Twenty-one of us, all brave pilgrims at heart, have just returned from a journey doing just that--getting ourselves new spirits and new hearts. Our stated goal was to retrace the second great missionary trip of St. Paul--to follow in his footsteps, to visit the places where he visited and established the first Christian churches in Greece and Western Turkey.
As tourists, we saw unfamiliar places with familiar Biblical names. We traveled to Ephesus and Philippi, Corinth and Thessalonika and with thanks for the marvels of modern archaeology were able to see remnants of those ancient first-century cities where Paul lived and preached and wrote his letters. For example, at the restored ruins of Corinth, we were able to stand on the same stone porch where he addressed a large crowd of Corinthians, and at that moment, I think Paul became a real person for all of us.
And as we walked down the original marble streets of Ephesus, still showing the ruts of chariot traffic, or stood inside the foundations of an ancient church, or gathered around a Roman stone column on which the cross of Christ had been carved--those Biblical places, which once existed only in our imaginations, became quite real and historical.
Our final evening together was a special time. It was Sunday and we gathered together for a last communion service in the library of our ship at 6:00 p.m. The sun was setting and our ship had just entered the narrow Dardanelles, which lead to Istanbul and the end of our journey. After communion, we spent a few moments reminiscing.
Our time was nearly over and so we reflected silently for a while and then shared with one another some of the highlights of our journey together. Two events came into focus for us.
First, we all agreed that the most significant time for each of us was the Eucharist we celebrated at Philippi on the second day of our journey. We had learned from the Book of Acts and Paul's Epistles that Paul baptized the first Christian at a riverbank which flowed through the town of Philippi. That person was a woman named Lydia. So after visiting the ruins of Philippi, our group gathered at a special place on that riverbank, a place where water had been diverted to run through a small outdoor chapel. Within that chapel the flowing water has become a "living" Baptismal Font. There we remembered Lydia, and we celebrated Christ's presence with us with a communion service and by renewing our own baptismal vows.
It is very difficult for me to put into words what a powerful moment it became for us, as we allowed ourselves to drift back to the ancient roots of our church and to pray in a place which has been a church since the year 50 A.D. From that moment on, our travel became a journey, tourists became pilgrims.
The second issue which came into focus for us was more general in nature. In very different ways we each discovered, as we neared the end of our pilgrimage, that along with our search for Paul and his ancient Christian cities, we were also searching for ourselves.
We had become more reflective about life, most of us were dreaming a lot at night, we got in touch with our inner selves as old hurts and pains, joys and ecstasies emerged from deep within, and we began to lose our self-control, to become quite vulnerable to one another and with ourselves.
Most of us lost track of time. Indeed, when the cruise director scheduled a party for our group, this compulsive timekeeper missed it by twenty-four hours.
Whether we wanted to or not, we were learning to take time out of time; to let go of that chronological time regulated by minutes and hours and days and to enter that special time called Kairos--God's time. The kind of time when we think deep thoughts and make our poems and sing our songs. That time when we "get ourselves new spirits and new hearts."
I have to admit it was hard to let go (and I suspect for some of the others as well). You see, I'm one of those people who likes to be in control of my life, to know exactly where I am, where I've been, where I'm going, minute-by-minute, day-by-day.
I was the one who kept a map on my lap, keeping track of every mile while busing through the beautiful Greek countryside. I was the only person on that ship, including the crew, who kept track of our position on the high seas by moving the little red pin on the map to show exactly where we were each day of our journey. And, needless to say, I always needed to know exactly what time it was, not only in Greece but at home as well. You see, I had a watch which showed both times at once!
But somewhere on that trip I become a Journeyer. I slowly lost control of time (and myself) and when that whole day slipped by me and our group missed the Captain's party, I knew I was in trouble. Or maybe I should say, I was finally out of trouble. My internal clock had finally stopped and I let go and I entered God's time. No longer a tourist, I became a Pilgrim.
I share this with you because I have found that there is a certain danger to the spirit when time and the world control us, a danger of becoming captive to our daily routines which can eventually imprison us, so that our eyes grow dim and our spirits sag. And it is also hard to break out into the light again.
While reflecting on this all week, I remembered the life and experience of Victor Frankl. Frankl was one of the few survivors of the Nazi concentration camps and in a wonderful book, Man's Search for Meaning, he wrote about leaving camp on his first day of freedom after years of captivity in which life in camp had become incredibly routine.
"With tired steps we prisoners dragged ourselve to the camp gates. Timidly we looked around and glanced at each other questioningly. Then we ventured a few steps out of camp. This time there was no one to shout at us...and so we walked slowly down the road leading away from the prison, seeing for the first time with eyes of free men. Freedom, we repeated to ourselves...and yet we couldn't grasp it. When we came to meadows full of flowers we had no feelings about them. And in the evening when we all met together we whispered secretly to each other, 'Tell me, were you pleased today?' 'Truthfully, no,' was the answer. After the long dull routine of prison we had literally lost the ability to feel pleased--and had now to learn it again--slowly!
"...Finally, I fell to my knees and called to God from my narrow prison, and he answered me...In that hour my new life started. I became a human being again."
And there it is, one truth of life. Whether we are locked up in external or internal prisons, we must find a way to escape the dull routine, to take time out of time, to break out of our captivity and see the flowers which bloom all around us, to see more of the countryside and less of the map.
And then somewhere along the way--at places like Philippi--drop to our knees and let God into our narrow prisons.
Today I give thanks to you friends and parishioners, to my fellow journeyers and above all to God for this wonderful opportunity to get myself a new spirit and a new heart--to become a pilgrim once again.
I'll close with this wonderful travel guide, written by some anonymous pilgrim long ago.
Remember on your Journey that:
God has not promised us:
a flower-strewn pathway
all our lives through
God has not promised:
Sun without rain
Joy without sorrow
Peace without pain
What God has promised is:
Strength for the day
Rest from my labor
Light for the way
Grace for trials
Help from above
And His undying Love. Amen.
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