There are moments in life when we get itchy feet. We begin to feel the stirrings of desire to make a new journey. This is a deep gift of God. We are being drawn, at least for a time, to step into the unfamiliar. To move from what is known to what is unknown. Sometimes we are called to a make an external journey. To move to a new job or a new place. Or to
travel somewhere alone or with others to visit a new city or country. Called perhaps to a new way of praying. There is both excitement and trepidation, probably because we sense that we will be transformed by the journey.
I love to travel in unfamiliar places. To arrive at a new airport and to pray that I will find the gate for the connecting flight. To arrive in a new city and hear the unfamiliar sounds of a foreign language around me. Sometimes in far flung places to experience ways of living very different to my own. And to meet and make new friends. My usual defences come down because I do not know.
I must observe others carefully and ask questions. To be open to what is new.
I love to travel most in the footsteps of those whose experience has brought them close to God. St Ignatius of Loyola, a saint of the 16th Century liked to speak of himself as “the pilgrim.” He learned from early on in his conversion journey that the dependency on God that comes when we travel with very little helped him to stay close to God. I recently made a pilgrimage to the Cardoner river
in Manresa, Spain, where Ignatius had several very powerful mystical experiences and to the cave where he spent eleven months praying and beginning to write the Spiritual Exercises. These are what Celtic people call “thin places” where it feels as though the veil between heaven and earth is thinner and we sense that this is sacred ground.
To travel we have to let go of what is not essential. Ignatius started out by giving away his fine clothes to a beggar and keeping only a walking staff and a simple garment, depending on God and the kindness of others as he journeyed. When we go on a journey, we are limited by how much we can carry if we are walking, or when we fly, by the luggage weight restrictions. And so, right at the
beginning there are choices to be made. What is essential and what is not? What can we do without? There is a built-in simplicity because we cannot take with us all the creature-comforts of home. Our material possessions can give us a sense of our own security and independence. When we have less it helps us to depend on God and others.
Where do I sense an invitation to a journey of some kind – outer, inner or both?
What do I feel I may need to let go of in my ‘packing’ for the journey?
