Preparing for Pilgrimage: Leaving Those I Love

Training for a pilgrimage is an interesting endeavor. Experienced pilgrims often say there are multiple moments where one ebbs and flows between going on a long walk and beginning.a spiritual journey. As I read guide books, prepare my itinerary and book my travel, I am quite aware of the long walk aspect. However, once the tickets were purchased and the itinerary set, I began feeling the intensity that I will be alone, physically extended, and disconnected from work and family routines. The awareness that is coming moves me from walking to searching; from hiking to pilgrimage.

Even so, I know the the physical demands require training. I recently began such training. I acquired ten 2-liter bottles to fill with water in order to weight my bag for training. I spent one Friday evening cleaning the pop residue from these bottles and began filling them with clean water. 2 liter bottles are the common object for weighting a backpack; websites recommend using 2-liter bottles so you can dump water and dump weight (or add it) depending on the needs. I was working away on the bottles and filled six of them plenty full. I was planning to put two empty bottles on the bottom of the bag and four full bottles in the middle sections (close to the back of the pack), followed by two empty bottles, and then one or two more weighted bottles on top. Each 2-liter weights roughly 4.5 pounds full. I am seeking to carry 24-30 pounds.

The weights were ready, so I went upstairs to retrieve my bag. I knew I had placed it on the top shelf of the closet, along with my walking poles. Oddly, it was nowhere to be found. I quickly turned to Lindsay and asked, “Where did you move my bag?” She quickly responded, “I am not sure I appreciate the accusatory tone, and I did not touch your bag. It is on the top shelf with your walking poles.” I looked again and again moving bags, clothes, and other items we rarely touch. The bag was gone. I searched the house several times. I search random closets and shelves. I went up and down the stairs anxiously searching for the pack. I couldn’t find it. I returned to our bedroom and asked Lindsay again, “Do you know where it is? I don’t move anything nor do I put anything away - only you can know - you are the responsible one….” At this point we were in a playful yet confused mood. It was getting late.

Just then, Micah (our ten-year old son) came down the hall from his room as we were bantering about the accumulation of stuff in our home. He was supposed to be asleep by now, but instead he was in his bed quietly listening to the folly of his father from down the hall. I went back into the closet to look one more time, and I overheard Micah talking to Lindsay. I heard her respond to him, “You have it? Why do you have it?”

I stepped out of the closet and looked directly at Micah. “You have it?” I asked. He responded, “Yes, it is under my bed; I moved it the other day.” I could tell he had big feelings about this bag and thoughtful reasons for why he moved it. I was vexed at the fact that I had spent forty-five minutes looking for it, but my vexation dissipated as Lindsay and I began to recognize Micah’s big feelings. I said, “Why would you do that?” HIs brown eyes were big and wet. I gave him a hug with some exasperated laughter and then he said to me, “I thought if you couldn’t find it, you wouldn’t go.”

He cried. I cried. Lindsay cried. I could feel the weight of the pilgrimage and recognized that while I am planning for a walk; it's a much larger journey, Those around me are impacted in ways I have yet to consider. 

I have a long-standing (yet changing) belief that what I do is largely unnoticed and largely unimpactful on others. I often think I am simply going about my business and people rarely give my actions a blip of thought. I especially think this about my family and similarly about work. 

One thing pilgrimage is demonstrating is that this journey isn’t mine, alone. It is ours. Lindsay, the kids, Western Theological Seminary, and others will be connected to this walk. This is not something I want to worry over but to recognize. Pilgrims are not autonomous but interconnected, and the worlds we leave to begin our walk are worlds we take with us. And our absence from home matters to those left behind. In this way, the pilgrim struggles to know how to be here in the moment of walking and connected to the relationships thousands of miles away. I have yet to wonder about this with any depth. 

Anyway, I took my first training walk on Sunday after finding my bag, filling the bottles, and weighing the pack. I walked four miles to Mt. Pisgah with a friend. We had excellent conversations that largely filtered back and forth around important relationships each of us have that we too often take for granted. When we arrived to Mt. Pisgah, our families (wives and kids) and a few friends joined us to continue the hike. The flurry of activity and people were lively, yet I could sense a longing to be with them and to enjoy their company even as I was in training mode.

I don’t really know what it will be like to take those first steps alone in France and Spain. I wonder often how long I will be walking until I don’t spin about the happenings at WTS; I wonder how often I will feel homesick for Lindsay and the kids? I wonder how walking will create both memories of joy and anxiety of distance. I don’t yet know these things, but I do realize that when we love one another, our actions have an impact that is often taken for granted. To be away from home is not simply a reality for me but it will be equally (albeit differently) so for those I love.