What does one do when discovering one is on a pilgrimage that one didn’t choose?
Let me put that more simply: I am now on a pilgrimage I didn’t choose.
Well, that’s not entirely true either. I chose this journey I’m on in some ways—I just didn’t choose all that goes with it. What I did choose, I chose out of love for those I love because that is what loves does. What I didn’t choose I need to embrace and love because that is what love does.
I haven’t written on this blog for well over a year. I started this blog after my first pilgrimage. I had been given a grant for a sabbatical from my work as a pastor, and I walked from Washington D.C. to Pittsburgh on a canal/rail/bike trail while learning John’s gospel by heart. That pilgrimage changed me and changed my congregation, and because the journey took me along rivers, I called it “Walking the Water Way.” Seven years later I took a second sabbatical and a second pilgrimage while praying through the Book of Psalms three times. This time I backpacked on the Appalachian Trail for 535 miles through Virginia. When I returned home, I blogged about my adventures and learnings through the Psalms. I could have called it “Walking the Mountain Way,” but I never changed the blog title. That pilgrimage changed me as well: my congregation intentionally entered a renewal process, while I, two years later, retired and became a part-time interim pastor and renewal coach.
More years and two interim congregations have gone by, and now I am on another pilgrimage that I did not choose. I will call this one “Walking the Love and Lament Way.” In another post I may say more about why the “lament” and “love” part of this pilgrimage. But in this post I will tell about how I realized that what I am experiencing now qualifies as an invisible pilgrimage. You may well wonder: how that could be when the last three months we have been in lock-down with the Covid-19 pandemic! Many trails are closed for goodness sake! People are supposed to be staying home. Circumstances are so far removed from any opportunity for traveling that the whole idea of trekking on a pilgrimage is ludicrous. (As I write this, a few restrictions are being lifted, but I am one of those considered still at risk because of my age. So….)
One of the things that I learned on my previous pilgrimages is that the real work is much more about the inner journey that happens in one’s spiritual heart than about the destination where the feet stop and the pilgrimage is called “finished.” I have already discovered that I struggle with this pilgrimage of love and lament. But, for the sake of acknowledging it as a pilgrimage, it is not only an inner journey. I do walk—a lot. Well, several miles daily—well almost daily. But there is no physical destination far away. I only walk out my door and back to home. Still, it feels like a pilgrimage just like the others. Day after day. From winter through spring and now stepping into summer. It is changing me as much as any pilgrimage, although I may be the only one noticing those internal changes.
The other week I happened to turn the TV on twenty minutes into a BBC documentary. I discovered it to be the first of a three-part series. A randomly assorted group of people from Great Britain had been gathered to walk on a 25 day pilgrimage on the Camino de Santiago in Spain. The film followed their experiences. I could identify with them all: their conversations about why they had wanted to do this, what they believed or didn’t believe about God, their open and vulnerable conversations with one another, the friendships formed, and their reflecting at the end how the pilgrimage had changed them. Tears streamed down my face. Why in the world was I crying, I wondered? But I knew partly why. It was the beginning of May, the 5th year anniversary of the start of the Virginia pilgrimage. Every year since then, May has been the time to prepare to be back on the trail logging in a couple of weeks worth of Appalachian Trail miles. For a number of reasons this year, I will not be out backpacking at all. Covid-19 is one of those reasons, but there are others.
A few days after watching the first BBC episode on pilgrimage, I spoke with a friend about watching the documentary and how strange it was to find myself suddenly in tears. In fact I felt silly lamenting not being on the trail with so many larger, traumatic things looming in life and the world in general. But it was in speaking with my friend about this that I suddenly remembered an encounter I had with a hiker on the Virginia AT five years ago (to the week if not the exact day). That conversation on the trail had left me in tears as well. As I was telling my friend the story, that is when I realized that what I was experiencing this year was every bit a pilgrimage. And like the hiker I had met on the trail, I too am walking the way of love and lament.
So how is the hiker’s story about love and lament? I will tell you that story in the next post.
Melissa Brown says
Welcome back Pastor Elaine. It warms my heart to read your words. I look forward to reading more.
Sharron Blezard says
Thank you for these honest and beautiful words. Yes, going inward is the most difficult pilgrimage of all. But when one remembers that the destination is the heart of God, it makes the way possible and the burden lighter. May you be blessed on this invisible and unbidden pilgrimage.
Brenda Kiser says
It’s good to see you writing again. You have drawn us in and left us hanging. I hope the next installment comes soon.
Barbara A Barry says
Pastor Elaine. I appreciate your sharing your insights. What an interesting way to frame what’s happening. My eldest talks about the inner work that happens when she walks the trail. Thanks for giving us a glimpse into yours.
Richard Jorgensen says
Elaine, I am grateful that you are writing again, and especially grateful for this post. It is such a gift to remember that we can be on pilgrimage anywhere and any time.