thoughts on our upcoming pilgrimages...

There is a holy rhythm to making a pilgrimage. Some prefer vacations, pre-planned trips that are well-ordered and safe. They always include a little adventure, of course, maybe even romance. But that is incidental. Whether a cruise or a trip to Disneyland, both the journey and destination are well-defined.
Openness to the unknown, however, is foundational to a pilgrimage. It is all about leaving the familiar behind to search for new insights and ways of being in the presence of God. There is anticipation of mystery. There is the hope that somewhere along the road something sacred will touch our hearts. And there is an awareness that we, like the Magi, will leave differently because of the trip. The late Abraham Joshua Heschel said: "Faith is not the clinging to a shrine, but an endless pilgrimage of the heart.”

The two constants of a pilgrimage include the desire to meet the holy as the travel unfolds, and, a deep trust it will happen in the most unexpected manner. Somewhere along the way, Di and I chose to enter into travel as pilgrims rather than tourists. There is a place for hotels and well-planned excursions. They're just not for us. We want to stay where ordinary people live. We want to meet the folk on the street and eat what they eat. We want to wander for a part of each day without a plan to see what the Spirit might have in store for us. And we like to move slowly through each day without having to rush according to another's agenda. Or expectation.

This year we are making our third pilgrimage to Tucson. Yes, it will be relaxing. Of course it is a grand place to visit - especially for Northerners in the middle of winter - as the weather will be 70F. And we are grateful to be able to stay with trusted friends. We lived in this fine place for 10 years and hold it dear to our hearts. It is also a place where we keep discovering new truths about our life together as we walk in the total silence the desert. Or visit the White Dove of the Desert: La Misión San Xavier del Bac on the Tohono O'odham reservation. Or reconnect with former church members who are closer to us in love and spirit than some of our flesh and blood. One insight about this type of travel comes from Frédéric Gros in his Philosophy of Walking. He writes:

None of your knowledge, your reading, your connections will be of any use here: two legs suffice, and big eyes to see with. Walk alone, across mountains or through forests. You are nobody to the hills or the thick boughs heavy with greenery. You are no longer a role, or a status, not even an individual, but a body, a body that feels sharp stones on the paths, the caress of long grass and the freshness of the wind. When you walk, the world has neither present nor future: nothing but the cycle of mornings and evenings. Always the same thing to do all day: walk. But the walker who marvels while walking (the blue of the rocks in a July evening light, the silvery green of olive leaves at noon, the violet morning hills) has no past, no plans, no experience. He has within him the eternal child. While walking I am but a simple gaze.

I love to walk in the Sonoran Desert. It is the quietest place I have ever known. I love to walk through the streets of Tucson or Tubac, too. Nobody knows me. Nobody has a role or an expectation. And my only two commitments are to be observant of Di and take in the mystery. It is so liberating. And renewing. And after a long, dark winter, to be in this sun is ecstatic. A privilege I never want to take for granted. Another truth about this type of travel was revealed in L.M. Browning's Seasons of Contemplation: A Book of Midnight Meditations. She observed that:

The purpose of a pilgrimage is about setting aside a long period of time in which the only focus is to be the matters of the soul. Many believe a pilgrimage is about going away but it isn’t; it is about coming home. Those who choose to go on pilgrimage have already ventured away from themselves; and now set out in a longing to journey back to who they are. Many a time we believe we must go away from all that is familiar if we are to focus on our inner well-being because we feel it is the only way to escape all that drains and distracts us, allowing us to turn inward and tend to what ails us. Yet we do not need to go to the edges of the earth to learn who we are, only the edges of ourself.

The first time we made pilgrimage to Tucson was just as I retired from pastoral ministry. I knew it was time to go, but I was uneasy about whether my time in Pittsfield had mattered. A foolish, aging-man concern, to be sure - especially for one of faith - but it haunted me. During that trip to Tucson we walked around the Cathedral grounds for a few hours in the sun. We didn't talk much, just walked. After a long nap, about 20 old friends from the region gathered to greet us for a party. And the love we shared, nurtured in ministry and strengthened over time, brought a measure of hope back to my heart. Once again it hit me: it isn't so much what you DO in life, its the depth of love you share in relationship that counts. And all that love that night - all the laughter and trust and music we shared - was illuminating.

Last year there were no parties. No big gatherings. Just a lot of the world's best Mexican food with two of our dearest friends. I got to be an old guy with my friends. Not a former pastor. Not a role or an expectation. Just a guy who could fall asleep in front of a TV at 9:30 pm at night just like everybody else. A small revelation, I know, but one that reminded me how important it is to stay connected with those we love. In the blink of an eye they could be gone. Or so could I. And so we return...

We are also planning an extended pilgrimage to Halifax, NS and Prince Edwards Island in May. It is hard to believe but we are celebrating our 25th anniversary. As I age and Di wrestles with new health challenges, we want to do what we love the most: travel in pilgrimage with one another. That's how we met oh so long ago. That is what we have done with gusto over this quarter century. And that is how we shall mark a love that has changed outwardly, but only grown more profound inwardly. Where did all that time go? How have we changed? For better? For worse? What might we still do together in whatever time we have that remains? I know we will be thinking of these questions and more on this pilgrimage even as we prepare for the next.