Tag Archives: pilgrimage

Praying for Pixie Dust

03 Wednesday Apr 2013

Posted by in books, creation, spiritual practice

≈ 30 Comments

Tags

, , , , , , , , ,

She had me at pixie dust.

All around the internet, I kept seeing references to Margaret Feinberg and her book, Wonderstruck. The book sounded like something I’d enjoy reading, but I also thought perhaps its themes were ones I’d already encountered: Open your eyes. Look around. Be attentive. Be wonderstruck by evidence of God’s presence all around you.

I had learned from Ann Voskamp of the beauty and benefit of practicing gratitude, so I wasn’t sure what else I might glean from Feinberg’s words. And I’m not even sure what motivated me finally to purchase Wonderstruck, but I am so glad I did. Reading these words nearly undid me:

Several years earlier I had been in a place in my spiritual journey where God seemed nonexistent. I was still carving out time to connect with God each day. Reading. Scripture. Praying. Solitude. Though I emptied my bag of spiritual discipline tricks, nothing seemed to change. I arrived at church empty and left unsatisfied. I read from Psalms. Proverbs. Obadiah. The Gospels. Even Leviticus. Nothing connected. Worship was meh. Conversations felt flat.

“Where do I go, God? What do I do?” All I heard was crushing silence, the kind that’s empty and full, quiet and deafening all at the same time.

And, oh, how familiar that place sounded.

Feinberg then went on to describe a spiritual pilgrimage she had led in the Scottish Highlands. After fellow participants had shared their hopes and prayers for the upcoming trip, Feinberg told the group she was praying for pixie dust.

And I was smitten. Because I knew exactly what she meant. Feinberg continued:

More than anything, what I long for is our God, the One who bedazzled the heavens and razzle-dazzled the earth, to meet us in such a way during our time in Scotland that we find ourselves awestruck by his goodness and generosity, his provision and presence. I’m praying for pixie dust. I want to leave here with a sense of wonderment as we encounter and experience things only God can do.

Now I am a writer, a word girl. And I adhere to the reformed tenet of sola scriptura—Scripture alone as the only authoritative rule for life and faith. And yet I understand this longing to be bedazzled by my heavenly Father, to be wonderstruck by the magnificence of his creation.

Because I believe God reveals himself both through his word and the heavens which declare his glory. It’s not either/or; it’s both/and. And before any of my good reformed friends start sounding alarm bells about me wandering too far off the doctrinal reservation and into some sort of pagan tree-hugging worship, let me toss in a few words from John Calvin’s commentary on the book of Genesis:

We see, indeed, the world with our eyes, we tread the earth with our feet, we touch innumerable kinds of God’s works with our hands, we inhale a sweet and pleasant fragrance from herbs and flowers, we enjoy boundless benefits; but in those very things of which we attain some knowledge, there dwells such an immensity of divine power, goodness, and wisdom, as absorbs all our senses. Therefore, let men be satisfied if they obtain only a moderate taste of them, suited to their capacity. And it becomes us so to press towards this mark during our whole life, that (even in extreme old age) we shall not repent of the progress we have made, if only we have advanced ever so little in our course.

In reading Feinberg’s account of her pilgrimage in the Scottish Highlands, I was reminded of so much that was life-giving and good about my experience in the Alps last summer. And I remembered a conversation I had there with one of my fellow pilgrims, an astronaut.

(Yes, I did hike in the Alps with an astronaut–which is a pretty cool sentence to be able to type)

I, of course, asked my fellow traveler about his experience in the space program, because I am nosy like that. Specifically, I was curious about the spiritual lives of those who had traveled with him to space. I wondered if they interpreted their view from the space shuttle window merely as scientists or as those who saw the manifestation of God’s handiwork.

He said he assumed the percentage of people of faith within the space community probably mirrored that within the general population.

“But,” I responded, “They’ve been to SPACE! How could they not see evidence of God all around them when they were in SPACE?”

“Everyone on earth has seen a newborn baby,” he replied.

And he is so right. Evidence of God’s handiwork, his power, his glory, his goodness is everywhere around me if only I have eyes to see. The works of God’s hands do not contradict his written word; they serve it by breathing color onto the black-and-white of the printed page. The wonders of God’s creation sparkle, bedazzle, snap, crackle, and pop in a riotous, ridiculously abundant array as to absorb all my senses.

Photo Credit: The beloved Swede, taken at Phipps Conservatory, Pittsburgh

I might even be tempted to ponder the possibility they are sprinkled with pixie dust.

Joining Shelly Miller @ Redemption’s Beauty and Duane Scott @ Scribing the Journey in their book club discussion of Wonderstruck, by Margaret Feinberg

If you would like to receive future posts via email, click here. And click here if you would consider “liking” my Facebook page. Thanks–I appreciate you!

Sources cited:

Feinberg, Margaret (2012-12-25). Wonderstruck: Awaken to the Nearness of God (pp. 13, 16). Ingram Distribution. Kindle Edition.

John Calvin’s Bible Commentary: http://www.ewordtoday.com/comments/genesis/calvin/genesisintro.htm

Invitation to the Barbecue

27 Wednesday Feb 2013

Posted by in Communities, food

≈ 20 Comments

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

If a food artist is something a person can be, then my friend Joy is one.  I got to know Joy during my Alpine Pilgrimage experience last summer.  She provided logistical support for our hikes which included transporting our luggage from point to point, driving up, down, over, and through Alpine passes while cheerfully accompanied by her daughter in the back seat. Joy shopped locally each day and assembled lunches for us to carry in our packs. Rather than gorp and granola, which serve as staple provisions for most day hikers, Joy supplied us with local meats and cheeses, ripe apricots and tomatoes, and freshly baked baguettes and bars of Swiss chocolate.

Recently Joy posted a picture on Facebook which was taken at Lamppost Farm in Ohio, where she and her family participated in a weekend of butchering and processing pigs for food. The farm is intended as a place of experiential learning where people can encounter God and connect more deeply with his design in creation and means of provision. Joy and her family participated together with a group of roughly twenty people in the processing of four pigs, of which each family took home between a quarter and half of an animal. Participants were permitted to engage as much of the process as they felt comfortable, from the actual kill, to the draining of blood, to skinning the pig and, finally to portioning and packaging the meat. For her efforts, Joy will have available to her several roasts to be used for pulled pork, racks of spareribs and baby back ribs, ground pork for sausage, freshly smoked bacon, and cuts of picnic ham which are being cured in salt for prosciutto.

Photo Credit: Francois Guilleux

As I listened to last Sunday’s sermon, my thoughts kept returning to my friend’s picture. My pastor has been preaching a series about the Old Testament tabernacle, breathing life into passages I am too often tempted to skip past. He is walking through descriptions which appear to contain little more than repetitive detail about building measurements, furniture items, and serving pieces. Each detail, he reminds us, is in the passage for a reason. Each item in the tabernacle preaches a sermon.

During this past week’s sermon, my pastor described the bronze altar designed for offering burnt sacrifices. Daily God’s people brought lambs and goats to the tabernacle courtyard, slaughtered them, and then placed them upon the burning altar as offerings for their sin. Mingled together with the mess of blood and gore which would have attended the slaughter would also have been the delicious, fragrant aroma of meat roasting.

Few things cause my mouth to water like the smell of an outdoor summer barbecue. I recall, as a child, getting a whiff of hamburgers cooking on a neighbor’s outdoor grill and begging my father to fire up his. Nothing compares to the taste of meat freshly roasted. And Israel’s priests were given an allotment of the meat offered in sacrifice as their daily portion for serving God.

Except.

On one big day a year, the Day of Atonement, the priest was not permitted to eat of the sacrifice. Instead he placed his hands on the head of a goat, symbolically transferring the sin of all God’s people to the animal before its release into the wilderness.

I’m guessing there are some who won’t appreciate my friend’s picture of that pig, recently slaughtered and being prepared for food. Most modern people never have to get their hands dirty in securing food for their daily sustenance. Images of blood and slaughter and death are offensive, as too was the means by which the Lamb of God was offered, once for all, as atonement for sin. His sacrifice accomplished what those repeated by Old Testament priests never could, and it offered a feast toward which they could only look forward in hope:

We have an altar from which those who serve the tent have no right to eat. Hebrews 13:10 ESV

By faith, God’s people may now feast on what those ancient priests never could. Feed on him with joy, strengthening your heart by his grace.

If you would like to receive future posts via email, click here. And would you consider “liking” my Facebook writer page? If so, click here. Thanks–I appreciate you!

Joining emily and her community at imperfect prose. This week’s prompt: food.

With Jennifer Dukes Lee for Tell His Story:

And for next Monday’s Hear It, Use It Community at Michelle’s place:

Click here if you would like to listen to the above-referenced sermon: The Bronze Altar, by Pastor Brad Evans. Note: This blog is not connected to or endorsed in any way by the ministry of my church or its denomination. I just like to give credit where credit is due and pass along good resources.

On Pilgrimage: Bringing Back the Boon

08 Wednesday Aug 2012

Posted by in Alpine Pilgrimage

≈ 43 Comments

Tags

, , , , , , ,

How do we keep sacred memories alive? How to make the journey part of our lives once we are back in the daily grind? – Phil Cousineau

We had worn bright, nearly neon, orange shirts during the course of our pilgrimage. The back of the shirts bore the image of a mountain goat and, in Latin, the words: Persequi Essentia Hircum, which translates roughly to Pursue Goatness. After reading a story about the Tour du Mont-Blanc (TMB) in The Wall Street Journal, the beloved Swede had designed and ordered these for each member on this year’s pilgrimage team .The writer, self-described as no fitness enthusiast, suggested that estimated trail times listed in TMB hiking guides had to have been based on those recorded by Olympic-trained mountain goats.

In the company of my fellow pilgrims I had completed my journey, having walked in a large circle around Mount Blanc and returned to the place I had begun. Including my pre-trip hikes with the Swede, and given the particular variants and sections of trail I had hiked, I had traveled roughly ninety miles by foot.  I had been given opportunity to witness staggering beauty, ponder God’s word, and taste, touch, and hear of his goodness. I had made new friends and developed something akin to quad muscles. I had laughed, and I had cried.

But what, if anything, had I learned?

Our leaders had planned a celebratory dinner for us on the last evening together before we were to depart and go our separate ways. Before the dinner, we gathered one last time to consider what gift, what treasure, each had found during the journey.

Stan, our meteorologist friend, spoke of his delight in observing the weather in that alpine region. Even the no-good, cloudy, foggy, misty, rainy days, (okay, those might not have been his exact words) the kind which had unnerved me the day prior, provided the nourishment the ground needed to produce the abundant flowering beauty we had enjoyed.

The very thing which had frustrated me, it turns out, had also been the source of my blessing.

I’m not sure I expected to learn anything new during the course of this trip. I’ve been a student of Scripture all my life. I know what I know. Sometimes, however, it seems I need to learn the same lessons over and over again:

  • All of life is pilgrimage
  • And it ain’t no ride on a pink duck
  • But I dwell always in God’s presence
  • And each step I take is a gift; each step forward is a victory
  • Fellow pilgrims add joy to the journey
  • There really is a monster, one bent on keeping me from the deepest longing of my heart
  •  I’ve been given a scarlet thread I can cling to, one which will lead me home
  • Those things which frustrate me most are very likely the source of abundant blessing
  • And whatever measure of goatness I achieved was actually given, not earned, according to the pleasure of the One who gave it.

Since returning home from this experience, I’ve been reading books about Attention Deficit Disorder (ADD). ADD is a not-so-merry traveler which has decided to hitchhike its way along in the journey of several people I care about deeply. Kate Kelly and Peggy Ramundo, both of whom have ADD, co-authored a book in which they describe their condition as feeling, at times, as though one foot was nailed to the floor. They felt as though they were walking around in circles, attempting to learn the same life lessons over and over again. Yet, they continued:

What can seem like movement without progress may actually be just gradual progress. . . . Sure, we’ve been coming around to a very familiar situation again, but haven’t we moved up a level, maybe ever so slightly? What looks like “returning full circle” if we only notice the length and width of our path, becomes a spiral that keeps moving upward with each cycle when we see its height. Like ascending a spiral staircase, we may find that we have been going upward at the same time we were winding around the center.

I’d walked in a huge circle, tested theological constructs I carry around in my head, and exposed my weaknesses in mind, body, and soul. This experience on pilgrimage reminded me of my need to stop drink deeply and often while on ascent, from the stream of restoring grace.

I returned to JFK, my suitcase filled with souvenirs and no small amount of Swiss chocolate. Almost immediately, crowds, noise, and exhaustion threatened to undo the deep soul rest I’d experienced in the mountains. So I decided to write these little stories.  I wrote them for me, to help me to remember. Some of you have joined me in the journey, reading along with me through these posts.  I am grateful for your kind words along the way.

These words are my boon, the gift I found in the journey.

Wordle created from text of Psalm 84 and words collected along the way

. . . the pilgrim feels a different call and is changed by the journey. The deepest of those changes is the need to share the gold, the wisdom, the boon of the journey. . . . The story that we bring back from our journeys is the boon. It is the gift of grace that was passed to us in the heart of our journey. – Phil Cousineau

This is the final post in my pilgrimage series. Click here to read from the beginning.

Spaces are available for next year’s Alpine Pilgrimage, hosted by the Coalition for Christian Outreach. For more information, click here. If this middle-aged, gray-haired grandma-to-be can do it, so can you.

Sources cited:

Cousineau, Phil. The Art of Pilgrimage: A Seeker’s Guide to Making Travel Sacred (p. 217, 222). Kindle Edition.

Kelly, Kate and Peggy Ramundo. You Mean I’m Not Lazy, Stupid or Crazy?! New York: Scribner, 2006, p. 419.

On Pilgrimage: Arrival

02 Thursday Aug 2012

Posted by in Alpine Pilgrimage, Communities

≈ 12 Comments

Tags

, , , , , , , , , ,

The essential task is to feel 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, then the pleasure is compounded. There is joy in having arrived, moment by moment. – Phil Cousineau

Dressed from head to toe in Gore Tex rain gear, we began the final full day on pilgrimage with a descent into the Trient Valley.  I wasn’t looking forward to hiking in the rain, but I had dragged my gear all the way across the ocean and along with me throughout every step of the journey. I figured there was no point in lugging gear around that I wasn’t planning to use. Besides, I’d seen a description of the day’s hike, both the distance and elevation loss and gain, and figured I could handle it.

A welcome cool mist fell as we made our descent into the valley. Although downhill hiking can be less physically taxing than is climbing, wet weather caused roots and rocks on the trail to become slippery. Having no desire to fall and break anything on the last leg of my trip, I paid careful attention to each step I placed.

But I was doing okay.

Church in village of Trient

We walked through the small village of Trient and found the trail which would lead us up and over Col de Balme, and return us to France. I was relieved, thinking this would be my last uphill climb. As we began our ascent, steady rain began to fall.

There is an art to layering one’s clothing when hiking, and I’m never quite sure I get it right. I knew that I would get soaked without rain gear, yet I would get hot and sweaty while climbing if I wore too many layers.  Our meteorologist friend and fellow hiker informed us that, given wind and weather conditions at higher elevations, we should be prepared for wind chill temperatures hovering around the twenty degree mark.  I managed my layers as best as I knew how, stopping several times to add or remove clothing items as needed.

And I was still doing okay.

Our progress up the hill was interrupted by remnants of logging activity which had taken place along the trail. Several times we had to crawl under and through downed pine trees on our hands and knees, guaranteeing we would be a muddy mess by the end of the hike. I felt a little like a character in a movie slinking my way through a laser-wire security system; except I was twisting my way through tree branches on the side of a steep slope with a day pack attached to my back.

The trail wasn’t pleasant, and I wasn’t having fun, but I was still hanging in there.

We reached the col and I thought, “Well. That wasn’t so bad. I made it. The hard part is over.” The remainder of the hike would literally be all downhill from that point. The rain tapered off, and we even caught glimpses of the sun peeking through clouds, so we decided to break for lunch. We enjoyed a pleasant picnic in an alpine meadow during a reprieve from the rain. The break in weather didn’t last long, however, so we packed up to resume our final leg of the hike.

We hiked through cloud and fog and mist and, though we wandered within one of the most spectacular mountain ranges on the planet, we were able to see very little. I couldn’t imagine how anyone hiking with me could, in any way, shape, or form consider what we were doing fun. I began walking faster, just wanting to get to the end of the hike. One of my fellow hikers commented about the strength of my stride, and I thought, “You have no idea. This is me in my horse-just-wants-to-get-back-to the-barn mode.”

I was done. I just wanted it to be over.

As we turned a corner on the trail and found ourselves hiking into strong wind, our leaders decided to change the course of our hike. Rather than descending on an exposed ridge we would take another variant, one which would require hiking up and over another col.

And I lost it.

Right there, on the Tour du Mont-Blanc, in front of my fellow hikers, God, and the mountain goats, I yelled at the beloved Swede. I wanted to know how much further we had to hike, how much higher I had to climb; and I wanted to know right then. I yelled at the man who purchased this trip for me, provided me all the gear I needed, and who patiently helped me prepare.

My theology tells me I have an enemy of my soul who is bent on keeping me from the longing of my heart, communion with the One who made me. That day, on the Tour du Mont-Blanc, the monster in the maze got the better of me.

I was angry. I was angry because even after all my training, planning, and preparation; even despite the stunning beauty I’d witnessed, the spectacular meals I’d enjoyed, and the delightful company with whom I’d shared this experience, I still hadn’t been able to dig down deep and embrace this hiking thing.

There was nothing about that day’s hike which I enjoyed. And I found myself getting angry at my fellow hikers because they were enjoying it. And I was angry at myself for being angry.

The trail variant led us across the French border, out of the fog and to a gondola platform where we were able to hitch a ride to meet the rest of our group in the town of Argentiere. After both a shower and a nap, I apologized to my fellow hikers for exposing them to my ugly. I asked the Swede for his forgiveness, which he graciously gave.

On the final day of our trip, we were given the option of participating in a half-day hike which climbed a ladder trail in the Chamonix Valley. I passed. The Swede and I had actually done that section of trail during one of our pre-trip prep hikes, except we had descended the ladders. I agreed to stay behind and drive one of the equipment vans. I had arrived at my destination. I had hiked the Tour du Mont-Blanc to the limit of my abilities.

And the Swede, the dear man I had yelled at in the mountains, graciously rewarded me with the gift of a massage.

Because grace has nothing to do with getting what I deserve. And grace is the scarlet cord, that clew in the labyrinth which I cling to for dear life.

For the LORD is a sun and a shield, the LORD bestows favor and honor; no good thing does he withhold from those whose walk is blameless. LORD Almighty, blessed is the one who trusts in you. Psalm 84:11, 12 (ESV)

Next, the final chapter: Bringing Back the Boon

Click here for all posts in this series.

Source cited: Phil Cousineau. The Art of Pilgrimage: A Seeker’s Guide to Making Travel Sacred (p. 203). Kindle Edition.

Joining Laura @ The Wellspring in her weekly Playdates Series:

On Pilgrimage: Departure

26 Thursday Jul 2012

Posted by in Alpine Pilgrimage, Communities

≈ 29 Comments

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , ,

Imagine the moment of departure as the crossing of a threshold. The anxiety you may feel is the reverse of the thrill of anticipation. Something new is about to happen; something unexpected but transformative. – Phil Cousineau

He began his list while in the car on our way home. After purchasing our spots on the Alpine Pilgrimage, my husband shifted immediately into planning mode. The beloved Swede began forming a mental list of all the equipment he thought we might need. He asked me how many pairs of hiking pants I owned and questioned the condition of my boots. He wondered whether I’d be comfortable using my daughter’s day pack or if I needed one of my own. By the time we arrived home, my husband had already begun mapping out the steps we needed to take to prepare for our journey.

It was January. The trip would not take place until June.

I had preparations of my own to make, chief of which was getting rid of the extra pounds I didn’t want to have to carry up, down, over, and through alpine passes. Thankfully, I had time to prepare. And, perhaps more thankfully, fear of extreme misery and/or death proved to be a powerful motivator.

Departing on a journey can be both exciting and terrifying. Planning and preparation helps. And I happen to be married to a man for whom planning is a kind of love language.

In his description of pilgrims embarking on the Camino de Santiago—the way to the legendary remains of Saint James, Phil Cousineau wrote about rituals of preparation undertaken by many. In medieval times, the road to Santiago was very dangerous; those setting out on pilgrimage could not be certain of safe return. Preparation for the journey, therefore, included the following:

The departing pilgrims were celebrated with a Mass in which they took confession and communion, then the rites of the blessing of their walking staffs, satchels, and drinking gourds. Psalms were sung to “infuse courage into the hearts” of the pilgrims, then they put on their long cloaks and hats, recited the prayers of the Pilgrim’s Itinerarium, and set out with their fellow marchers down the long road.

Phil Cousineau. The Art of Pilgrimage: A Seeker’s Guide to Making Travel Sacred (pp. 63-64). Kindle Edition.

We departed from the Refuge Des Mottets by hiking up and over the Col de la Seigne, a gentle scenic climb which brought us to the Italian border. We paused now and then, turning to look back toward where we’d been.  Within a few short hours we stepped across the border from France into Italy. Many of us stopped to pose for a picture, standing with one foot in each country.

We enjoyed a rest day in the town of Courmayeur, soaking in the views of Mount Blanc from the Italian side,

and refreshing ourselves with an abundance of local food and drink.

The next morning our group prepared to leave the land of espresso and gelato to hike across the border, entering into Switzerland. We gathered in a circle, as had become our ritual, and our leader asked us to reflect on the idea of departure. In order to enter a new place, he said, we had to leave something behind.

Departing Italy

Arriving at Swiss Border

Punctuated by cycles of Sabbath and seasons of rest, most of life involves movement; a continual moving away from one thing and toward another. I talked with my fellow pilgrims, around tables and throughout the course of the trip, about those things in life we were departing from and moving toward: high school to college, active parenting to the empty nest. Some were departing from a satisfying career toward retirement or, in the face of economic uncertainty, into the unknown. Others were moving away from the role of adult child into that of caretaker for aging parents.

Departure calls me away from what is known and familiar and asks me to step into the unknown. I don’t always feel well-prepared, and I’m convinced there are dangers, toils, and snares along the way. At times I feel caught between two countries, not knowing how to move forward yet realizing there’s no going back. And sometimes I’m tempted to weep, whine, and wail like the Israelites before me about the fish, cucumber, leeks, melons, and garlic left behind in ye merry old slave camps of Egypt.

The courage for departure comes only in trusting that what I’m moving toward is better than what I’ve left behind. And it helps, I’ve found, having companions to infuse courage into my soul along the way.

As they pass through the Valley of Baka (weeping), they make it a place of springs; the autumn rains also cover it with pools. They go from strength to strength, till each appears before God in Zion. Psalm 84:6, 7 NIV

Next: Labyrinth (Now won’t that be fun? Or weird. It really could go either way)

All posts in this series can be found on the Pilgrimage Page.

Joining KD Sullivan @ Journey Towards Epiphany for her TOYS (Take Off Your Shoes) series, because I walked this pilgrimage on holy ground:

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox

Join other followers