: Praise to the Lord of my salvation, Salvation is of Christ the Lord.
Sarah York, Pilgrim Heart: The Inner Journey Home, (San Francisco: Jossey-Bass, 2001),12.
Maurice Sendak, Where the Wild Things Are, (Harper Collins Publishers), Copyright 1963 by Maurice Sendak.
St. Patrick's Breastplate is traditionally attributed to Saint Patrick during his Irish ministry in the 5th century.
The Pilgrim's Path: Surprise in the Familiar
The work of bringing down heaven to earth is no easy task. And it always takes time...and a lot of it. This is the epic work of pilgrimages and journeys, deserts and dreams. There is always such fanfare and exhilaration when one picks up the walking stick and marks, and crosses into, the beginning of the journey. The vision of the destination is so clear, so lucid--it seems you could just reach across a short breadth of time and realize every desired detail. But soon you find your arm is tired from being extended for so long...for so very long.
I've been walking in our neighborhood's woods for years now. What started out as hopeful curiosity in a forest behind our house, led me down a path towards becoming a Forest Steward- trained in local flora and fauna, urban forest restoration and community activism. I wanted a trail upon which to walk my dog; I found homeless encampments. I wanted a place in which to refresh and recreate; I found prostitution base camps. I wanted a place in which to be quiet and still; I found needles and sex toys. The sacred place I wanted didn't even seem like a possibile hope; the English Ivy and Himalayan Blackberry covered the promise of this land with its dark invasiveness.
In 2007 we commenced our commitment to hosting monthly volunteer work parties for our neighborhood. We believed that the fear, filth and felonious behaviors could be combatted to reveal the great gift Earth is always offering us: LIFE! In the context of these first-Saturday-of-the-month gatherings, we began the slow, inglorious effort of hand removing the ivy and blackberry. We became master garbage collectors and bore witness to the very real social tensions of encampments being told [repeatedly] to vacate. We became versed in our City's shelter programs and at which pier personal affects can be collected. We canvassed the neighborhood looking for support and interest in changing something that was into something unimaginably better. We were committed to the long-term work of restoration and transformation. We wanted to transform this urban soil into a sanctuary.
The work of bringing down heaven to earth is no easy task. And it always takes time...and a lot of it. This is the epic work of pilgrimages and journeys, deserts and dreams. There is always such fanfare and exhilaration when one picks up the walking stick and marks, and crosses into, the beginning of the journey. The vision of the destination is so clear, so lucid--it seems you could just reach across a short breadth of time and realize every desired detail. But soon you find your arm is tired from being extended for so long...for so very long. Your hand clutches that walking stick with a deepened sense of understanding that this stick is with you to uphold and offer stability when the road gets longer, instead of shorter. For sacred destinations always require time and long processes; the meaningful meanderings are necessary to bring you to that place where you are able to see and hear with a clarity that simply doesn't exist at the beginning.
We have hosted over 75 work parties in our 10 acre parcel of urban forest in the last six years. We have painstakingly picked up invasive plants and planted more than 1500 trees and shrubs. We have written for and received grants to fund an urban forest trail system to connect neighbors and neighborhoods. I have sat in Council members chambers in City Hall sharing our story of forest transformation and restoration. The heaven that I thought was just one-shovel full away has taking me years to begin to see. I have leaned on that shovel-and on the arms and hearts of committed neighbors and friends-in fatigue and frustration, wanting so badly to be done and to realize the destination for which I had set out for...so very long ago.
I long for free social weekends and open evenings not requiring correspondance with local organizations. ...And then I have to make the choice--the choice we all have to make on our journeys. When we have been on the road for a bit of time, the enchantments and sparkles of roadside attractions become great. They call for us to stop, rest and even consider them a favored substitute over the sacred destination. We can choose this...or we can look to the "imaginative, active encounter with the place" (P. Cousineau). At this point in the journey, we must look all the harder and request for a renewed power of vision.
I went up into the woods this week and came across a beautiful, seemingly-spontaneously-built, road side alter of rock, wood and fern at the trail head into the woods. I was startled and stunned by its presence. Everything about its quiet appearance shouted reminders to me of what these woods once held. For at one time-at this very spot, I had uncovered over 200 hypodermic needles...and now there was just this free, intentional, beauty. This organic gathering was a blessed statement of how far along the journey we had come to seeing this forest as a place of community refreshment, a place of collective comfort. We certainly aren't there yet--the destination is still a long way off. But the meaning that is being collected along the whole long way is going to make this little piece of heaven one helluva place!
The Pilgrim's Path: Seeing the Sacred
As soon as you mark your journey as a pilgrimage, you are drawing a line in the sand transforming how you move through the world-how you see, hear and taste the world around you. And inevitably, because of this manner of intention-and because the Powers that Be know what you've done (that whole line in the sand act)-there will be things that go wrong...terribly wrong. That is simply the nature of the Pilgrim's Path; no longer can you just simply curse at an inconvenience or change in plans. There is Some One speaking to you now through the chaos. There is a Force that will derail all your best laid undertakings and ideals for this journey just so you will see things anew, afresh; just so you will see the Holy, the Mystery that is present.
“If the journey you have chosen is indeed a pilgrimage, a soulful journey, it will be rigorous. Ancient wisdom suggests if you aren’t trembling as you approach the sacred, it isn’t the real thing. The sacred, in its various guises as holy ground, art, or knowledge, evokes emotion and commotion.”
As soon as you mark your journey as a pilgrimage, you are drawing a line in the sand transforming how you move through the world-how you see, hear and taste the world around you. And inevitably, because of this manner of intention-and because the Powers that Be know what you've done (that whole line in the sand act)-there will be things that go wrong...terribly wrong. That is simply the nature of the Pilgrim's Path; no longer can you just simply curse at an inconvenience or change in plans. There is Some One speaking to you now through the chaos. There is a Force that will derail all your best laid undertakings and ideals for this journey just so you will see things anew, afresh; just so you will see the Holy, the Mystery that is present.
The purpose of the pilgrimage is to ultimately make life more meaningful. It is regarded as the universal quest for the self. Though the form of the path changes, one element remains the same: renewal of the soul. The essence of the sacred way is “tracing a sacred route of tests and trials, ordeals and obstacles, to arrive at a holy place and attempt to fathom the secrets of its power.”[i] The act of listening is emphasized here. The way of the pilgrim is one of an inner-quiet, an inner ear tuned to the subtle sounds of the Spirit while on the sacred road. And every road is sacred, as is every sidewalk, every aisle, every stoplight. You have chosen to listen and tosee the life that moves around and through you, no longer overlooking the beauty and the blessings that surround every minute of every day.
Once the acts of intention and attention are completed, the pilgrim is ready to cross the threshold. The threshold is more than an architectural detail; it is a mythological image that evokes the spirit of resistance we must pass through on our journey from all we’ve known to all that is unknown. It is the first step toward renewal.[ii] Once on the other side, Pilgrims move from ordinary time and space into sacred time and sacred space. In this reality, the meanings we associate with our normal everyday experiences are turned upside down. This isn't necessarily to over-spiritualize everything; I mean, you may really have run out of gas simply because YOU didn't fill up the tank. But, maybe...just maybe...you did run out of gas because that person who helped you...needed you as much as you needed them. Or maybe that call from a friend, or the bank, or the doctor, or the school, while inevitably inconveniencing you to whatever extent, is an augury- demanding that you slow, stop and SEE the Sacred that is on the move in your life.
“Pilgrim space has no regard for class, race, or social/economic standing. There are no more random run-ins with strangers; there are no more lucky or misfortunate moments. In sacred travel, every experience is uncanny; every contact attests to some greater plan.”
Every encounter, every eye contact, every handshake is now imbued with the potential and possibility for a sacred encounter--and rarely does God disappoint. The structures we use to define who we are in ordinary life become irrelevant. Pilgrim space has no regard for class, race, or social/economic standing. There are no more random run-ins with strangers; there are no more lucky or misfortunate moments. In sacred travel, every experience is uncanny; every contact attests to some greater plan. No encounter is without meaning. There are signs everywhere, if only we learn how to read them. Peculiar people turn into much-needed messengers. “From now,” advised Epictetus, “practice saying to everything that appears unpleasant: ‘you are just an appearance and by no means what you appear to be.’” Use the powers of your sacred imagination, the old Roman sage is saying. See behind the veil of things. Listen to the message that is between every spoken word, every gust of wind. Everything matters along the road, but what matters deeply is what is invisible and must be seen with the inner eye.[iii]
In August 2009 I, along with about 20 undergraduate students from Seattle Pacific University, were pledged to make pilgrimage to Iona, Scotland. We had departed from SeaTac airport with ease; the sun seemed to be shining upon us and our ventures. In fact, I rode the light rail to get to the airport and the station where I embarked, Columbia City Station, had an icon next to the station sign that, while overseen many times, I finally looked and it spoke to me: the image was that of a dove. Columbia City...Columbia...Columba...Colum Cille..."dove of the church"...and patron saint of Iona. Could an omen be any clearer? My heart was thrilled to begin this sacred journey! However, as it has to be with pilgrimages, this ecstasy was relatively short lived. For while we were to have but a brief layover in Philadelphia prior to our Transatlantic flight, we were stuck on the turmac for HOURS as Hurricane Bill raged all around us; lightning rods reaching from the dark sky and striking the black asphalt upon which our plane sat. Throughout this drenching downpour, our luggage sat, open to the skies...uncovered. When we picked up our backpacks in Glasgow, they were soaked, as were their contents. As were my meticulous memorandas for our retreat. Every paper of pre-planned retreat material? Saturated. Could I have cried tears of frustration? Sure! But I knew that there was a message for me in those great winds and in between each of those heavy drops of rain. I chose to laugh, and begin to listen.
Part of the importance of the road are the ones whom you happen upon along the way. It is critical to understand that while you may be on a personal pilgrimage, that you may be doing something ever-so-unique-to-you-alone during Lent, you are surrounded by others. These friends and family, yes, even these strangers will be the harbingers of many important messages to you on your way. You are not journeying alone. Shoulder up to these voices, these presences, and seek their wisdom and response. Undoubtedly they have something important to pass along your way. They may be sent to redirect you, to provide you new instructions. But you must first be able to extend a hand, make eye contact and then, listen.
Since last week's writing and sharing of my Lenten intentions, there has been something being proclaimed-nay, SHOUTED-in my ears; and quite honestly, I welcome any help from you, my journey-partners, in deciphering what I'm already supposed to be seeing. For, soon after I wrote of my love and need for the impartation of ashes, my middle son -River- became ill. Our youngest, Anna, was quickly at his heels. By our rice and bean dinner time, we were making home-made ash from remnants in our fire pit for our own house-ritual and rubbing troubled tummies at the same time.
The flu had landed at 2809 and was merciless. By Friday, Orion, our eldest, was head to toe covered in hives as his body battled the virus. By Saturday, it was evident that River had become severely dehydrated and needed to be taken to the hospital. Anna, clung to me in her lethargy, and whimpered whenever put down. It was as if a hurricane had hit our house and was pummeling us with all its worth. Sunday had us over its knee in exhaustion; this was supposed to be our Feast Day and I hadn't once worked out for 30 minutes since Lent began! This wasn't what I had intended for the start of my holy-journey at all! Despite the counters laden with crackers and cures, Joel and I had continued to eat our rice and beans and, heck! I was frustrated, tired from the unceasing vigils, and ready to feast and I had absolutely no energy to put into anything except warming up the vat of Lenten victuals in the fridge.
And then there was a knock at the door. Our associate pastor was on our porch with prayers and Pyrex in hand: hot, home-made Beef and Broccoli in Oyster Sauce was being brought to us for dinner. He extended us his hand, he looked into our eyes. He blessed River and attended to Anna. He brought care and concern from our congregation. He was a messenger. Look for the Sacred. Listen for the Message. Tears streamed down my face as love was ladled onto our plates. I leaned into the strength of someone else in my kitchen, someone else standing at my sink. I ate. I was nourished-oh so very fed!
I am freshly struck with how we just simply cannot get by in this life on our own. We cannot be parents, parishioners, pilgrims or priests without a community of care around us. This network IS our guide. These hands, these voices, these hearts, help us find our direction when the way has stormed over. When our backpacks have become too heavy from the torrential rains of the Pilgrim's road, we must find relief from other's who are sharing in this journey with us. They are here for this reason.
God has placed them on our path to provide and point the way.
“Does the road wind uphill all the way? Yes, to the very end. Will the journey take the whole long day?
From morn to night, my friend.”
The Call
In a culture whose calendars are captained by smart phones and apps, it is increasingly rare for us to be moved by a season beyond predictable greeting cards and holiday decor. These seasons-be they spiritual, soulful or secular-have a much needed purpose in our lives; they punctuate our plain places with celebration and solidarity. They break open our schedules and routines and bring us together; we gather in community and communion around these seasons, which testify to our lives, to our journeys and where we are headed.
“Stand at the crossroads, and look, and ask for the ancient paths, where the good way lies; and walk in it, and find rest for your souls.”
Next week the season of Lent begins. For some this may cause frantic binges on all things containing caffeine, sugar and/or alcohol. For others, this may hardly incite a passive, acknowledging nod and yet still for others, this may cause a response of libertarian piety for all those unsophisticated souls who still fast to prepare for the great feast of Easter. In a culture whose calendars are captained by smart phones and apps, it is increasingly rare for us to be moved by a season beyond predictable greeting cards and holiday decor. These seasons-be they spiritual, soulful or secular-have a much needed purpose in our lives; they punctuate our plain places with celebration and solidarity. They break open our schedules and routines and bring us together; we gather in community and communion around these seasons, which testify to our lives, to our journeys and where we are headed.
Lent itself is a journey that invites us to awaken to a deep disturbance-to acknowledge that Ordinary Time has become just that-ordinary-and out of this hum-drumness emerges a question and a yearning. There is something that calls us to look towards an end, a destination of a soulful sojourn that reengages us with Holy Ground, which spurs faith onward. This needn't be a time of temperance, but of transformation. There is an invitation here to see these upcoming weeks as a pilgrimage, that something, some PLACE is calling to us, beseeching us to look deeper, GO deeper and be altered by the process. This is a call that summons us to the hidden life, the life of the spirit.
Your life is calling you to leave home-that which is ordinary, that which has become so very normal and so very expected-this season. Your spirit needs you to heed, to really begin listening for the reason behind this journey (and lucky us, one that happens annually!). It is time to acknowledge your surrender to the Spirit, who will "lead you into unpredictable adventures of the soul." (Sarah York, Pilgrims Heart, 5). It is time to pack your bags! However, I would speculate that the ritualistic forgoing of certain foods or habits isn't that which will heighten this experience; just like when you pack for that flight that weighs your luggage, or when you load up your backpack for a trek in the backcountry, you want to travel lightly. Absolutely take note of that which you carry in this season right now, and you may find that to lighten your load you may want to practice simplicity in some areas. This practice begins to awaken the 'pilgrim mood' in you; it summons the inner-sojourner who is readying for the road, always listening, always watching, always waiting for signs and signals from the One who is calling you.
The call of the season is upon us. The journey pilgrimage towards engaging The Passion is nigh-this is the time to center in and listen. Don't be dismayed if you don't hear anything or connect with something right away; that will cry out loud as you campaign away from convention and common places. This is a quiet time. This is a time to begin with focusing on what you love and what is difficult for you. These will be what you carry with you as you cross the threshold and journey into Lent next week.
We set out as seekers after answers, or even peace, that we cannot find at home so believe that a change of scene may be easier than a change of heart.
But as we set out to travel the interior roads of discovery, we discover how quickly travel can turn to travail and how really, there is no forward motion unless we've yielded to the hard, steep, dark places. Our annual calendar calls forth the need for a journey that will stretch us, that will bring us to our knees, that will bring us closer to the Creator of it all. U2's Bono sang the truth well when he piped, "If you want to kiss the sky, you've got to learn how to kneel*."
The ancient path is calling us to come. The road is ready. And there is sky, and all the stars that sparkle within, that will watch over our every step and be there to greet us at our arrival. And we will be kneeling together, and helping one another up, along the whole journey.
“Where there is no way, no path, no road made plain, may there be wise ones who inspire you to see where the way could begin.”
*"Mysterious Ways" as written by Adam Clayton, Dave Evans, Paul David Hewson, Larry Mullen, Angelique Kidjo