The Gift of Pilgrimage

Ten years ago, I found myself alone and abandoned in a strange city far away from friends and family.

I had moved 2,000 miles across the country to begin graduate school. But two months later, I was going through a divorce that left me alone in a place entirely unfamiliar to me. It was a disorienting season on every level — personally, socially, spiritually.

Though I had just moved, I found myself asking whether I ought to move back to where I had come from. Were there friends or family that I could be near again? Was there a new direction I should consider?

By gracious providence, I took a Celtic spirituality class in my second semester of graduate school. I learned the history of a kind of Christianity that was infused with poetry, grounded in landscape, and embedded in earthy reality. It was a breath of fresh air in a season when the wind had been knocked out of me.

One treasure from Celtic spirituality that I received was peregrinatio. The desert mothers and fathers of Egypt were known for stationary lives. They retreated into the wilderness where they would remain in small cells. Abba Moses famously instructed, “Go, sit in your cell, and your cell will teach you everything.” Many Celtic monks, however, lived on the move. They journeyed from place to place, even setting out on small boats without oars, simply trusting the waters to lead them in the way they should go.

Celtic peregrinatio is often translated as pilgrimage, but it is less about setting off for a particular destination and more about fully inhabiting each step of the journey. If the cell was a teacher for the desert monks, then the step was a teacher of the Celts.

In another timely providence, some friends living in Ireland invited me to visit. I could hardly contain the “Yes!” with which I responded to that invitation. After a semester learning about the depths of Celtic spirituality, I would be able to go live it—to breathe the air and touch the soil that this tradition had grown from. As this visit drew near, I approached it as a kind of pilgrimage. Amid my season of turmoil and questioning, perhaps a pilgrimage would lead me in the way I should go.

It was a beautiful trip. I beheld the artistry of the illuminated gospels in the Book of Kells, walked the grounds of the ancient monastic city of Glendalough, and explored the expansive coasts and castles along the Slea Head Drive—each step of the way I carried with me the question of my unknown future and the hope of clarity and direction. Along with the places of this pilgrimage, I also had the company of these hospitable friends and the wisdom of John O’Donohue’s poetry. Each of these elements contributed to my journey and helped uncover new layers of my soul along the way.

When the trip neared its end, I had not received any kind of divine directive about my future or apparent answers. But I had received a new and deeper sense of peace—a kind of sacred resolve that I was able to carry with me from that place. This, truly, is the gift of pilgrimage—not a destination to arrive at but a posture to walk with.

Is there a pilgrimage awaiting you in this season? Or a disorientation that pilgrimage might guide you through? If so, here are some elements of pilgrimage that you might consider taking up, whether on a journey abroad or a local walk.

Question. What sets pilgrimage apart from vacation is the posture of discernment. The goal of pilgrimage is not mere entertainment or amusement but discovery. Is there a question you might carry with you as you embark on your pilgrimage? Whether a major decision (“Do I move to a different city or remain here?”) or a subtle invitation (“How can I live more freely and lightly?”), find a question to bring along as you journey.

Path. Though it may be obvious, a pilgrim must journey along a path. While this path can be something other than a sacred site across the world, it is good for it to be a path less familiar to you. Familiarity has a way of developing blind spots in our awareness. Traveling an unfamiliar path can open our eyes not only to new places on earth but also within ourselves. What path might you travel along? Is there a place that calls to you?

Friend. Much can be uncovered on a solitary journey—solo pilgrims have much to receive. But it may be wise to bring a friend along the way. The Celtic saints were known for having Anam Cara—soul friends with whom they journeyed through life. Again, posture sets pilgrimage apart from vacation, so it is vital for friends on pilgrimage to journey with shared intent—each accompanying one another toward depths of discovery. Who might you bring with you on your journey?

Guide. As we journey, we are invited to open our hearts to receive wisdom and guidance along the way. Celtic monks often traveled with small books containing the gospels and psalms. The Celtic tradition has also given us a variety of poems and pilgrim prayers for the journey, whether Columba’s “The path I walk, Christ walks it” or Patrick’s “Christ before me, Christ behind me.” Is there a passage of scripture or a collection of poems or prayers that you might consider bringing as a guide? (I especially recommend collections from John O’Donohue and Mary Oliver.)

from A Blessing for the Traveler by John O’Donohue