When I returned from the Ignatian Camino, my challenge was to transform a personal experience of pilgrimage into a book that could touch the hearts of people who might never be able to walk away from their life for a month. Now that Finding God Along the Way is out in the world, a new challenge has arisen: transforming words on a page into living, interactive retreat experiences.
I can’t think of a more hospitable place to begin than the Cranaleith Spiritual Center, where last Saturday I led a morning retreat called “The Long Pilgrimage to Justice.” Moved by a spectrum of concerns, ten souls braved the cold to gather in a sunny room and ground themselves for the work ahead. Together, we considered how the metaphor of pilgrimage could allow us to keep our goal on the horizon while staying deeply present to what is right in front of us. Drawing on wisdom from the Ignatian Camino, we discussed finding our “one thing,” taking the next step, redefining failure, and equipping ourselves spiritually.
My favorite part came near the end. Thoughout the morning, I’d been sharing snippets that speak to me—Scripture verses, songs, poems, quotes, etc. Finally, I read a passage from Chapter Sixteen of my book, “It’s in There,” and invited people to share what they carry in their own “go-bag” of inspiration.
The responses began as slowly as an afternoon snowfall, but each offering encouraged the next until the room was blanketed by consolation. It was such a joy to hear people ask one another, “Wait, who was that author?” “What was the name of that song ?” “Tell me that website again!” Phones came out so folks could look things up; pens came out so we could write them down.
One gentleman shared a reflection from Unfolding Light that captured the spirit of the day. It began: Hope is not anticipation of a certain outcome, but trusting goodness. Though the world around us abounds in hateful rhetoric right now—with even people on “our side” (whichever side that may be) delighting in mean memes and zinging caricatures—it was refreshing to remember how much goodness dwells in people’s hearts and memory banks.
Hope is not anticipation of a certain outcome, but trusting goodness.
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
It made me realize that, just as January is a month in which many of us return to a healthier diet after the excesses of the holiday season, so is this a time to be careful about our mental consumption. What we read, watch, and listen to has a profound effect on our spiritual health. Let’s resolve to choose wisely!
What’s in your “go-bag” of inspiration?
Excerpt from Chapter Sixteen, “It’s in There”
“I know we’re supposed to be praying during the first two hours of every walk. Does repeatedly taking the name of the Lord in vain count?”
I cracked this joke at the end of a particularly pressured segment of hiking, but I wasn’t actually swearing my way across Spain. The only truth in that snarky remark was the word “repeatedly.” When the pace or terrain overwhelmed my ability to pray deeply (by which I mean conversationally, meditatively, or imaginatively), I took comfort in repeating words and phrases lodged in my memory.
It began during that long ascent to Arantzazu. Knowing that we were going to “visit” the Blessed Mother, I was thrown back to one of my mom’s favorite prayers, the Memorare. As I grew more exhausted by the climb, I resorted to repeating the last sentence like a mantra, in cadence with my steps: O Mother of the Word Incarnate, despise not my petitions, but in your mercy hear and answer me.
Gradually, other words emerged from the deep. Once upon a time, I’d memorized a few prayers in Spanish, so I was able to pass a satisfying hour trying to drag those beloved lines out of the mental vault. Later, I challenged myself to piece together all four verses of Tagore’s “Friends Whom I Knew Not,” which I’d quoted extensively in my book Finding God Abiding. In both cases, something about the combination of meaningful words and mental exercise sustained me for quite a while.
Various Scripture passages joined the parade of words in my head. Walking through the mountains, I recalled the beginning of Psalm 121: “I will lift up my eyes unto the hills, from whence shall come my help.” On another day, I clung to St. Peter’s incredulous exclamation after Jesus asked if he wanted to jump ship like other faint-hearted followers: “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of everlasting life.” Mile after mile, the rhythmic “Lord, to whom shall we go?” reminded me that there was nowhere I’d rather be.
Certain hymns also provided prayerful refuge. Gospel songs such as “Guide My Feet” and “We’ve Come This Far by Faith” encouraged me to press on. The sight of a little dead bird evoked “His Eye is on the Sparrow,” assuring me that I was not alone. Even though such repetitive prayer isn’t ordinarily my style, I’m grateful to have had access to such richness under duress.
In the age of smartphones, the ability to “look anything up” is both a gift and a curse. Though vast amounts of information are there at our fingertips, the convenience discourages committing things to memory. But even if I’d had cell service in the Cantabrian mountains, what would I have done—pulled out my phone and said, “Hey Siri: What’s a good prayer, poem, Scripture, or song for when you’ve climbed higher than you would have thought possible but still have an impossible distance to go?” (Okay, I just tried it, and got a link to “30 Prayers to Give You Peace of Mind When You Need It Most,” but there’s no way I could have flipped through them without dropping my phone or dropping out of the pack!)
Back in the late 80s, a series of Prego spaghetti sauce commercials featured the slogan “It’s in there!” (All the ingredients a home cook could want, right in one convenient jar.) Prego is Italian for “You’re welcome,” so perhaps that’s God’s response as I offer thanks for all the heartening words that dwell in my memory banks and offer themselves as needed. “Prego!”
Christine Marie Eberle 