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 Crucifix .. A story from Italy

Father Jean Christophe ., founder of a new community in France gave this testimony: While a seminarian in Rome, he liked to visit the children's prison of Casa Del Marmo where Gypsies were being incarcerated for thefts and small offences. Some children did not have any identification papers and were not entitled to receive visitors, because nobody could verify who was a family member. However, Jean Christophe was accepted as a visitor and became a link between those children and their families. He would bring them clothing, as some would stay for a whole month without being able to change, unable to receive parcels.  In this context, Jean Christophe knew some Gypsies from Bosnia who had set up camp close to Rome. The poverty there was terrible.

In the camp, he met Jiani, 22 years old, a Muslim, married and the father of two children. Very outgoing and dynamic, he had a great impact on his entourage and people liked to gather around to listen to him. He was full of initiatives, good ones as well as bad ones. One day, Jean Christophe visited Jiani in his little hut made of wood and cardboard. He found him totally depressed, mute for pain and closed, hiding his arms. Then Jean Christophe realized he had no more hands!! What had happened? During a recent break-in, Jiani had encountered a metal door that was electrified, and the current had kept his hands stuck to the door. 

When his two buddies saw that, they could not think of any other way to save his life than cutting his hands off. Jiani fell into deep depression and wanted to commit suicide. Choked by this tragedy, Jean Christophe did not know how to react. What could be said in face of such a horror? But Jean Christophe always has his inner jacket filled with goodies" to pass around, and it occurred to him to pull out of his pocket a wooden crucifix (the St. Damiano one, so dear to St. Francis of Assisi) and to leave it by Jiani's bed. He also said a few words to him about Jesus before leaving. A month later, Jean Christophe came back into the camp and found Jiani completely changed. He was surrounded by a little crowd and speaking joyfully. Back to himself, he heartily welcomed Jean Christophe who asked him: - What happened to you, Jiani? You look so cheerful today?!-It is thanks to you!

Then Jiani explained to Jean Christophe that after his visit, he looked at the Crucifix calmly and noticed that Jesus had his two hands nailed to the wood. He said to himself, He is just like me! If there is anyone who can understand me, it is Him! I lost my hands because of a robbery whereas He offered them for us! And Jiani concluded: - He can only be God! 

Jiani asked to be baptized a Catholic. Since he was the leader, as it often occurs in the Gypsy culture, his whole clan was baptized with him as well as his friends. Besides, they started seeing Jean Christophe as their wiseman. Therefore he was able to announce Jesus in the camp quite openly! This Muslim received life by looking at the Crucified One

When Jesus came to Birmingham ...

When Jesus came to Golgotha, they hanged Him on a tree,

They drove great nails through hands and feet, and made a Calvary;

They crowned Him with a crown of thorns, red were His wounds and deep,

For those were crude and cruel days, and human flesh was cheap. 

When Jesus came to Birmingham, they simply passed Him by.

They would not hurt a hair of Him, they only let Him die;

For men had grown more tender, and they would not give Him pain, 

They only just passed down the street, and left Him in the rain. 

Still Jesus cried, ‘Forgive them, for they know not what they do,’

And still it rained the winter rain that drenched Him through and through;

The crowds went home and left the streets without a soul to see, 

And Jesus crouched against a wall, and cried for Calvary. 

I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot; I wish that you were cold or hot. So because you are lukewarm, and neither hot nor cold, I will spit you out of My mouth. Because you say, “I am rich, and have become wealthy, and have need of nothing,” and you do not know that you are wretched and miserable and poor and blind and naked,…

When Jesus Came to Birmingham was written by an Anglican minister named Geoffrey Stoddard Kennedy. He called his poem, ‘Indifference.” Kennedy served as a chaplain in the trenches of World War l where he earned the name “Woodbine Willie” because of his habit of giving Woodbine cigarettes to the injured and dying soldiers.

Kennedy wrote this poem during what was called ‘the great disillusion’ of the 1920’s. The English empire was crumbling, the moral certainty of the Victorian age was eroding leaving in its place only skepticism, cynicism and materialism. After four years of war, the British economy was in tatters and poverty widespread except for the few privileged. Kennedy’s love for England and his church faded in the midst of unemployment and the seeming disregard by the wealthy and religious for the desperate plight of the poor.

“Trained by war and betrayed by peace”

In 1916, at the age of 17, my great-uncle Tom was killed during the battle of the Somme along with all of his ‘pals’ and another half a million or so boys and young men. Some 70 years later, the medals he had been awarded posthumously were stolen from his elderly sister’s house by teenagers of a different generation.

It’s odd how in those times the young possessed a sense of duty, courage and honour, a long forgotten innocence perhaps that drove them to sacrifice for their country, kin, and the freedoms they sought to defend. What was lacking in their leaders does not lessen their qualities.

How quickly the collective memory fades though, even with another war in between, all is taken for granted, unappreciated, mocked even. A Victorian scholar came to the conclusion that “War is the foundation of all the high virtues and faculties of men” and “that all great nations learned their truth of word and strength of thought in war; that they were nourished in war and wasted by peace, taught by war and deceived by peace; trained by war and betrayed by peace; in a word, that they were born in war and expired in peace."

This is especially true in the Christian life if the daily spiritual warfare we must engage in is not attended to.

The poor and persecuted church, dressed in rags with calloused knees from supplication, knows it’s at war. And it leans in hard to prayer, clings to its saviour, knows it’s only source of hope and strength. And strangely, through those times of strife, the persecuted become more and more open hearted to one another too; in similar fashion to those who lived through wars do; they reminisce about those days when people pulled together, looked out for one another. They are growing ever stronger in faith and virtue.

As the persecuted church is tested by such trials; the western church has a far greater test to endure; prosperity. The peaceful unhindered practice of faith, lives of relative opulence, slumped on the sofa, remote control in one hand and a mug of tea in the other. Smooth knees and calloused hearts ? It takes us on a downward path to complacency and even to an illusory sense of entitlement. This weakens souls and eliminates virtue. It’s an invisible war, but an eternally dangerous one.

Our memory has faded too, we forget what Jesus did for us, fail to appreciate it and take it for granted instead of developing a renewed sense of duty, courage and honour. Called to be vigilant; to pray like our lives depended on it (they do), make sacrifices for others, pass the test of generosity to those in need, be in solidarity in practical helpful ways with our suffering brethren. We are all required to show up for battle each morning, and fight all the day long, for what we believe in, cherish, hope for.