Life as a pilgrim

Recently, I was invited back to my secondary school.  Although someone who remembers many things, I have never been one for returning to previous life places.  I have always taken a bit of a ‘shake the dust’ view, and thought it is better to lean into whatever newness lies ahead.  So, I was surprised by the swirl of memories that accompanied me on my visit.  The school has changed completely, of course, but I could still hear the echoes of those teenage feet stepping through the years of learning.  The familiarity of the street on which the school is situated, the church on the corner where we spent so many hours.  The memory of the school motto: veritas in caritate. 

I remembered how it was there that I developed a love of literature – poems, prayers and scripture.  For some the reading of the Acts of the Apostles in Year 9 seemed interminable, but I didn’t mind.  I liked the characters and their stories: who could not love reading about the Damascus Road with the dramatic story of Saul’s conversion?  It was there, sitting with the other students on the beanbags (I think the RE teacher thought that would make the reading of Acts more palatable) that I came to understand what it meant to be a pilgrim.  And I started to appreciate that the highway of life is not always smooth. 

Years later I had the opportunity to walk the site of what is thought to be the Damascus Road.  The rocky stones are smooth now, and it is just an ordinary street in a history laden part of the world.  It was a reminder to me that this is how God is revealed to us, though, in the ordinary stuff of life.

The commencement of this Holy Jubilee Year has had me pondering our various pilgrim roads.  In addressing young people in 2024, Pope Francis encouraged them with a description of pilgrimage life: ‘Pilgrims … immerse themselves fully in the places they encounter, listen to the message they communicate and making them a part of their quest for happiness and fulfilment’.  Ah yes, the quest for happiness and fulfilment, that for which we all long. 

Some years ago, Joyce Rupp walked that famous pilgrim road of the Camino with a friend.  She offers her reflection on this experience in a book called Walk in a relaxed manner: Life lessons from the Camino.  She commences her pilgrim journey with this reflection:

Imagine walking on a path where millions of feet from other lands and cultures have previously walked, feet that have trod hundreds of miles to reach a sacred site.  Think of what it would be like to have that same path and those same stones beneath your feet as you, too, walk for many weeks to reach the same destination.

Further, she notes that ‘Each of us has a Camino, a road of life.  This road allows us access to the spiritual richness of those who have travelled before us and those who travel with us now.’  And I wonder if that is part of the call of this Jubilee Year. 

One of the rituals of a Jubilee Year is the opening of four Holy Doors in Rome.  The first of these was opened on Christmas Eve at St Peter’s Basilica.  Pope Francis opened the second door a few days later – to one of the largest prisons in Italy.  In opening the door at the Rebibbi Prison, Pope Francis said he wanted to open the door, part of the prison chapel, to show that ‘hope does not disappoint’.

I was moved by the symbolism being offered with these two openings: the first to the grandest of cathedrals to which so many pilgrims travel each year.  They sit and marvel at its beauty and majesty – it is awe-inspiring.  A place where, usually after queuing all are welcome in their wandering and praying.  The second, a door through which not many enter and rarely willingly.  A building with little of the traditional beauty, a place that houses prisoners.  And yet, the Pope chose to identify it as a holy place, a reminder that no matter who we are or what we have done we can make cathedrals out of pain and hope. 

A Jubilee Year can offer a time of renewal, reflection, and a recommitment to our values and mission.  It offers a reminder of the importance of forgiveness, mercy, and compassion in our lives and work.  It calls us to look beyond ourselves and to serve others with humility and grace.

But I am feeling overwhelmed by the heaviness of the world.  The harsh words from some of our world leaders, the terrible stories emerging from Gaza and Israel, Ukraine and Russia, so many places that are being marked with violence.  I feel painfully aware that behind every story there is a person, a family, a neighbourhood.  How is the Spirit dwelling amongst us, I ponder. 

This week we have also learned that the Pope is unwell and in hospital.  His desire for hope has inspired this Jubilee Year, for hope, he has said, does not disappoint.  Over the years, the Pope has spoken frequently spoken about hope.  It is a gift from God.  It can sustain us in times of difficulty.  It can call us to action.  ‘Hope has a name,’ Pope Francis has said on more than one occasion, ‘and it is Jesus Christ’.

I think this is something that my little Year 9 heart started to learn all those years ago.  That the path of life is not always smooth, that we don’t always get what we want, that there will be times when we feel as though we are on the brink of falling into darkness.  That we disappoint ourselves, and others.  This is the stuff of life.  This is the seeding ground for the work of hope, I think, opening our hearts and to the unfolding of God in our lives. 

Richard Rohr had this insight: “One great idea of the biblical revelation is that God is manifest in the ordinary, in the actual, in the daily, in the now, in the concrete incarnations of life, and not through purity codes and moral achievement contests, which are seldom achieved anyway…  We do not think ourselves into new ways of living, we live ourselves into new ways of thinking…  The most courageous thing we will ever do is to bear humbly the mystery of our own reality.” 

So, I am reminded again that God is in the world.  That everything will eventually be OK.  That the best I can do now is to try and seed little pockets of hope where I am.  To see the good in the ‘other’, to respond with kindness and generosity.  To remember and ponder the great call to cultivate this virtue of hope as it unfolds in daily life.  To greet the dawn of the day as a gift.  

The words of the author L R Knost might help with this: ‘Life is amazing.  And then it’s awful.  And then it’s amazing again.  And in between the amazing and awful it’s ordinary and mundane and routine.  Breathe in the amazing, hold on through the awful, and relax and exhale during the ordinary.  That’s just living heartbreaking, soul-healing, amazing, awful, ordinary life.  And it’s breathtakingly beautiful.’

May the Lord of hope bless you and keep you all the days of 2025.

By Cathy Jenkins