Learning from Pilgrimage

Blessed are those whose strength is in you,

    whose hearts are set on pilgrimage.

As they pass through the Valley of Baka,

    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: 5-7

In the midst of this pandemic it seems as if all the major transitions in our lives have been rolled into one: we are learning new ways to be in community (like starting or ending college); we are thrown into new ways to work (like starting a new job); and many of us are living with our children or parents again (like having a first child).  And with everyone going through this at the same time, it’s difficult to find that place of calm in which to rest. 

Pilgrimage, a practice that is enmeshed in transition, has something to teach us during this season.  No, it’s likely we won’t be going any place physical in the coming weeks.  But we are on a journey toward a new awareness of life and society. In this reality, we can choose to set our hearts on pilgrimage as the psalmist does and move from a place of transition to transformation.

One of the central characteristics of pilgrimage is liminal space.  This is a space/time between—just as the limen, the threshold, is that part of the doorway on which you stand between leaving the house and arriving outdoors.  On a pilgrimage, you leave your known life situation and travel to a new place.  The story of that new place is what draws you, the pilgrim, to leave. Maybe it’s where a saint has walked and there’s hope of healing; maybe it’s where an author wrote and there’s hope of inspiration; or maybe it’s where a battle was fought and there’s a need to grieve.  

Whatever the reason for leaving, the experiences you have during the journey and even at the final destination are unknown.  You can map out the path to the site, but it’s still a time of uncertainty and change.  You are no longer in the midst of familiar routines.  You will be encountering new places.  So much uncertainty often brings about fear, but there is also a sense of freedom.  The known is slowly stripped away and in those losses and associated struggle, growth comes.  As you move towards that storied place you are willing, and even eager, to engage with the daily challenges in order to arrive at the destination.

Furthermore, since we meet people along the pilgrimage outside of their normal social structures, we are freer to interact in new ways and to build deep connections.  This community of pilgrims, or as some term it, communitas, is a group of individuals that plays a significant role in the journey.  Thrust out of our comfort zones, we must look elsewhere for support, and often that is to other companions along the way.  Included in those companions is God, whom we often see from a new perspective in the midst of the journey.  With these companions we suffer, grieve, and even celebrate together.  In so doing, we are transformed.

In the practice of pilgrimage, liminal space and communitas provide the environment for transformation.  However, such change, and especially positive change, is not assured. How we transform depends on that story that initially drew us to venture out.  The story of our pilgrimage destination - or sacred center - influences not only how we respond once we arrive, but also how we experience the entire journey.  In fact, many pilgrims will affirm that the journey to the site is what effects any transformation, more than the site itself. Whether we are going to Jerusalem, as the pilgrim in Psalm 84, or to the beaches of Normandy, the stories of those spaces shape our journeys and, thus, ourselves.

During the disruption that the coronavirus pandemic brings to our lives we can see ourselves as pilgrims.  Though we did not choose this journey, we can situate ourselves to experience it as a pilgrimage.  We may be in our usual spaces, but they have become liminal as we adjust to being in them under new circumstances.  Most of us have left behind our routine work either through layoffs or the need to redesign our tasks.  In addition, since everyone has been thrust into this in-between space, we are connecting with people in new ways.  All these changes transform us in some way.

The big question, though, is what story is driving how you walk through this time? 

It can be difficult to articulate that story, especially in a time such as this when everything seems to be turned upside down.   However, whether we see it or not, a story is driving our lives.  In his book You Are What You Love, James K. A. Smith writes that “our most fundamental orientation to the world—the longings and desires that orient us toward some version of the good life—is shaped and configured by imitation and practice” (19)  That “version of the good life” is the story we are following and reveals our deepest love.  Moreover, the habits of our days shape our orientation to this story.

In all the chaos of the present moment, we may choose to be driven by a story that we just want to hold on until everything returns to the way it was before.  Or, maybe the story is that society is going to fall apart and we are going to have to live in scarcity.  Or, maybe this is a time to re-envision how we live as God’s image bearers in His Kingdom.

Whichever story, i.e. sacred center, we are following will determine how we shape each of our days during these liminal times.  That in turn will determine the type of transformation we will encounter today and in the future.  Somehow these uncertain days will be filled, whether we do so with intention or not.  These days may seem dry, like the Valley of Baka in Psalm 84.  However, having a pilgrimage heart directed towards God as did the pilgrims going to Jerusalem, will provide meaning to our activities and even help us determine which activities to prioritize.

As pilgrims, we can walk through the dry areas and encounter unexpected springs of life - that living water Jesus promises.  Yes, even during this time when schools and businesses are closed and we can’t visit family and friends or attend church services.  We can relish new opportunities to connect with people – online, on the phone, and with those in our homes.  We can spend time outside to see the spring blossom in its glory.  We may even find that being forced to divest ourselves of beliefs in our ability to control life brings us new freedom.  With the Kingdom of God as the center of our story we can walk in and through the discomfort because we can trust the One who is walking with us.