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| He has kept my soul from death, my eyes from tears, and my feet from stumbling; I will walk in the presence of the Lord in the land of the living... Ps 116. 8-9 |
Immediately after graduating from the University of Michigan (in chemical engineering), I joined the Navy, served four years as an officer on a nuclear-powered aircraft carrier before the tension between my faith and my job became unbearable, then went AWOL (not recommended, by the way), tramped for five months from monastery to monastery in Great Britain, returned and turned myself in, and was promptly ejected from the Navy (with an "Other Than Honorable" discharge), then joined a religious order in this country (the Dominicans, Roman Catholic), and was ejected again (after three years, two in the seminary). That's when I turned pilgrim. In June 2000, after forty days hiking on the Appalachian Trail, I unburdened myself of tent, sleeping bag, extra clothes, and money, and began walking secondary highways, from Washington, D.C., to Chicago, St. Louis, and down to Florida, and the following year, to Denver and back to Florida (though I only walked about 2000 miles of that) and down to Key West and back that winter. The point was to be a witness for the kingdom of God, through conversations with individuals and small groups, and through the basic symbolism of pilgrimage. It was basically a faith experiment that turned out much better than expected. People along the way (mostly Christians) provided for all my needs. I didn't even have to ask. Sometimes people offered me rides (which I usually accepted), though I didn't hitchhike. And often people invited me into their homes, or offered me a motel room. Otherwise, I just found a church and slept on the porch. For worship, I joined whatever Christian community I happened to find. In the spring of 2007, I married Heather Munn and, after a long walk together that summer, we moved to Plow Creek farm. We are preparing a small retreat house here to offer free spiritual retreats for poor people from the city. (This interview is from 2003, written while I was living and volunteering at Reba Place Fellowship, an intentional Christian community near Chicago.) S H A L O M C O N N E C T I O N S The Making of a Pilgrim Or, how to receive life instead of "making a living" What brought you to Reba Place? Last summer I was walking my fourth pilgrimage, which started from my parents' home in Florida, and I'd come as far as Chicago. I was planning to continue south again, but stopped by Reba Place church one Sunday to visit. (I'd heard about Reba on my way north.) After church, Allan and Jeanne Howe invited me to dinner. And several days later they mentioned that the Clearing household had just started looking for someone to help care for a member of the community who has muscular dystrophy. It seemed like a good fit, so I decided to stay all winter. I was glad to spend an extended time to learn more about the community, and this seemed like a place where I could be useful through the winter (when I usually am not walking). I'd been praying for such a place. Reba has been different for me because I'm used to talking with people from mainstream America with its unquestioning patriotism, consumerism and pursuit of wealth. In the wider society I attempt to be a challenging presence on these issues. Here, I immediately felt comfortable in the atmosphere of simplicity, nonviolence, and care for the poor and the stranger (which is usually me when I'm on the road). I realized these brothers and sisters already have heard God in these areas. So I've tried to emphasize even more that "the kingdom of God is among you," as Jesus said, and to balance the strong recognition of the world's injustice (that I've found here) with a strong faith that everything is securely in God's hands. I think a stronger awareness of God's providence and the present kingdom of God allows us to follow Jesus more closely. For example, growing from an appreciation and concern for the poor to becoming "the poor" ourselves, as Jesus did. So that the power of God might be seen more clearly through our weakness. I'm expecting to start walking again in late May, east towards Pennsylvania and New York--depending on how long it takes and what God shows me. I plan to meet up with a man I discovered and corresponded with this winter, George Walter, who has been on pilgrimage like me for over thirty years. We're hoping to walk together for a while. Then I'll turn around and hopefully arrive back at Reba Place before winter. How did you get on the road? I joined the Navy while I was still at the University of Michigan. I worked with the nuclear reactors, as an officer on an aircraft carrier. But as I grew in my faith during those four years in the Navy, I noticed an increasing tension. It became clear that I had to choose between following Jesus and being a military officer. So I left--went AWOL. (Not recommended, by the way.) After five months, I realized I needed to turn myself in and face the consequences, and God provided the strength. I only served two days in the brig, and happily agreed to an "other than honorable" discharge. After that, I joined the Dominican order (Roman Catholic). I was attracted by St. Dominic, who like St. Francis, was an itinerant, mendicant preacher. At the time, I felt I needed the institutional support (and a pulpit) to be a preacher. But after three years of my attempts to work within the system, they decided I was "not fitting in" and asked me to leave. Soon after, in the spring of 2000, I started my first pilgrimage. It began as a backpacking trip on the Appalachian Trail, which I followed for about 550 miles. That was my "forty days in the wilderness," preparing physically, mentally and spiritually for what God would have me do next. Then I got off the trail, got rid of most of my gear--tent, sleeping bag, extra clothes--and started walking secondary highways from town to town. After two weeks, I spent a week resting and praying in a monastery, then started out again, this time without any money. I didn't make any special vow, I just wanted to experience the way Jesus sent out his disciples to proclaim the kingdom. I recognized there was important witness value (as well as a means of spiritual growth) in this pattern of life, trusting God to protect and to provide wherever I would go. As for preaching, I tried to take St. Francis' advice: "Preach the gospel always and, if necessary, use words." How do you make a living? My plan was to minimize my needs and ask only for what I required. But at the first church I visited on a Sunday morning, the pastor asked me how I was financing my journey. I said I wasn't. When he then bought me lunch and gave me some money for the road, I was surprised. I hadn't asked for anything, or even brought up the subject of finances. That summer I went from Washington, D.C., to Chicago, to St. Louis, to Orlando, and was always provided with food, shelter, and sometimes rides--without asking for anything besides water (and occasionally permission to sleep outside a church). In The Brothers Karamazov, Dostoyevsky wrote, "Sometimes, even if he has to do it alone and his conduct seems to be crazy, a man must set an example, and so draw men's souls out of their isolation, and spur them to some act of brotherly love." That's what I want to do. It seems to me that the greatest experience of God is to actually participate in loving people with God's love. I'd like to help people to do this. And I've found I can often help them without "preaching" anything with words. I try to draw them to the poor and the stranger, and help them experience the joy and satisfaction of loving. I want to make it easier for people to trust, to let down their guard. And I want to set up a situation where people can more easily understand (and feel) how they participate in God's love of the world. (Or a challenging situation, for those who choose not to participate in God's love.) In taking on this pilgrimage lifestyle, one thing I had to overcome was the pressure to "make a living," to "pay your own way." Through my experiences these past three years, and meditating on Jesus' life and teaching, I realized he offers a different model of how we are to interact with one another. I think this can be summed up in his words, "freely you have received, freely give." So when we work and produce something to offer others, we should make it a gift. And trust God to inspire others to supply our needs through their gifts. It's not a model of independence, but of mutual dependence and faith, which is the path to freedom. It's a tremendous feeling to know the food you eat, the clothes you wear, the roof over your head--it's all literally a gift from someone, and from God. This way of giving and receiving fills all our exchanges with moral and spiritual value, not just economic value. And gifts are more easily seen as acts of love. That's why I intentionally don't "make a living." I receive life from God and my brothers and sisters. How do you know you're following the voice of God? I remember one day on the road thinking that the voice of God comes to us from many directions at once. In many different ways, but with a strong unison to it--many experiences all saying "yes" in the same way. That's how God's voice sounds to me. And when I attempt to follow that voice, often into great risks--which means if it isn't God I'm going to crash quickly--then I feel his support, as if the ground is rising up to meet my feet. And this reassures me to keep walking in the Way. |
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