Pilgrimage in Daily Life - By Lesley Ayers
I think I have always known about pilgrimage - after all, I was born in England close to the site of a famous pilgrim path. As a child, visits to Canterbury’s towering cathedral gave me a sense of the timelessness of faith and an awareness of many in whose footsteps I followed. Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales introduced me to the fact that fellow pilgrims can be people of all shapes and sizes!
Nowadays pilgrimage has become part of my everyday life. My heart pulls me closer to that final destination.
So, what’s in this pilgrimage life? Just as in Chaucer's day, I find community in a rich diversity of people and landscapes. I hear people’s stories and I see in action what I’ve come to describe as God’s choreography in the wonder of timing, of place.
Central to my pilgrim walk is the daily practice of following the Lectio365 App. Its reflections bookend my day. I am both challenged and encouraged and sent out into the day with the following life-changing prayer:
‘Father, help me to live this day to the full, being true to you in every way.
Jesus, help me to give myself away to others, being kind to everyone I meet,
pirit, help me to love the lost, proclaiming Christ in all I do and say’.
Feeling expectant, I ask, ‘What's in this day, Lord?’
Every evening the day closes with The Examen. I am encouraged to reflect on where I have seen God at work in my life. Where have I heard God’s voice? Then it is time to be honest with myself confessing where my motives and actions have not been helpful.
I am intentionally aware of pilgrimage in two areas of my life: when out walking, and when taking the bus to town.
My early morning walks are opportunities for prayer. I become aware of God's creation and keep in tune with the seasons.
One day on a small lake I spot little, black, fluffy creatures scuttling in the reeds. Pukeko’s babies have hatched. Weeks pass and long-legged youngsters explore the lily pads. Eventually the whole family relocates back to the nearby wetlands… until the next breeding season.
Another day, a blaze of golden sunflowers lights up a driveway and I thank the gardener for the joy. He remembers, and when the flowering is past, presents me with a bursting seed head to grow. Kindness.
Winter means my breath clouding out before me. There are a thousand shimmering crystals on frosted grass. When I order fairtrade coffee at the local container cafe, I am cared for with a knitted patchwork blanket to keep me warm. The people at the cafe are part of my community, their ethos is one of care and kindness.
Many dogs are walked in this area and I get to know their names. One day in a chapel-like grove of overarching branches, an owner offers me her own name, and while her two eager little dogs attempt a maypole dance around us, I hear this brave woman’s story of a lifetime of severe health issues.
Mine is a life stage with some dark valleys. I’ve known times of grief and times of consolation on these walks. The recent unexpected death of a friend brought heaviness as I made my way around the park. Yet in a quiet glade some piwakawaka (fantails) brought me comfort.
They circled me over and over again, landing on branches close to me, heads tilted to one side, eye-to-eye as I talked with them. This happened on two consecutive days, easing my sadness. I often see fantails in the park but never before or since have I experienced anything like this.
Was this purely coincidence? Or can we expect that the God of Creation can send God’s creatures to console us?
I walk up the hill to a place with a 180-degree view. The Kaimai Range, sometimes clear, sometimes hazy, is to my left, the shining waters of the bay distant right. Looking down from the road I have a drone’s eye view of the village where I live. I pray for its people, especially the lonely and grieving ones.
On non-walking days I often take the bus to town. I love the sign that announces ‘On this bus we choose kindness and respect’. Kindness is an antidote to the inhumanity we are faced with daily in the news.
I hear the struggles of small business owners trying to keep going in difficult times. Sadly, hopes and dreams are shattered. There’s yet another empty shop down town.
But it’s the people sleeping out in those shop doorways who break my heart. I wonder what can have gone so wrong in these lives to have brought them to this desperate place. ‘I would not have chosen this life’ the young woman tells me. She has asked me to pray that she can stay out of trouble. One day she calls after me, ‘Lesley, my name means white dove’. That felt like such a gift. She vanishes for months. I miss her, worry, and pray.
Then there are the two who fill their days doing sudoku. They never ask me for anything, but I have started to ask, ‘Is there anything I can do for you?’ One cold, miserable day she says, ‘a hot chocolate would be nice’. It’s such a small thing to give. Another day, I add something more substantial for her and the young man. His smile of surprise stays with me.
On this daily life pilgrimage, my eyes have been opened to nature’s beauty. I have received kindness, given it, had my heart broken at times, yet known much joy. For me there's a sense of homecoming.
Eliot's words ring true:
‘We shall not cease from exploration
and the end of our exploring
will be to arrive where we started
and know the place for the first time’
(T S Eliot, Four Quartets; ‘Little Gidding’).
Lesley Ayers lives in Tauranga with her husband John, grateful to call a place named for “safe anchorage’ her home. At this stage of life she finds herself appreciating many things more deeply — nature, friends, family, coffee, music, art and books. Above all, she is increasingly aware of the presence of God in everyday life.
