Pilgrimage and Penance

Penance seems an odd word in this day and age; as is anything which is uncomfortable or can’t be done from a mobile phone app. But for Holy week I sometimes undertake a penitential walk.

I was inspired to do so by the story of a Brazilian plumber. His wife had just left him, and he was staring down the barrel of old age with a lot of failures and regrets in his backpack. He sold his van and tools and bought a plane ticket to the Holy Land. There comes a time in the life of every man when only authenticity and the truth will do and he went in search for it.

He joined a pilgrim group and on the eve of the visit to the route of the way of the Cross, he spent the night in prayer. In the morning, one of the group members would lead and carry a replica of the cross and he prayed for that privilege.  His prayer was answered.

As he placed it on his shoulder, he suddenly felt an incredible weight pressing down on him. It was revealed to him that this was the weight of his own sins only. As he walked the way of the cross, it was so difficult that he fell and struggled with it; the other pilgrims thought he was play-acting as he collapsed at the end in complete exhaustion.

Then, as he described it, he felt that all his sins were absorbed by the cross and when he stood up he felt as light as a feather. He returned to Brazil to an unknown and uncertain future but with a great love for Jesus and a growing confidence in His love to carry him through. 

The Language of God

Some years ago a University Chaplain, (who had a PhD in pure Mathematics) stated that ‘Maths was the language of God’ and leaned back in his chair with a smug grin. 

I can see now that he was onto something. But Maths, as any high school student knows, is merely one of the many dialects of His universal language...suffering. 

Suffering cannot be understood or avoided; it can only be felt and journeyed through. From the minor irritations that fill our days to the big stuff, cries out the message that we are not made for this place, that finding permanent happiness and fulfilment on earth is not really part of the plan, indeed any such attempt will be thwarted. 

Mother Teresa framed our future hope well with the statement that “in light of heaven, the worst suffering on earth, a life full of the most atrocious tortures, will be seen to be no more serious than one night in an inconvenient hotel”. 

It was in one of her homes for the dying that I witnessed a most extraordinary transformation. My wife and I used to visit a lady who had been lifted from the streets by the sisters and brought into the home with terminal cancer. She had, what to me seemed, an unimaginably hard life; it was etched into her angry, weary face. 

At first she was disinterested in anything to do with God. Over the coming months as her pains worsened and the sisters and carers looked after her daily needs, she became more open to prayer. The wards encircle the chapel and the sanctuary lamp burns at the heart of the home. Bathed in constant prayer her heart softened, she opened up, told her story, wrote to people she would never see again to tie up loose ends. The last time we met she told my wife that she had offered her last days and all her sufferings to Jesus. She was peaceful and even smiled through the pain. 

She was following a well trodden path. Her saviour had gone ahead of her and beckoned her ‘follow me’, this is the way of the cross and from the cross into the light of eternity. (Rev 21:4 ‘He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there shall be no more death or mourning, wailing or pain, [for] the old order has passed away.”)

Three Trees

Once upon a time three little trees planted on a mountain top were dreaming of what they wanted to become when they grew up.

The first tree looked up at the stars and dreamed of being made into a beautiful chest, covered with gold and embellished with jewels; its task would be to contain precious gems. The second tree looked at the river below flowing out to the sea, and dreamed of being made into a strong sailing ship which would cross the oceans carrying important passengers. The third tree looked down at the village, bustling with people leading busy lives with no time for God. It didn’t want to be made into anything. It dreamed only of growing tall on the mountaintop, pointing people towards heaven.

One day a wood cutter came to the three trees, carrying his axe. The first tree was pleased when it was cut down and taken to a carpenter’s workshop. But instead of being crafted into a treasure chest, it was roughly constructed into a feeding trough for animals, covered with dirt and filled with straw. The second tree was delighted when it was taken to a boatyard. But instead of being made into an ocean ship, it became a small fishing boat, docked on a lake. The third tree was sad when it was cut down. All it wanted was to grow tall and point people to God. It was devastated when it was roughly split into beams, chopped into planks, and dumped in a corner of the wood yard. Time passed, and the three trees forgot all about their dreams.

One day, on a golden, starlight night, a young couple came into the stable containing the feeding trough made from the first tree, and said, “This manger will be perfect for our new-born baby.” And the first tree realized it was holding the greatest treasure of all times.

Years later a tired traveler and his friends got into the fishing boat made from the second tree, and when the wind blew and the waves broke over the boat, the traveler stood up and commanded the storm, “Quiet, be still!” and it became perfectly calm. The second tree realized it was carrying the King of heaven and earth.

Finally, one Friday morning, someone came along and picked up the third tree. It was carried through the streets as the people mocked the man who was carrying it. When they came to a stop, the man was nailed to the tree and raised in the air to die at the top of the hill. But on Sunday morning, when the Lord rose from the dead, the tree came to realize that it was strong enough to stand at the top of the hill and be as close to God as was possible because Jesus had been crucified on it.

We all have plans and dreams, but often our lives do not seem to be going the way we would like them to go. It can be very helpful to immerse ourselves in nature and listen to what God has to say to us through his creatures: the wind, the trees, the streams, the birds... In such moments it is possible to understand, just like I did during that trip into the Euganean Hills, that God has something better prepared for us. Our plans might not come to fruition the way we had planned them, but God’s plans will always lead to success if we have the intuition to follow them, for then we will be “like a tree planted by the water that sends out its roots by the stream. It does not fear when heat comes; its leaves are always green. It has no worries in a year of drought, and never fails to bear fruit” (Jeremiah 17:8).

To die gloriously

Many years ago I was with my mother-in-law in her kitchen as she was eating a midnight snack when one of her daughters came in and scolded her, (there is an old wives tale that if you eat a lot before bedtime, you’ll die in your sleep). She responded quite candidly that if she did then she would ‘wake up in the arms of Jesus’ and then filled the room with her laughter as she always did.

In that moment, although rather amazed at her confidence, I felt that it was probably true in her case, and a couple of seconds later contemplated my own chances; an unfriendly encounter with a pitchfork seemed more likely at that time.

We seldom think of death, at least not in the right way. Outside of the medical profession people rarely see it up close which adds to its mystery.

I heard once that we manufacture many of our crosses in life in our own hearts; I think there is an awful truth in that and it seems to me that the manner of our death is also by design, sometimes by our choices in lifestyle but also a heavenly purpose too.

As a boy I always imagined dying gloriously in battle, pierced through the heart by a sword or riddled with bullets in a noble cause. Every afternoon the living rooms and backyards of our neighbourhood were littered with corpses, and whilst immortality was frowned upon, we believed in the resurrection, a few seconds on the floor and we were up and back in the fray.

In my mother-in-law’s case I have seen her gradually lose her strength; in the last 5 years she has dispensed with her walking frame in favour of the wheelchair, then to the confines of the bedroom. The laughter that filled her house has stopped now as has her voice entirely, she can no longer stand or move, she has to be fed and changed. After the anointing of the sick she now mostly sleeps, opening her eyelids is a rare occurrence and seems to take all her strength.

Her service is almost over. She has had a beautiful life though; she made it so by being that. A wife and mother, primary school teacher, but mostly remembered for her charity and kindness to others. She always visited anyone in the neighborhood who was sick, armed with soup, bananas and money, and her daughter in tow to lead the prayers for healing.

As I watch I sense that these last years have not been cruel, but rather just the completion of a process started long ago; one that she has cooperated with and even now in submission to losing every faculty and ounce of strength and becoming utterly dependent, as she gives up her life in order to receive it again. I hope that the flames of purgatory will not need to touch her; perhaps her spirit will soar like a cool breeze as she passes through there and ‘wakes up in the arms of Jesus’.

It doesn’t look glorious, but it is.