On Pilgrimage
All religious traditions encourage pilgrimages. They ask the faithful to leave familiar surroundings and daily routine, to travel unencumbered on a journey that can reveal both wisdom and insight.
Once, some years ago, I joined Hindus and Muslims making a pilgrimage to Sabarimala. It was a most memorable day during my nearly eight month solo journey through India. Hundreds of thousands of people go on this pilgrimage to the forest every year.
Father Bede Griffiths, in his book River of Compassion, says, “Some time each year, at least, we should go out from our fixed abode, leaving our possessions and everything to which we are attached, and become free to wander or to settle in some very quiet place, to be free for some time.”
From my own writing about the pilgrimage to Sabarimala:
Most of them were barefoot,
having walked dozens, if not hundreds, of miles
through forests and towns
with nothing but a small bundle carried on their heads:
a sheet, toothbrush, book of teachings,
a change of underwear, a little food and water.
Their robes were black or orange or red,
pilgrims coming from all over southern India
throughout the warm winter season.
For me it was Christmas Day, 1990.
For them it was a journey of epic proportions,
soliciting the blessing of Lord Ayappa.
Many chanted, some meditated quietly;
all were on pilgrimage to Sabarimala.
Never were Indian men so exuberant,
having left the routines of their lives.
Their eyes shined with anticipation
as they cheerfully greeted others.
This was a luminous time in their lives.
On pilgrimage, they were open to change.
I didn’t see my trip as a pilgrimage, per se, though my primary motivation for the journey was a deep longing to answer the question: to what should I devote my life? I was 22 years old, on a personal mission. I skipped tourist destinations, such as Agra’s Taj Mahal and the castles of Rajasthan. Instead, my journey took me to pilgrimage sites, ashrams, temples, and holy cities. At every holy site I was transfixed not only by the places themselves, but also by the people who everywhere manifested deep spiritual devotion. I was envious. I longed for something to which I could devote my life.
Although I did not know it, I was on a pilgrimage of my own. When I returned to the United States I had accomplished many of my goals—to witness and engage with human beings in a different culture, to develop a deeper sense of independence, to cultivate a new lens through which to look at my own culture, to learn about Hinduism and how religions draw people to the sacred in India. I also discovered a number of traditions that bring Hindus and Muslims together. However, the primary motivation for this trip was to figure out what to devote my life to, and upon my return I felt more lost than when I started.
In time, I realized that pilgrimages don’t typically usher in grand results, that their benefits are often subtle and take time to unfold. It’s like praying to God for something particular to happen, and when it doesn’t, feeling cheated and bereft, wondering what was the use of getting one’s hopes up anyway. Spiritual maturity comes with learning that prayer doesn’t change what can’t be changed, but it changes things that can, like our own hearts.
The same goes for pilgrimage. Perhaps that is why Islam holds as one of its five core pillars the expectation that every Muslim will make a pilgrimage to Mecca at least once in their lifetime. I have also come to understand pilgrimage not only as a long journey to a distant land, but also potentially as many smaller journeys. Indeed, a pilgrimage is any journey taken for the sake of bringing one closer to what some people call grace, the source of all love, the spirit of life, the creative mystery, God. One doesn’t need to leave home to embark on such a journey, for pilgrimages are fundamentally about the journey within.
Once in a while, however, it is good to go on pilgrimage beyond our familiar surroundings. For some Unitarian Universalists, this means a trip to Boston to learn about the roots of American Unitarianism or Universalism. Others journey to Transylvania to foster relationships with the people of Unitarian congregations there that have survived over 450 years. And for still others, pilgrimage involves going to Alabama, to Selma and/or other significant sites of civil rights demonstrations and struggle.
Some may take a different kind of pilgrimage, such as spending a summer building houses for people whose homes have been flooded and cultivating relationships with the people who will live in them. And others pilgrimage to a hospital or home of someone with a life threatening illness, maybe to deepen a relationship or to find one. Either way, wisdom and insight await those who engage in such journeys.
What makes for a pilgrimage? I believe you must nurture at least these four essential elements:
First, intentionally set aside time for a journey whose goal is to move you closer to that which you believe to be of ultimate importance.
Second, prepare yourself for the journey by taking along as little as possible.
Third, be open to encounters and people that present themselves, no matter how seemingly mundane. Allow the journey to work on you. Engage with whatever and whomever comes your way.
Fourth, allow the truth and wisdom of the situation to reveal itself, which may not happen during the journey itself. Don’t go with the expectation of being immediately transformed. Meaningful learnings may take weeks, months, or even years to emerge.
At the time of my journey in India, I understood pilgrimage only as a journey to a sacred place or shrine. But there is richness in the wider meaning of pilgrimage as a search of moral significance. Quests of moral significance can be cultivated into our lives on a yearly, monthly, and even daily basis.
Set aside a certain amount of time, say, to be in your garden, intentionally seeking to clear your mind, thereby embarking on the journey unencumbered. Be open to whatever needs doing, allowing this time to work on you, and allowing wisdom and insights to emerge. Or set aside the time to sit or walk in meditation, seeking to disencumber your mind. All meditation practice is a form of pilgrimage.
Sometimes the losses we endure oblige us to go on pilgrimage. Sometimes it is a deep longing that goads us on. And sometimes we move out of deep gratitude for the blessings that have been ours. Jessica Lash, in her book On Pilgrimage, provides a poignant metaphor for the spiritual life:
While we were standing together at the back of the basilica, there was suddenly a tremendous gust of wings. Sparrows and pigeons were continually flying around, but this gust of bird was mighty and different. We looked up, and there, high above the narthex was the unmistakable, compelling face of a barn owl. Again and again it flew and paused, frantically crashing its white body with terrible hopelessness against the dusty windows. I cannot describe how unbearable it was to follow the flight of that bird, knowing that we were quite incapable to give it its freedom. There were holes and spaces, if only it would see them.
We left. We couldn’t bear to be there. I suddenly thought, what if God witnesses in every [human being] a divine spark, which flies within us blindly, like that bird, crashing in terror, punched and pounded from wall to wall, blinded by obstacles and dust, and yet, God knows that there is a way for natural freedom and ascending flight. What an extraordinary pain that witness would be.
Pilgrimage provides a vehicle for spiritual practice, so that human beings need not necessarily flail about or wander aimlessly. Spiritual practice, in my understanding, is engaging in a personal discipline in order to cultivate an ever-greater capacity for sustained attention. Many orthodox traditions teach that the world is broken and needs grace brought into it to save it. I disagree. I believe that in every person and place there is grace waiting to be brought forth, and that to be human religiously is to seek to do what we can to increase the odds of grace happening.
The other day I visited L’Arche Chicago. It is a home that houses and supports developmentally disabled individuals. I had received an invitation to their monthly open house event, but it wasn’t a priority for me, and I nearly said that I had no interest. However, there was something genuine in the gentle persistence of the individual making the invitation, so I felt obliged, as a human being, to at least make their acquaintance.
The evening proved to be one of the most extraordinary I have had in a long time. That intentional community lives out of a theology of celebration, grace, and simplicity. I couldn’t help but be touched by the residents and the genuine love of those who made their home possible.
What opportunities to connect with your heart are waiting for you? We may postpone them for months on end, but there’s something persistent about the nature of grace: it never goes away. It is always there to be uncovered, and it is, I believe, a significant part of our human journey as we connect with the world authentically, so that grace is unveiled and brought forth.
There are so many things in life that, if we just give them some attention, reveal far more truth and wisdom than first meets the eye. It is easy to be judgmental, to live our days in hurried anticipation of achievement after achievement, and thus lose sight of the wisdom, the beauty, and the authentic significance of what is available to us. I believe that if we pace ourselves, pay attention, and intentionally make room in our lives for genuine encounter, we can uncover grace waiting to be manifested, and thereby bless the world.
- On Pilgrimage - October 1, 2011
