Musings From a Pilgrimage – Mierlo, Netherlands

It is easy to be insane as a tourist far from home – financially, with our eating, with our time. We figure it is now or never and try to do it all regardless of the emotional or financial cost involved. It occurred to me Tuesday that I had a choice – I could be an insane tourist or a quiet grounded pilgrim seeking a centered life. I have the exact same choice in my usual daily life when I am not a tourist – now or never regardless of the cost or the harder way of seeking the better way. By chance I noticed on a London city map a cathedral I had never heard of that was rather easy to get to just beyond London Bridge. Fortunately, I made the right choice and chose sanity. I was to later find I would need the grounding.

I spent the whole of the day quietly sitting and walking in the 900 year old Southwark Cathedral just south of the Thames River. This beautiful old church was nearly torn down but a few visionary people were able to see it saved rather than being razed to put up office towers. The choices of a few people who knew what was important allowed me to sit in the beautiful Harvard chapel, built into a portion of the surviving 12th century transept. The important of the consequences of choice are embedded in this cathedral. The entire nave is but a century old. The original had been allowed by a series of small choices to go into ruin and it had to be demolished. A little paint here, a roof tile now and then could have saved it but by choice they were withheld at the critical times over the centuries. It was also by choice in the late 19th century that the nave was rebuilt to exactly match that 12th century north transept. Decisions made in the moment can have consequences that last for centuries. Holy writings in all traditions say that choices made in the moment have consequences that last for all eternity. Alas, significant parts of the cathedral complex are now nothing but a few descriptions and drawings in dusty cases. Choice worked against them and office buildings and gift shops won the day.

I participated in a Eucharist in which all present were participants and not observers, as had been the case in St. Georges gothic wonder. The sermon proved compelling and I asked for a copy of it. A very hospitable steward was pleased to ask the rector about it and I ended up with an important essay on determining just who we really are and want to be. The words demand that I make choices, big ones and little ones. They demand I choose who I want to be. They also tell where to find the Power to do this. Another volunteer steward, Irene, was happy to provide pleasing bits of conversation. I had a fine late lunch in the refectory, participated in the daily offices, and sat quietly reading in the Harvard Chapel, so named after the visionary man who made the choice to found an institution of higher learning on a new continent in 1607 that bears his name to this day.

I managed to thoroughly film this place of learning and reflection very discreetly. Camera clicks and flashes can be among the most irritating reminders of insanity in the world. Happily, my camera is absolutely silent and rarely requires a flash.

I anted up and bought a book at hideous UK prices, a Yancey paperback that will be well worth the cost and I can freely mark it up, which I find myself wanting to do. I found myself back in the Harvard Chapel reading it with great attentiveness – an appropriate place to read an important book about men who have made the right choices with their lives.

A cloistered life without finance markets and all that mess seems exquisitely appealing, except for the minor detail of my vast need for socialization. I had happy ignorance of any foul deeds in my world until I signed on to the Internet later in the day. I was a wreck by the end of the day. My bank still knows nothing about my missing 105K and tells me another account is down 20K since yesterday. On top, there was little interest shown in getting it resolved after making several phone calls. This is supposed to be a holiday, knowing that my safety net has developed a huge hole? Perhaps the point of a pilgrimage is to learn that safety does not come from brokerage accounts but from a Higher Source. It certainly proved the right choice to have spent the day in Southwark Cathedral instead of chasing after tourist sites.

Holy Week is certainly turning into an epic experience. Palm Sunday mass in Westminster Abbey, an organ recital that evening, the whole of Tuesday in Southwark, and time in St. Martin’s church on Wednesday. Thursday proved even more significant. By Thursday I was several hundred miles further on my journey and a time zone further from the familiar – in a small visually stunning village of Nederland close to the Belgian border.

I found my good friends Hans and Yne intent on fully celebrating Holy week, which was more than fine with me. It is something that I have wanted to do over here for twenty years. We stopped by their house before going to the church, and had just time enough for a glass of wine after our three hour drive cross country. We then went to a Maundy Thursday service that was really more of a Seder meal. Tables were arranged in a ‘u’ shape with the celebrants and new communicants arranged at the front. We were arranged around these essentially barren tables. Children who were to have their first communion served the elements – bread in large baskets and wine in several chalices. The liturgy was long and complex by American standards and it abruptly stopped with the arrest of Jesus after the meal. The abruptness of the ending was very impressive, making the actual event of twenty centuries ago very real. A large beautiful Easter candle was burning towards the center of the space defined by the tables, representing the life of Jesus. The service was not a quick 40-minute microwave version; the order of service was fifteen pages.

We will return in an hour for a Saturday observation of that middle of the three sacred days that range from Good Friday until Easter Sunday- that day when the world had lost Hope of knowing a better way – on that day there was little more than a few crimson stains in the ground and talk of how the sky had grown strangely dark the afternoon before.

This has certainly been the most intense experience of my Christian journey to date, even more so than when I actually walked in Jerusalem from Caiphas’ house to the place of the skull. This week has seemed so real time to me. Tomorrow we will see the wonder of the re-ignition of the hope that is so desperately needed in a very dark world. It has been a compelling experience to experience the Lenten season and Holy week in three different cultures and in about five religious traditions. It seems the whole point of the Hope of the Resurrection is that it is for everyone who chooses to embrace it.