"Tourist or Pilgrim"
A sermon by The Rev. Keenan Kelsey
Noe Valley Ministry, Presbyterian Church (USA)
Sunday, July 10, 2005
- TEXT: Matthew 13:1-9. 18-23
A farmer’s crop to yield.
Four different types of soil they found
As they landed in that field.
The first seeds encountered a soil that was hard,
Barren by much use and wear.
And snatched up were they that very same day
By birds swooping down from the air.
Set number two of the seeds fell down
Upon soil that had little depth.
They sprouted up soon, but withered at noon
The lack of roots was their death.
Soil number three where the seeds next fell
Was crowded to say the least.
So the plants from the seeds were choked by the weeds
Thus failing to yield an increase.
The last set of seeds found room to grow
In soil that was soft and deep.
They sprouted and grew, producing much fruit,
Many times the amount of the seed.
Four types of soil, four types of hearts.
The seed is the word of God.
Which soil are you? What will your heart do
When it’s touched by the seed of love?
A poem by Tammy Nelson, a UCC minister in San Leandro…
Images and experiences, like seeds, take hold when conditions are right.
I think that pilgrimage is the art of making sure conditions are right.
According to the dictionary, the word pilgrimage derives from the Latin peligrinus, meaning foreigner or wayfarer. It refers to the journey of a person who travels to a shrine or holy place. Another older derivation, more poetic, reveals that pilgrim has its roots in the Latin per agrum: through the field. This ancient image suggests a curious soul who walks beyond known boundaries, crosses fields, touches the earth with a destination in mind and a purpose in heart.
Last April I spent two weeks traveling with 15 other pilgrims through mid- and western France. At first I thought that by naming the journey pilgrimage, it simply conferred a kind of dignity on the trip; it sort of justified it. I soon learned that it meant far more.
“This is not the casualness of modern travel,” says Phil Cousineau in The Art of Pilgrimage.” it is the glimpse of an ancient mystery.” It is discovery of unexpected grace, achieved by the art of being open and ready to receive such grace. For me, the sense of treading ground made holy by past events became crucial, to sense in the numinous realm an atmosphere of awe and wonder, an immediate sense of the holy, the experience of the pilgrim in actually walking in the way of others in order to become a participant in all that has happened.
I first felt that in the town of Vezeley. One afternoon I wandered around back side of the mount of the magnificent Basilica of Mary Magdalene. Beneath that huge, glorious Roman and Gothic structure, along a grassy path, I found a small church. It seemed more like a cottage, until, through the courtyard and a front room., I turned into a very simple chapel, a bench around the wall, a couple of chairs, fresh flowers beneath the stone altar, golden sunlight coming through an arched window with plain glass.
I had found Chapelle Ste. Croix, Chapel of the Holy Cross, built by the Benedictines in the 12th century to commemorate the site when the mystic monk Bernard of Clairvaux, on orders from the Pope, had preached the 2nd Crusade. From the adjacent hillside, now marked by a huge wooden cross, he, reluctantly but dutifully, urged thousands to arm and oust the Turks who were threatening the West. The chapel remained quietly in the shadow of the Basilica during much of the ensuing warfare. Over 70 years later, a few companions of St Francis of Assisi found it. They were so charmed that they built an adjoining monastery for 25 monks. These Franciscans stayed for centuries, steadfastly rebuilding after fires or attacks. But finally in March of 1569 Calvinist troops burned it to the ground. Even then some Franciscans returned, camping among the ruins, and they did rebuild the monastic house in 1637. Eventually, however, the numbers dwindled and they had to sell their monastic home. It became a barn for a local farmer. Then, in 1949, the Order decided it want to inhabit this place once again, where so many of fellow Franciscans had sought to follow Christ. They reclaimed the building, and they now welcome people to the light and silence of this perfect setting.
Sitting inside this tiny chapel, the history that I just learned became sacred mystery. Something ancient and holy unfolded all around me as I felt the souls of all the Christian travelers before me, all the faithful who had stayed here and prayed here. I learned anew how to pray. I prayed for each of you, for our church, for an open heart and a purpose for my journey.
Pilgrimage I learned, is an inward journey that opens you outward. It is a movement from mindless to mindful, soulless to soulful. Cousineau writes “It is a journey, a way of having a purchase on our surrounding, centered in ourselves, not somewhere in the outer world.”
The earliest recorded pilgrimage is accorded to Abraham who left Ur 4000 years ago, seeking the inscrutable presence of God in the vast desert. His descendants Moses, Paul, and Mohammed embody the notion of sacred journey. The sacred, in its various guises as holy ground, art, or knowledge, evokes emotion and commotion. Every time we enter a cathedral wondering what the role faith plays in our lives, or wander the halls of a museum pondering how much we need beauty, we are experiencing the everyday influence of the Holy. Stories such as that of Moses and the burning bush, are invaluable because they give us hints, not exact directions, to that liminal place where revelations take place.
Richard Niebuhr wrote: Pilgrims are poets who create by taking journeys. Here are some snapshots from my journey.
I have previously described Br. Roger, the founder of the Taize community near Cluny. I have told you about his benediction: You are the Christ. We are the Christ. Be the Christ. I also see him blessing each of the Brothers at the end of Communion. I hear his shakey but faithful voice as he prayed, and I remember the small child who walked with him, and in the Service of Light, took the flame from his candle and lit the candles of some of the brothers, who in turn passed the flame until the candles of a thousand worshippers were burning.
At a Taize service, I also watched as literally hundreds of people, mostly young people, approached the prone cross on their knees. I especially remember one woman who was walking upright. She moved very deliberately, and soon you could see she was following, or shepherding, a young teen as he moved forward on his knees. He kept looking back to check that she was there. When they reached the cross, only the boy went to lower his forehead and pray. The woman, who turned out to be his mother, waited as her Downs’ Syndrome son knelt. The faith of a child, the faith of a mother.
Then there was Fontenay, where we were give several hours to ourselves inside to explore the restored Cistercian Abbey. This secluded , handsome, manicured complex, was a self-contained monastic community founded by Bernard in 1118. No wonder monks wanted to come here! Life in the city-states was hard; this community allowed for productive ingenuity and discovery, as well as silence and prayer. Here at Fonteney the monks invented the very first hydraulic hammer, they created a huge workable forge for blacksmithing, they built waterfall and cultivated gardens.
We gathered in the main sanctuary, around the only statue I’ve ever seen of the Virgin Mary laughing, happy. We gathered around it and sang the Taize chant Magnificat. And because there are no coincidences on a Pilgrimage, on my last day, in Paris, I remember peeking into a corner church, and discovering a baptism in progress. As is the custom in Roman Catholic churches, it was a small family gathering. The five-year-old sister carried the pitcher of water to the basin and poured it in. The family approached with the baby, singing together: the same Taize canon, Magnificat. I assure you, this is not a particularly well known song!
At Fonteney, I wrote haiku poetry:
Angst, envy, worry
are bound in soft strong cocoon
wrapping all in peace
Handsome, secure safe
Birdsong and blessings, energy
From God’s conscribed estate.
Self-consciousness moves
Into selfless space and time.
Monks enter my heart
Pilgrimage requires a slight but significant shift of perspective. A good traveler does not much mind the uninteresting places. He is there to be inside them, as a thread is inside the necklace it strings. The world with unknown and unexpected variety is part of the leisure, and this living participation is what separates the pilgrim and the tourist, who remains separate, as if she were at a theater, and not a part of whatever the show may be.
One of the most graphic examples of being a pilgrim was in the square outside the cathedral of Strasbourg. A droll little man with an old-fashioned hurdy-gurdy dragged his cart to a space, set up, and began turning the large handle to produce some fascinating music. A family of tourists came by, pulled their kids away from the music man, and rushed on to another destination. A pilgrim mom came by and led her two children to the cart, peered in to examine how the music was made, asked about the art on the side of the cart. They listened appreciably and went off with curiosity assuaged and new under-standings of the world of people and things.
I lit candles, for my mother and grandmother. In Salisbury cathedral a sign was posted: “Lighting a candle is a prayer, for when we are gone it stays alight, kindling in the hearts and minds of theirs the prayers we have already offered, for them, for others, for the sad and the sick, and the suffering, and prayers of thankfulness too.” It reminded me of our prayer circle.
I discovered Hotel Dieu, the medieval hospice built for the sick and dying of the community, an elaborate building with incredible art and décor for the ill, comfortable accommodations, an altarpiece the size of this wall that opened up to offer the whole life of Christ, a masterpiece where in the people and saints displayed the telltale blotches of the plague.
In Paris I investigated San Solstice where the rose line of the DaVinci code really exists and I was accosted by people stationed near by to remind you that the book was all fiction, and had nothing to do with the sacred reality of this church – and a huge and not too lovely church it was indeed!
The pilgrimage also offered breakfast of amazingly big fluffy buttery croissants, Brie, fruits, yogurt…tours of wine cellars lit by candles…a meal in a family’s winery, with several generations laughing and talking…beautiful country rides and swollen rivers and floods, roads blocked by turned over big rigs and a traffic wait of several hours…. it included buying shoes and clothes and gifts and stoles…it included new friends and new understandings of God in the midst of life, in my looking and seeing, speaking and hearing.
You want to know what the Good News is today? It is a reminder, a truth, that when you open yourself to God, God’s creation, God’s Spirit, God’s work, God’s love; when you pay attention; when you join with others to experience all that; you become a participant, a witness, not just an onlooker. Your soul will grow, God’s seed will take root, and your purpose will become clear.
But there is other, perhaps even better Good News today! It is only partly about being good soil, in order that we may grow Christ’s fruit; about not choking out the message of love, hope, grace and life with the weeds of evil, deceit, hatred and death. It is that God is a generous sower. God does not stint, does not withhold. God broadcasts possibilities to all the winds. If you close your heart or turn your eyes for a moment, never mind, there will always be more opportunities to see and feel and respond.
In this week following horrific terrorist attacks in London, The Parable of the Sower is a reminder that we have a God who produces the most remarkable harvest in places we had thought barren and sterile. And who wants us to work for the same. God is not in the business of carefully calculated actions, where we can be reasonably certain of the outcome. Instead, God’s generosity is beyond our wildest dreams! God, in Christ, offers God’s self for each and every one of us, not just those who we think deserve it. God, in Christ, wants us to be like him, open and loving, and always paying attention.
May it be so. Amen.