June 18, 2006: PILGRIMAGE: Away From Home
2 Corinthians 5:6-9; Genesis 12:1-9; Psalm 20

Eileen Parfrey - Springwater Presbyterian Church

There's an old cartoon that shows an elderly Minnesota couple perched on the couch, wearing their winter coats and galoshes, packed suitcases at their feet. The caption reads, "The Bensons are ready to go to the airport. The taxi arrives in 4 hours." Behavior of this sort becomes more common as we age. But the Bensons, at least, have somewhere to go. And they're all set. Pity the folks who are all dressed up with nowhere to go. Pity the folks whose bags are packed, passports in order, hold valid tickets, but they won't go. Pity the folks who start on a journey with no provision for food or lodging, who forget a toothbrush and clean underwear. Those pitiable people are like Christians who don't practice their faith. Maybe they think confirmation is "graduation" from church. Maybe they think an hour on Sunday oughta do it for the week. Maybe "Dear God, let me make this shot" is the only prayer they know. Maybe they think the Bible is for professionals. Maybe they think questioning what they learned as children and struggling for answers is heresy. Maybe they're too busy to do any more than they're already doing. Maybe they give if there's anything left over at the end of the month.

This summer, we are going on pilgrimage, exploring the life of faith as journey. The most obvious question to start with is, "Why go?" Because, according to the apostle Paul, we're on the road anyhow. We're not "at home." Since our real destination, our real home, is friendship with God in Jesus Christ, the wise Christian is one who intentionally pursues that relationship through what we call "discipleship." We haven't arrived, and it's about time we recognize that "being saved" is neither the be-all nor the end-all of discipleship. It's kind of the middle, actually. God began the work long before we appeared on the scene, and if you believe the comfort we offer during times of bereavement about "being called home," there's more for us than this life. Christians, as Brett Webb-Mitchell is fond of saying, are "people of The Way, people on the move," not "people of the Great Sit."

If the goal of individual Christians is friendship with God in Jesus Christ, the job of the church is to equip us for the journey of discipleship, helping us make provision for pilgrimage. Between what the church provides and our personal faith disciplines, we are able to get our passports in order, pack wrinkle-resistant clothes, choose high energy food, plan our itinerary. It's up to us, to go. Not to belabor a metaphor any more than I am normally prone to, some of what we put in our suitcase is what we used to call "virtues." That's old-fashioned language, and most people don't talk like that any more, which is too bad, because "virtue" is what keeps us out of danger-things like loyalty, charity, cooperation. If church is the AAA office for travel aid, virtue is the road map, guide book, and GPS system. Spiritual disciplines are food, clothing, and shelter along the way. Virtue assures us of the road. Personal disciplines nourish us and give us the strength to carry on. Because "carry on" is what we're supposed to do. God loves us where we're at, but loves us too much to let us stay there.

One of my colleagues, Elizabeth Winslea, made an official pilgrimage along one of Christianity's most venerated routes, Spain's Camino de Compostello de Santiago. Her reasons for pilgrimage, she said, weren't all that noble. She was turning 40, ending her campus ministry at PSU and reinventing herself as co-pastor with her husband. When one of her friends said she was going, Elizabeth knew this was a chance to use both her body and spirit to listen and be open for God's new leadings. She wasn't sure what to expect, but took the leap of faith to let the journey unfold its own purpose. She transitioned from her hectic life with a week at Iona in Scotland, embracing a rhythm of worship, work, and play. But her arrival Spain set the tone for her real pilgrimage. She arrived alone, late at night, in possession of exactly zero Euros. She'd been told to get Euros from a money machine at the airport, but all the machines were broken, none of the taxi drivers would take American money, and she could not speak Spanish. At the time, she would not have appreciated being told that vulnerability is part of the goodness of pilgrimage. She wonders now how she had the energy to be so vulnerable. But it was in her vulnerability that she met God. In her willingness to trust. For everything. To believe, "I don't need to be in charge!"

From the beginning, Elizabeth and her companion knew this was not going to be a trip about "getting to Santiago." Each day of the journey would unfold itself so she could let go of the rest of her life and experience the abundance of God's spirit. Over and over she became aware of miracles, of being held, of meeting the right people. You could pick out other pilgrims on the road, she said. They would greet each other with, "Buen camino"-literally "Good walk," but meaning, "You're on the way." She was surprised by the dynamic sense of community. Because they journeyed only as each day unfolded, not as part of a schedule-driven package tour, they were surrounded by, supported by, new people every day. "We weren't gathered around a place or an issue," she said. "We were gathered around an effort, much like musicians readying for a concert or actors for a play." The effort that united them was more than what they accomplished, more than what they performed. It was about who they became together, all engaged in the same thing, sharing similar experiences of beds, food, hills. Holding themselves open to God's particular call for their own life. Everything she needed for the journey she carried on her back. She found that, by condensing her belongings she had become self-sufficient and self-reliant. If she needed it but didn't have it, she borrowed from another pilgrim. The intimate contact between her body and the landscape through which she traveled, gave her deeper awareness of her body as literally that which is the only thing between herself and the world. And the goodness of that gift.

What's the point of "pilgrimage?" She isn't advocating we leave home, is she? For most of us (who have jobs and families and hay to cut and kids to get to school), actually up and leaving home is not a viable option. But to have a pilgrimage frame of mind is to acknowledge that our present circumstances are only temporary. It is to acknowledge that Jesus knew us long before we knew him, and we can only know ourselves through knowing him. It is to discover that, even though "this land is not my home, I'm just a-passing through," we have a "portable home" with us wherever we go. Sort of like the spiritual equivalent of a fifth-wheel or RV. Spiritual disciplines, such as regular prayer and study and contemplative practices, these are like taking your own bed and jammies and toothbrush along with you. Exercising spiritual disciplines provides us with a portable home for ourselves, a means of journeying safely.

You are already on your way. By virtue of professing Christ as your savior, your pilgrimage has already begun. To remain unconscious of your journey is as if you resolved to stay put. As if Abram thanked God for the Promised Land but never went to claim the promise. For him, it was only on the journey that the promise took shape. We were never intended to be people of The Great Sit. We are people of The Way. Our bags are packed. The taxi is outside waiting. It's time to take Abram's example and set off.