On Pilgrimage

Sermon by Rev. Alan Taylor
Preached at Unity Temple Unitarian Universalist Congregation
November 21, 2004

It’s funny how there are so many things in life that if we just give them some attention, there is far more truth and wisdom than what first meets the eye, whether that be a person, a situation, or a story. It is so easy to be judgmental, to live our days in hurried anticipation of achievement after achievement, to lose sight of the wisdom, the beauty, and the authentic significance of what is available to us. I believe if we pace ourselves, pay attention, intentionally make room in our lives for genuine encounter, we are capable of uncovering grace waiting to be manifested, and thereby bless the world.

Today I will explore pilgrimage, both in the traditional sense of a long journey of exalted purpose or moral significance as well as how we can bring at least a part of our own daily lives on pilgrimage. All religious traditions encourage pilgrimages, to leave one’s familiar surroundings and daily routine, unencumbered for a journey from which wisdom and insight can be revealed. It was nearly fourteen years ago when I joined Hindus and Muslims making the pilgrimage to Sabarimala. It is a pilgrimage to the forest and hundreds of thousands of people go there every year. Father Bede Griffiths, from River of Compassion, says, “People need to go back from time to time to the forest, to the wilds, where they were before they belonged to a settled civilization with a home and a city. We need to recall the freedom of the forest. 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 like the sunnyasi.”

From my own writing about 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.

It was a most memorable day during my nearly eight month solo journey through India. I didn’t see my trip as a pilgrimage per se, though the primary motivation was a deep longing, a deep longing to answer the question: to what should I devote my life? I was twenty-two 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 by the holy sites themselves but by the people who everywhere manifested deep spiritual devotion. I was envious. I longed for that 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 self-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, and I discovered a number of traditions that bring Hindus and Muslims together. However, the primary motivation for the trip was to figure out what to devote my life to. Upon returning to the United States, 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 more subtle and take time to unfold. It’s like praying to God for something to happen, and when it doesn’t, feeling cheated, bereft, and wondering what was the use of getting ones 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 has, as one of its five core pillars, the expectation that every Muslim is expected to make once in one’s life the pilgrimage to Mecca. I have come to understand pilgrimage not only as a long journey to a distant land but also smaller journeys, indeed, 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 the Chicagoland area for such a journey, and one doesn’t even need to leave one’s home, for pilgrimages are fundamentally about the journey within.

Once in a while, it is good to go on pilgrimage beyond our familiar surroundings. For some Unitarian Universalists, this is a trip to Boston to learn about the roots of American Unitarianism. Others journey to Transylvania to build a relationship with the people of one of many Unitarian congregations there that have survived over 450 years. And for still others, it is going to Alabama. Alabama—you may ask. Yes, Alabama, to Selma and other significant sites of civil rights demonstrations and struggle. In fact, this summer may be the last organized pilgrimage led by Gordon Gibson, a Unitarian Universalist minister who marched in Selma where he and three of his colleagues were attacked, one of whom, James Reeb, was killed. Should you have interest in this, let me know.

Others take a different kind of pilgrimage, such as to Mississippi, where they spend a summer building houses for underprivileged people and cultivate relationships with the people who will live in them. And others pilgrimage to a hospital or home of someone with a life threatening illness, either to deepen a relationship or to cultivate one. Either way, wisdom and insight await those who engage in such a journey.

What makes for a pilgrimage? I discerned four essential elements:

First, intentionally set aside time for a journey whose goal is to move you closer to that which is of ultimate importance to you.

Second, prepare yourself for the journey by taking as little as you can

Third, be open to the encounters and people that come your way, 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. Now this may not happen during the journey itself. Don’t go with the expectation of being immediately transformed, the meaningful learnings may take weeks, months, or even years.

At the time of my journey in India, I understood pilgrimage only as a journey to a sacred place or shrine, but there is a richness in the wider meaning of a pilgrimage as a search of moral significance. Quests of moral significance can be cultivated into in our lives on a yearly, a monthly, and even a daily basis.

Set aside a certain amount of time to be in your garden, intentionally seeking to clear your mind and thereby embark on the journey unencumbered, being 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 un-encumber 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 it is 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 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 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.

A week and a half ago, I visited L’Arche Chicago. It is a home just a couple miles away from here that houses developmentally disabled individuals. Six months ago, I received the invitation to visit their monthly open house. It wasn’t a priority for me and I nearly said that I had no interest, but there was something genuine to the gentle persistence of the individual making the invitation with whom I played phone tag for a couple weeks.  I considered just saying on their voicemail that I didn’t have the time. Once we talked there was a sincere invitation to relationship. I felt obliged, as a human being, to at least make their acquaintance. I agreed to visit three months ago, but my schedule required me to postpone twice. Then a week and a half ago, I was without a car on the evening of their open house. It was tempting just to skip it, but instead I walked to the Austin and Harvard location. That evening proved one of the most extraordinary evenings I have had in a long time. The intentional community of those who support the developmentally disabled residents live 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 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 the human journey to engage with the world authentically so that grace is unveiled and brought forth.

It’s as if we are to find those doors that may appear nothing more than a door and frame. Such doors often don’t look very exciting. It may be tempting to ignore those passages, but if you attend to the spiritual practice of pilgrimage, then you can learn that within you and within every living thing, it’s a lot bigger than it looks from the outside.

Blessed Be. Amen.

 

© Copyright 2004 Alan C. Taylor, All Rights Reserved.