The rain hits the windshield, as I look out upon the French countryside— fertile, rustic, quaint. I think back over this month and consider the contrasts that mark this month. Just a few days ago, I was working long hours trying to wrap up all of my work and responsibilities in Texas. It seems that most of March flew by with all that needed to be done so that I could leave for a few months.
Why am I in France, you might wonder? For many months now, I have felt the unexplainable desire that grew stronger and stronger to step away from the responsibilities that I typically give my energy towards, and to embark on a time of travel. To leave all that I find familiar and to seek out what God might want to speak to me. To strip down to the essentials and travel lightly with what I could fit on my back. To take some time with the monastic invitation that I’m discerning, to spend time with communities who are centering upon love and to try to still the noise within and around me so that I can hear the voice of God.
Back in November 2023, I attended a couple of lectures by Barbara Brown Taylor which helped provide some language and a framework for what I was sensing. She introduced me to “peregrination”, a practice that comes from the Celtic Christian tradition.
Peregrination is a pilgrimage without a destination, except for one’s own resurrection. It’s a journey that doesn’t necessarily end in a famous holy place, but rather that depends upon the blowing of the wind of the Holy Spirit to the liminal space where God wants to meet us. It’s about looking for the movements of God all along the journey, not just waiting for the encounter at the end of the road.
In the Celtic tradition, seekers would launch out into the ocean with a small boat and a sail, but without any oars, asking God to lead them where He would have them to go. This journey of faith was an external embodiment of an internal posture of journeying towards God. As one physically journeyed, they were spiritually transformed so that they carried the pilgrim posture back into their “normal” life.
I have some loose plans for this pilgrimage, starting today with two weeks of retreat in two monastic communities in France and then making my way by train into Italy where I plan to walk over 340 miles from Florence to Rome along the Way of St Francis. But I’m also trying to listen to what the Spirit is speaking to me, knowing that Rome is not my final destination but rather only another waypoint along the lifelong pilgrim trail I trod.
Along the way, I’m asking for God to meet me. To provide direction for my life. And along the way, I’m trying to slow down, to be still internally and know that God is God and I am not. Trying to follow the words from Psalm 46:10, “Step out of the traffic! Take a long, loving look at me, your High God, above politics, above everything” (MSG)
So far, I’m enjoying the moments of goodness along the way — meeting a friend in Paris to explore for a couple days as he begins a pilgrimage (in the opposite direction!), nibbling on a baguette as I walk along the street; climbing the Eiffel Tower; enjoying good French food; attending Maundy Thursday service in a Paris Cathedral; and admiring the architecture around me.
I’m also dealing with the internal desire to run back to what is familiar, instead of opening myself to new things. I’m tempted to buy my way to security, instead of welcoming the moment amidst its uncertainties. I’m tempted to let fear shut me down.
But in those moments, I’m discovering that there is great power in becoming still and trusting that I am held in Love and that there is no better place to be.