A Sacred Journey

practicing pilgrimage at home and abroad

Reflections on My Week of Silence and Solitude

photo-1

When I was in college I used to watch Regis and Kelly Live each morning. One day during the host chat they happened to be discussing when a person really becomes an adult. Regis undoubtedly said something like: “When they stop asking for money!” But it’s Kelly’s answer that stayed with me. There was nothing profound about it – it was just an age, a number: “I think around 26.”

At the time I was probably 18, 19, or 20, and while legally an adult, I felt far from it. So I easily accepted Kelly’s notion that you’re not quite an adult until 26. It at least meant I had nothing to worry about and had a few years more to get it together and begin to “feel” like an adult.

Well 26 crept up on me. In mid-February of this year I realized just how quickly my birthday was coming (the middle of March) and remembered Kelly’s words. No, I still didn’t “feel” like an adult. And yes, I knew nothing magical would happen when the clock struck midnight.

Over the past few years I had started to surrender to the reality that I will never quite have it all together as I idealize, and that in fact those hopes are the furthest thing from loving myself. But my awareness of this shift of thinking and my coming birthday gave the opportunity to mark this “coming of age” as a threshold – if not as an era where I finally “feel” like an adult, as a time when I recognize that I am an adult, whether I feel it or not.

I decided to usher in this threshold of new significance with a personal retreat of silence and solitude. In last week’s post, Christine Valters Paintner described her love for thresholds as an image during times of silence and solitude, with the idea that crossing over them “brings you to a liminal space where time takes on a different quality.”

“Liminal” can be defined as “an intermediate state or phase,” and so a liminal space becomes the space in-between – two worlds, two eras, two ways of being. It is a void in time, ripe with potential for self-discovery and Divine encounter.

And so, my retreat became a liminal space. I left my home a week before my birthday no longer 25, and yet not quite 26. I spent 7 days in a small studio apartment on a peninsula surrounded by a lake in the Northeast corner of Oklahoma. Since I was on a lake, most of the peninsula’s inhabitants were away for the winter, making my environment eerily quiet. I brought all of the food and supplies I would need for the week and settled in.

retreat-2

The first thing I did upon arrival was cover all of the clocks. The only awareness of time I would have during that week would be informed by the sun and the rhythms of my body. I had realized in the weeks leading up to my retreat just how much those numbers we call “time” left me with a feeling of constant lack, and yet at the same time I was addicted to it. And so for an entire week, I pulled the plug, quite literally.

The second thing I did was hide away any temptation to read and absorb. The introverted part of me that dreams of a week away on my own to read was more than devastated when I found out that ideally on a silent retreat you don’t read or write. You give up words entirely.

Since it was my first retreat, and since it was a bit long after all, I decided I would let myself off of the hook a little and allow myself to read and journal after sunset. But I only read a few select books that I wanted to shape my time away (The Gifts of Imperfection, by Brené Brown; Invitation to Silence and Solitude, by Ruth Haley Barton; and The Pilgrimage, by Paulo Coelho, in case you’re curious).

The one thing I did allow myself to do during the day that involved paper? Draw. I sketched out dreams to uncover their meanings. I translated feelings to ink drawings and discovered parts of me that I might’ve never been able to articulate in words. And the truth? Some pretty weird stuff came out that I’m infinitely proud of. Think Salvador Dalí: he didn’t need to use words to communicate the dark uncharted corners of the soul. Sometimes words just don’t suffice.

When I consulted Christine about planning my retreat, she also suggested that I mark the rhythms of the day with spiritual practices. I decided to practice a combination of Centering Prayer and Lectio Divina (a how-to here), and with that slight semblance of structure, I set off into the unknown.

My mornings were spent lingering for hours over a single cup of coffee, allowing my mind to vacillate between wandering and stillness as I stared at the bare trees outside my window. Later I would go on long, slow walks along the shore (I believe the official term would be dawdling). I gathered nature’s curiosities to bring back to my make-shift altar and would pause, watching my companions – the birds and the squirrels – in ways I never had before. At one point as I sat amongst the birds I even tried to teach myself to whistle, in hopes of having some sort of conversation.

Without an agenda for myself or for my mind, I allowed myself to just be. I wasn’t 25, and I wasn’t 26. I wasn’t a daughter or a wife. I wasn’t a sister, and I wasn’t a friend. I wasn’t a writer, a blogger, or a designer. In the silence and the solitude, I just was.

photo-3

Through simply being, I realized how much time had passed since I’d been without something I was working toward. And in a way, I still was attempting to work toward something, because I was hoping for something: answers, guidance, peace, sweet relief.

However, nothing seemingly monumental happened on my personal retreat. There was no flash of light or booming voice from above. As in the story of Elijah in the wilderness, God was not in the more seemingly powerful wind, earthquake, or fire.

Instead in the stillness, the Divine whispered: “Be here.”

In the morning when you rise: be here; on your slow and curious walks: wander here; in the excruciating void of the afternoon: stay here; in the evening when the day is done: rest here.

I did not receive any grand revelation, as I had hoped. There was no encounter that moved me to tears. And when I turned 26 the day after my return, I didn’t necessarily “feel” like an adult. But at the end of each full day on retreat, I sifted through the Divine whispers and was given these words: acceptance, awareness, acknowledgement, self-compassion, and presence.

Words seemingly abstract, but significantly profound. Words to set a firm foundation for this new era, and yet concepts that cannot be mastered (as we hope in youth), but must be practiced daily. Words, as a (birthday) gift to one very real “adult.”

I’m 26 now. And I still don’t always “feel” like an adult. But I know being an adult isn’t simply a feeling. As a novice, I won’t claim to be an expert. But while on retreat, somewhere in the liminal space between 25 and 26, I learned more of the practices of acceptance, awareness, acknowledgement, self-compassion, and presence.

I’m starting to think that being an adult is a practice too.

GO FURTHER…

 What would you spend your time doing on a silent retreat? What would be the hardest thing not to do?and When you hear from God or are moved by the Spirit, is it a whisper in moments of stillness, or so loud it can’t be ignored?

Planning a Personal Retreat: An Interview with Christine Valters Paintner

I met Christine Valters Paintner through participating in one of her retreats, “Awakening the Creative Spirit”. Christine is a teacher, writer, and spiritual director, among other things, and refers to herself as the “online Abbess” of Abbey of the Arts, a website devoted to “transformative living through contemplative and expressive arts.” Through the Abbey of the Arts, Christine offers both live and online classes and retreats that invite participants into interior pilgrimage through creation, reflection, rest, and daily rhythms. 

So, when I was planning a personal retreat of silence and solitude of my own (more on that next week!), I knew just who to contact with all of my questions! Christine’s answers were so helpful that I knew I wanted to ask her more and share those answers with you here. Christine’s answers will help you cultivate silence and solitude, whether on retreat or in your daily life. 

 

Belvedere Vienna

From Christine: The photo is of an iron gate at the Belvedere Museum in Vienna, Austria. I love images of thresholds, especially when I consider entering into the sacred space of retreat and silence. I imagine myself crossing a threshold over to a liminal space where time takes on a different quality. (Photo by Christine. Learn to use photography as a contemplative practice in her new book.)

What do silence and solitude have to do with spirituality and Christian tradition?

There is a long and rich tradition of seeking the gifts of silence within Christianity. One of the earliest is the desert monks who wrote extensively about hesychia, which is a deep inner stillness and silence. Hesychia isn’t just about finding a quiet place, but about cultivating a profound interior quiet. Much of their practice had to do with working with their thoughts, which if we are paying attention, can be relentlessly noisy. Through practice we can break through to moments of this silence within, which is also the place where God’s voice rises up most clearly.

What can taking a silent retreat do for our spirituality and well-being? How might going on a silent retreat be a form of pilgrimage?

A silent retreat is an interior pilgrimage. There is a wonderful brief poem by Kabir: “A Great Pilgrimage I felt in need of a great pilgrimage so I sat still for three days and God came to me.”  We do not need to travel many miles to find the presence of God.  In fact, sometimes travel can be a form of running away from ourselves. The real challenge is to sit with ourselves, and all that goes on within our mind and heart, and allow ourselves to dip down into the place of stillness.  This is the greatest pilgrimage you can make.

What are some reasons someone might take a silent retreat?

Often people are drawn to a silent retreat during a period of discernment, when they want to listen beneath the noise of daily life with a deeper attentiveness.

What is the ideal environment for a silent retreat?

Certainly a quiet location is ideal, although with practice, the idea is that we might find silence and inner stillness in any kind of place. I find being out in nature, whether by the sea or in the forest, to be especially nourishing for moving into silence.

What is the ideal time frame for a silent retreat?

It really depends on how experienced someone is with silence. For a beginner, a weekend might be enough to start with.  Although my own experience is that it takes at least a day, and sometimes more, to quiet down the inner noise. I love longer expanses of time, like 7-10 days, where you really can attend to the movements happening within you. Silence takes time to cultivate.

How should someone structure their days on a silent retreat?

Again, for someone just starting out, it can be helpful to attend a structured silence retreat, which are often offered at retreat centers and have meals and liturgies and designated times, often with spiritual direction accompaniment as well. This kind of companioning can be really vital to making it a fruitful experience. So much comes up in the silence, that it can be important to have someone to share it with, and to get some perspective when the inner voices are especially loud.

On the other hand, my favorite kind of silent retreat is to rent a cottage by myself and listen to my body’s own rhythms. There are so few spaces in life where we can eat when we are hungry, sleep when we are tired, move when we need the invigoration. There is something powerful about a retreat that allows us to tune into these more primal rhythms of our bodies.

What new practices might you suggest exploring during the retreat?

I especially recommend any kind of creative practice when on a silent retreat. Bring some collage materials – magazines, scissors, glue sticks, and paper. Then at the end of each day create a simple collage out of the silence you experienced that day. Or bring a camera, and go for long contemplative walks, where you aren’t trying to get anywhere, but simply open to receiving whatever gifts are presented to you. Art is a beautiful way to express our inner movements and prayer.

What should you take with you on a silent retreat?

As little as possible. Part of preparing for your retreat is a time of reflecting on what is most essential.  I would suggest a journal and some art supplies. A book of meditations or poetry can be beneficial at times, but be cautious about reading as a distraction.

What should you not take with you?

I recommend not bringing a whole pile of books and then filling the silence with words. If you can leave behind electronic devices that are distracting, and disconnecting from the internet. Taking a technology Sabbath can be very restorative and a good reminder that the world won’t fall apart if we stop checking our email for a few days. When I am on retreat, I like to set up an autoresponder which explains what I am doing and why it will take me a few days to reply. I often include a short poem in the hope that the person receiving it might be inspired to one day seek the gift of silence themselves.

I imagine there is likely some resistance present once the silent retreat begins. Any words of advice for those times?

In Benedictine tradition, one of the most important principles is stability. This can refer to an outward practice of staying in one physical place. But, perhaps even more vital, is the inward disposition of not running away from struggles. Most of our resistance to silence comes from knowing that there are layers and layers of old habits and thought patterns we don’t want to face. Perhaps our inner critic is especially fierce in the silence.

The greatest gift is to stay with it, to keep breathing as an anchor for your attention, and to simply observe your thoughts without judgment. This means not following them down the trail they want to take you, and not berating yourself for having these thoughts. The purpose of this time is to simply notice what happens inside of you. This constant barrage of commentary is happening all the time, we just often don’t notice it in the rush and chatter of daily life. A retreat gives us a chance to be with it, and ourselves, with compassion. In this softening and attention, the inner noise slowly gives way.

Oftentimes the transition from a silent retreat back into everyday life might feel abrupt. What do you suggest someone in this situation keep in mind during this transition?

I recommend great gentleness. If at all possible, don’t go from a silent retreat straight back to work. Give yourself a day in between when you can transition.

Also be gentle with others in your life and share your experience somewhat cautiously. For those who haven’t been experiencing the depths in the way you have, it may be hard for them to receive and understand your experience. Meeting with a spiritual companion or soul friend after the retreat to share and name what happened is especially important as a way of honoring it.

I also suggest having some small practice from your retreat that you bring back to daily life with you. The purpose of a retreat is to transform the whole of your life. Maybe it is sitting in silence for a few minutes each day. Perhaps it is a journaling practice.

How can we look back and evaluate any transformation during our experiences in silence and solitude?

The key question to ask is: “Have I grown in compassion for myself and others?” This is the hallmark of an authentic spiritual experience, one where we encountered the divine Source of all.

What are some ways to bring the silence and solitude experienced on retreat into our everyday lives? And for those who aren’t able to take a silent retreat at this time: is there a way to practice mini silent retreats at home?

Absolutely! Even a practice of five minutes of silence each day can be transformative and get us in touch with the depth dimension of life. Paying attention to the breath is a powerful way of anchoring our attention. Bring your awareness to the present moment. Anything you can do in daily life to bring the quality of silence and stillness in, will reward you many times over.

If you have a couple of hours on a weekend morning, consider sitting in silence for a longer period of time. Then perhaps some journaling and a long, slow walk, just being aware of the gifts of creation around you.

Any other words of advice, encouragement, or invitation?

Remember that this is a lifelong journey and all contemplative paths counsel a form of “beginner’s mind.”  We are always growing and deepening and when we slide away from our practice, the key is to gently bring ourselves back and begin again.

GO FURTHER…

I want to know: Have you ever been on a silent retreat? What was the hardest part? What new insight did you receive?

ABOUT CHRISTINE

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, is the online Abbess at Abbey of the Arts, a virtual monastery and community for contemplative practice and creative expression.  She is the author of 7 books on art and monasticism, including her latest, Eyes of the Heart: Photography as a Christian Contemplative Practice (Ave Maria Press). Christine currently lives out her commitment as a monk in the world with her husband in Galway, Ireland.

How to Practice Lectio Divina

IMG_6327

The spiritual practice of lectio divina involves focusing in on what stands out to you and gathering new insight.

For the past two weeks we’ve been talking about re-interpreting and re-imagining our daily lives, our stories, and our journeys through a particular lens. A couple of weeks ago we looked at the Bible through the lens of pilgrimage, and I offered an Old Testament Retelling through the lens of pilgrimage (download it here). Last week, I shared my interview with Ronna Detrick about how she is re-imagining the stories of women in the Bible, bringing new life  and wisdom where there has been oppression and neglect.

Today it’s your turn to re-interpret and re-imagine through the spiritual practice of lectio divina. Lectio divina (pronounced “lexio”) is a style of reading and gleaning, and while traditionally used with scripture, it can also be used with poetry, music, or even art. No matter the medium, lectio divina (literally, “divine reading”) involves sacred encounter and guidance.

Lectio divina is a perfect spiritual practice for the pilgrim. In fact, the process of lectio divina is no different than the way the pilgrim encounters the world, both while traveling and at home. Filled with intentionality, curiosity, and desire, the pilgrim takes in (1. read), ponders (2. meditate), encounters (3. pray), and reflects (4. contemplate).

As you continue practicing viewing your daily life, your stories, and your journeys through the eyes of a pilgrim, lectio divina is a wonderful spiritual practice to engage in regularly at home, while on retreat, or while traveling.

BEFORE YOU BEGIN

Begin by first selecting your medium, whether a passage from the Bible, a poem, a song, a work of art, or something else you’d like to spend time with (it could even be outside!). If it is a passage, make sure it isn’t too long – it’s easier to focus in when the passage is smaller. Consider starting with a (shorter) psalm or the Beatitudes (Matthew 5:1-12). If you’d like to use poetry, try “Wild Geese” by Mary Oliver or “The Guest House” by Rumi (two of my favorites that I continually come back to). As you continue to practice, start a list of passages, poems, songs, etc. that you’d like to use with lectio divina.

After you’ve decided your medium, I suggest setting a timer for 20-30 minutes. Certainly you don’t have to stop when the timer goes off, but I find it best to set a timer for a longer period because it invites my westernized over-stimulated self to go deeper. Alternatively, you could set a timer for 5-10 minutes for each stage.

Now you’re ready to begin!

1. lectio | read

Read the passage through many times. Read it aloud; read it silently; read it slowly, pausing between each line or phrase. If you’re doing Lectio Divina with a group, have different voices read the text each time, and pause for a few moments of silence between each reading.

If you’re listening to a song, play through it a few times. And if you’re looking at a work of art, simply take it in.

As you continue to read the text (or listen to the song or take in the art), note what stands out to you: What draws you in? What resonates with you? What makes you uncomfortable? What leaves you with questions? You will take this phrase (or with art, an image) with you into step 2, meditation.

2. meditatio | meditate

Now it’s time to focus in on the phrase (or image) that stood out to you. Bring the phrase to mind and meditate on it; repeat it in your mind slowly, noticing what comes up for you. As feelings emerge, let them sink in without distracting you from your meditation – the phrase might still have more to give.

3. oratio | pray

As you transition from meditation into prayer, begin communicating with God about the phrase (or image) that stood out to you. Explore what made the phrase stand out to you initially and share any feelings that came up for you during your meditation. As you share these things in prayer, take note of any new insight you are given in regards to the text and/or what has been awakened in you through your phrase.

4. contemplatio | contemplate

As your time in prayer comes to a close, spend a few minutes in God’s presence contemplating what has happened within you throughout the time of reading, meditation, and prayer. Bring to mind any new insights you’ve received during this time, whether personal or in relation to the text, and let them sink in, coloring your way of being. You might be surprised how much such a simple and quiet process can alter your perspective and give you new direction.

GO FURTHER…

I want to hear about your experience with lectio divina: Is it a new practice for you? What new insights or experiences have come from your lectio divina practice?

Redeeming the Scriptures: An Interview with Ronna Detrick

I first came across Ronna Detrick when I worked in the Office of Students and Alumni at The Seattle School of Theology and Psychology.  She was being featured in an alumni newsletter I was putting together, so I thought I would check her out on her website.

I was immediately intrigued (and truthfully, in love) with her approach to spirituality and her advocacy for the Sacred Feminine – the beautiful, wise, and mysterious feminine aspect of God that has often been undermined or forgotten in a traditionally patriarchal faith. 

Through the connection of the Dean of Students and Alumni, I’ve since had the opportunity to get to know more about Ronna (a powerhouse) and her spiritual work with women (prophetic and inspiring). Recently, Ronna has been digging deep into the stories of women in Scripture, uncovering their spirits from the rubble left by oppression and redeeming these women as valuable, unique, and worthy figures in the greater story. Just as we’ve been talking about reading/seeing through the lens of pilgrimage, Ronna re-visits these stories through the lens of the Sacred Feminine, offering a new way of faith for us all. 

Below you’ll find my interview with Ronna about her work and her process. At the bottom, you’ll find a special gift from Ronna just for you!

ronna-detrick

“Eve,” “Elizabeth,” and “Extravagant,” above, are part of an artist collaboration between Ronna and Callahan McDonough, for sale here.

Describe the work you do in revisiting and (re)interpreting Scriptures, particularly those which are well known.

The easy answer is that I give myself permission to re-imagine Scriptures’ stories of women in brand new ways. The more complex answer is that I am completely enraptured by them, as if they wind themselves around my heart and beg for me to make them known. Sadly, too many of them have been interpreted in ways that steep them in either shame or silence. And I believe that as long as they stay in such places that we do, as well. I’m not OK with that.

When did you first begin looking back at Scripture and finding new themes and stories that you had never noticed before?

When I was in Seminary I took both Greek and Hebrew. I began to realize that the textual interpretation process has always been highly subjective; that words have been translated in particular ways for particular cultures and even particular agendas. To realize that the adjustment of the smallest of marks on the smallest of words could completely alter how we understood a particular concept or story was eye-opening and heart-expanding for me. I recognized that I had just as much permission and ability to interpret the texts as any of the men who had gone before me – for thousands of years. This was (and is) incredibly empowering and freeing.

What was it that made you look at these Scriptures again through a new lens? Were you seeking answers to a question? Had you changed, and therefore the way you saw these well-known stories changed?

In addition to the original languages mentioned above, I took a class called Feminist Critique and was exposed to both feminist theory and feminist theology. It is still hard for me to believe, but that was really my entry-point into feminism – at 41 years of age. And once the window had been opened, the floodgates opened.

And simultaneously, yes, I was changing. I had grown up in the church and had been steeped in both its culture and its doctrine my entire life. But it slowly began to feel less and less relevant to me, less and less connected to my heart. I was hungry for a way to know and interact with a God who felt intimate; to whom I could relate in a distinctly feminine way. That search continues, to be sure, but along the way it has been the stories of women who have companioned, guided, supported, and led.

Why is re-examining these well-known stories important for us today? I know some might find it uncomfortable (re)interpreting and questioning words that have been the same for centuries.

I am deeply aware that to step into the world of (re)interpreting Biblical text feels dangerous and dicey to many. And though I used to feel that way and even understand it, I don’t ascribe to it any more.

The stories we’ve learned have been told in particular ways. And those tellings have shaped the world as we know it: systems of power, politics, economy, social justice (or lack thereof), and certainly the condition of women around the world.

This reality, though sobering, actually encourages me. If the telling of those stories had the power to create this world, then the retelling of the same stories – in redemptive and powerful ways – has the power to change the world. And I’m all for that.

Describe your process in revisiting these stories and uncovering new truths. Do you begin with a question? Do you do any additional research? How do you know that the new interpretation you come to is sacred or from God?

My process is usually two-fold. First, and most importantly, I ask the women in the text what they long for me to know and understand. I let them speak. I imagine their voices, their emotions, their experiences, their perspectives. I try and get into and under their skin. And believe me, in that process, they get under mine.

Secondly, I read and do research all the time – constantly downloading new books on feminist theology and interpretation, ways of thinking about the Sacred Feminine, and certainly innovative storytelling of these ancient texts.

Stunningly, what I read – from highly trained and reputable scholars – almost always corroborates what I had thought and felt for myself. And, of course, that then validates that I’m on the right track, that I’m inviting ways of seeing these women anew that will change everything.

This question of how I know that what I come to understand is “of God” may or may not satisfy your readers, but here it is. I trust that what I hear, comprehend, perceive, and understand – deep in my bones – can be trusted; that I can be trusted. And my validating “proof” comes from the story of Eve: the crowning glory of creation, made in the image of the gods. I am her legacy. I am her kin. And as such, it is my birthright to know God’s intimacy and care as she did; to trust in and act on that same intuitive knowing. Not the way her story has predominantly been told, but you’d expect no less from me, would you?

Is your primary work less with the text specifically, and more with how the historical and cultural interpretations of the text have affected us? I’m thinking particularly of your (re)interpretation of Eve’s story, and how typically it has been used to silence and degrade women.

I would hope that I’m striking a balance between “work with the text” and discussing “historical and cultural interpretations.” One begets the other in my experience. And so, in the story of Eve, it is equally as important to pay attention to the text itself as well as the ways in which the interpretation of her story has impacted thousands of years of history for women and frankly, for men, as well.

How would you describe the importance of realizing how our own reading of Scripture can affect us in both negative and positive ways?

A “negative” reading of the text, in my opinion, is when we fail to take into consideration the context and agenda inherent from when it was written – and how it’s then been interpreted throughout time. To assume, at face value, that there is only one way to read it feels far too simplistic and sadly, the cause of so much harm throughout history and ongoing.

A “positive” reading of the text honors all that has gone before and recognizes that it is powerful enough to allow and engender new understandings, new tellings, new truths. The pages are opened with curiosity and even with the expectation that our own thoughts have value and, as stated earlier, can be trusted.

If the text is to have value it must be allowed to breathe – as must the stories within them. I hope that is what I do; resuscitate women who have been gasping for fresh air, fresh eyes, fresh ways in which their influence can be profoundly felt.

Being that we’re in the Easter season, how has your work in revisiting and reinterpreting Scripture brought redemption to your spirituality and faith? What has been resurrected in you because of your work?

I am completely certain that were it not for the stories of women in Scripture, their companionship in the darkest parts of my own story, and their ongoing presence in my day-to-day life, I would not have sustained my faith; nor could I, ongoing. Reimagining them has enabled me to reimagine myself. Redeeming them has redeemed me.

Finally, what’s the next story you plan to explore, and what are you seeking in your exploration?

I’m leaning toward both Deborah and Abigail – and will undoubtedly do them both; though I don’t know who will come first. I love both of these women: they are of profoundly courageous, wise, and kind – in unorthodox ways. And not surprisingly, what I love in them is what I long for on my own behalf. They inspire me to be more of who I am; Deborah and Abigail, to be sure; but every woman in Scripture.

The stories of women in Scripture deserve to be re-imagined, retold, and redeemed in ways that honor them as icons of inspiration and sources of wisdom, truth, and deeply feminine strength. Only when that happens, can we as women recognize our own wisdom, truth, and deeply feminine strength…and then (continue to) change the world.

GO FURTHER…

I’m curious: What do you think of Ronna’s work? In what ways are you finding redemption in the retelling of old stories, both in your life and on the page?

BONUS! SPECIAL DISCOUNT

Ronna has graciously offered all of our readers a 15% discount* on products or services at RonnaDetrick.com when you use the following code at checkout: lacy

*discount not available for use on Kindle book or Sacred Art

ABOUT RONNA

Ronna Detrick loves nothing more than having provocative conversations about God and women. She realizes this is an oft’ taboo topic which, quite frankly, makes her want to talk and write about it even more! She’s been blogging for over seven years, providing Spiritual Direction even longer, and figuring out what it means to live someplace between faith and doubt for as long as she can remember. She is writing a book on the desert experiences of women and the beautiful, winsome companions to be found in the re-imagined stories of scripture. You can get her musings, her writings, and her heart directly in your inbox. And you can learn even more about her products and services here.

Finding Pilgrimage All Around Us (+ a FREE ebook)

hagia-sophia

You might remember from our Pilgrimage 101: A Brief History post a while back that the spiritual practice of pilgrimage finds its roots in faith, beginning with Abraham (at least in the tradition of the Abrahamic faiths – Judaism, Christianity, and Islam).

Even if you haven’t had your history lesson, perhaps you just know this to be true – you feel it in your bones. I know I do. It is my belief that pilgrimage is built within the fabric of humanity, both individually and collectively.

We can discover this for ourselves when we look at our stories (again, individually and collectively) through the lens of pilgrimage. It is a lens that, when applied, will color everything you see, including your journeys and daily life, the books you read and movies you love, and even the way you look at history. Everything seems connected when you view things through the lens of pilgrimage.

Today, to start to play with what it’s like to see things through the lens of pilgrimage, I’m going to loosely trace its theme throughout the Bible (it still is the Easter season, after all!). I’m giving you a retelling of the Old Testament through the lens of pilgrimage for free (download it below).

Alright. Comfy chair? Check. Morning brew? Check. Let’s begin then, shall we?

The theme of journey in human spirituality is strongly evident when the Bible is read through a lens of pilgrimage, starting with the very first book. This is seen particularly through Abraham, a devout man who was blessed by God as the father of many nations, including Israel (read more here). Abraham is also considered to be the father of the practice of pilgrimage because of his journey to Canaan, leaving all he knew to follow the divine calling of God faithfully to a foreign land. Imagine that! As generations continued to seek God, the Israelites looked to Abraham as a figure who, though fearful, followed God on a pilgrimage of faith.

Similar to Abraham’s experience, the pilgrimages of the Israelites evoked sacred encounters with God, and in turn, the Israelites’ sacred encounters with God prompted pilgrimages. After a forty-year pilgrimage of their own to the Promised Land, the nation of Israel chose to commemorate their saving encounters with God through pilgrimages to the Temple in Jerusalem, the dwelling place of God. Each year, pilgrims would journey to the holy city for Passover, the Feast of the Weeks, and the Feast of the Tabernacles, remembering these sacred encounters (in fact, the Psalms of Ascent, Psalms 120-134, come from these pilgrimages).

Just as the Israelites made pilgrimages to the dwelling place of God, the New Testament tells of God fully entering the dwelling place of His people through Jesus. In Pilgrimage: Meditations on a Journey of Faith, author Patricia D. Brown describes the Incarnation as an “initial venture…from the heart of God into the heart of our human reality.” That’s right – the theme of pilgrimage can even be found in the heart of Christianity – Emmanuel, “God with us.”

“[The Incarnation is an] initial venture…from the heart
of God into the heart of our human reality.”

The life of Jesus, from birth until death, is filled with both literal pilgrimage and imagery of journey, beginning with the Magi. In their search for the Christ child, the Magi can be considered the first Christian pilgrims (now that you relate to them a bit more, you’ll be putting them in a more prominent place this year in your nativity, won’t you?).

The only account of Jesus as a child is one of sacred journey: Jesus, Mary, and Joseph traveled to Jerusalem for the Passover feast. The significance of this pilgrimage destination is evident to Jesus, as he could not help but stay (a fact unknown to his parents as they began the journey home). Something deep was drawing him near: “Didn’t you know I had to be in my Father’s house?” he asked.

Something deep was drawing him near:
“Didn’t you know I had to be in my Father’s house?”

In his ministry, Jesus travels from town to town, healing the sick, casting out demons, and declaring that the kingdom of God is at hand. Many of his disciples and followers leave everything behind to follow him. Jesus even sends his disciples out from the group to share his message elsewhere, and in his instruction sets the tone for the pilgrim’s journey by encouraging them to engage in the particular places they encounter along the way, for all they need could be found there.

Toward the end of Jesus’ life we find that his entire ministry was not only a journey around Israel and Galilee – it was a pilgrimage toward redemption, to the cross and Resurrection. We again find that the Gospels are shaped by Jewish pilgrimage practices as Jesus enters his final destination – Jerusalem, the holy city – just in time for the Passover feast.

The pilgrims in the city welcome Jesus, without knowing that he would soon become the new Passover Lamb. Each step is intentional, each movement sacred as Jesus prepares for what is to come. From the celebration of the Passover Feast in the upper room to the heart wrenching prayers in Gethsemane, the final moments until Jesus’ crucifixion are filled with ritual and deep desire for the Divine.

In his last hours, Jesus makes a final journey filled with humiliation and shame, mocked and costumed as the “King of the Jews,” as his cross is carried alongside him to Golgotha, the place of his death.

Is it any surprise, seeing how the life and ministry of Jesus are intertwined with pilgrimage, that on the very day of the Resurrection, even before appearing to the twelve disciples, we find Jesus on the road to Emmaus in conversation with two men about the things of God? No doubt they are not the only ones who have encountered Jesus while on a journey, saying,

“Were not our hearts burning within us while he
[was] with us on the road?”

Though Jesus’ literal journey on earth was drawing to an end, the Holy Spirit continued to kindle the hearts of followers on their own journeys. The Incarnation solidified the spirit of pilgrimage in the hearts of Christians. Those who were once taking pilgrimages to Jerusalem as faithful Jews were now pilgrims on a journey of redemption.

GO FURTHER…

So what do you think? Can you see the theme of pilgrimage woven throughout the Bible? In the story of humanity? In your own story?

BONUS!

Click on the image below to download Pilgrimage in the Bible: An Old Testament Retelling (PDF). No matter what you believe, it is the story of a sacred journey (and  at 18 pages, it’s only a fraction of the size of the Old Testament!).

old-testament-retelling-downlaod

 

EXPLORE

ABOUT
JOURNEY SHOP

DISCOVER

CONNECT

GET UPDATES + A FREE GUIDE
FOLLOW ON INSTAGRAM