Pilgrimage Journal

April-July 2002
Florida to Chicago

	For who is God, but the Lord?
	And who is a rock, except our God?--
	    the God who girded me with strength
	    and made my way safe.

	You gave a wide place for my steps under me,
	    and my feet did not slip.        (Ps 118)

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	Frank and Ernest today: They see a sign. The arrow pointing one way says, “Path to Enlightenment.” The arrow pointing the opposite way says, “Life’s Highway.” That was amusing, since I usually walk against traffic.
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	I felt the “stripping down” of leaving more strongly this time, I think. I had been so involved with an online forum the last three months, I felt more a part of something, in a “place” I was accepted and respected (also in my parents’ home). That’s all lost when I step outside that community. This would be the same experience for anyone, I think. 
	It’s not so easy to step away from my circle of people and my accomplishments. But it’s important to see the reality. What I am in the eyes of others, or “in” my accomplishments, is not “what I am.” (I am only “in” my actions as I do them, not after.) It’s just a shock to see how much more I thought I was. Or rather, how much I was trying to find myself other places than “in Christ.”
	Also: the futility of accomplishments. Part of the reading Sunday was Romans 8.20 (“…for the creation was subjected to futility…”). Philosophers have figured this out themselves. Just like Quoheleth: “All is vanity.” Our accomplishments, what we produce, cannot justify our efforts. The value cannot be judged by the product. If we do so, we condemn our own efforts, because all creation cannot be said to have value in itself-rather we see it is ultimately futile, vanity. The effort cannot be for the product. Rather, the effort witnesses to something more important: the motive, the intent, the life that made the effort. The product is but the canvass on which life works. And this life either speaks of Life or death.
	Pilgrimage provides a means of expressing life, witnessing to the Life, while producing almost no “product.”
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	A strange connection of events yesterday. A young man picked me up in the rain, drove me two days walk, heard I was looking for a church, so dropped me off with a friend, a mechanic and Baptist. That guy found me a ride to his church. But I couldn’t spot him later, at the service. While I was looking for him, another couple inquired and ended up offering me a motel room. I almost never know what it’s all about. (I did briefly talk to the secretary at the garage, and the youth pastor at the church.)
	Also, I recognized my usual thought fluctuations between pilgrimage-as-ministry and pilgrimage-as-satisfying-life. These come up especially as I’m trying to reassure myself. And while I think these arguments are valid (and I highly recommend aspects of pilgrimage for ministry and for a satisfying life), these are not enough. These are not central.
	Wherever (and however) I stand, I should be there because that’s where Jesus is. That’s not a matter of strategy (for ministerial effectiveness, or self-fulfillment) but a matter of staying close to him. Of course, Jesus can appear in every “scene” of life. There is no place where he cannot be. But in every scene, Jesus is found in certain roles, rather than others (just as he was when he was physically here). Look for the poor, the one on the edge, the one strong in spirit though weak in worldly power. The servant, not the lord. Jesus is there, but not usually center of people’s attention.
	Wherever we are, whatever we are doing, Jesus calls to us and is not far. But being called is not the same as being with. To be with, we need to be in the role Jesus is playing in each scene in life. He may be calling us out of our current role.
	Thus my only real reassurance is to recognize Jesus’ presence and be where he is. The results are a purity of ministry (which I may or may not understand) and a fullness of life (which is also often beyond my understanding). If these are recognized, they are recognized “after the fact.” Seeking these will not lead to them. “The one who seeks their life will lose it….” “Seek first the kingdom of God…” Know him, recognize his presence, put yourself there with him, that he may be present there in you.
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	A rainy afternoon, so I’m reading John LeCarre’s “Russia House,” a spy novel. I especially like this passage (and it seems a good synopsis for the book):

“When I didn’t show up at the Moscow audio fair, Katya gave your manuscript to a colleague of mine,” Barley said cautiously. [Talking to “Goethe,” his Russian source.]
    “I know. She had to take a chance.”
    “What you don’t know is that the colleague couldn’t find me when he got back to England. So he gave it to the authorities. People of discretion. Experts.”
    Goethe turned sharply to Barley in alarm and the shadow of dismay spread swiftly over his fraught features. “I do not like experts,” he said. “They are our jailers. I despise experts more than anyone on earth.”
    “You’re one yourself, aren’t you?”
    “Therefore I know! Experts are addicts. They solve nothing! They are servants of whatever system hires them. They perpetuate it. When we are tortured, we shall be tortured by experts. When we are hanged, experts will hang us. Did you not read what I wrote? When the world is destroyed, it will be destroyed not by its madmen but by the sanity of its experts and the superior ignorance of its bureaucrats. You have betrayed me.”
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	There were people at the Baptist church last night, getting ready for Friend Day, their big evangelism Sunday. But they weren’t too busy to take me to a motel, and pick me up for church this morning. I was impressed by that.
	I was also impressed that they’d invited a group from Jacksonville (looked like they were from a homeless shelter). But then the Sunday school lesson was on… hell. Real fire and brimstone, maggots eating your flesh for all eternity stuff. The strange thing was, he used the story of the rich man and Lazarus. I happened to notice that the difference between the two men, as Jesus tells it, has nothing to do with religion. Abraham says to the rich man, “Remember that you in your lifetime received your good things, and Lazarus in like manner evil things; but now he is comforted here, and you are in anguish.” This point really flips the tables on a middle-class white church busing in the homeless to “save” them. The teacher failed to notice this. And he didn’t open it up for questions, or I would have asked about it. (Plenty of altar calls, though.)
	The pastor was more entertaining. A good, old-fashioned, bible-thumpin’ preacher, he called himself. And it’s true. I overheard him telling someone how, earlier, he had killed a cockroach with his bible.
	Wild white lilies mixed in with the other wildflowers along the roadside today.
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	Sunday night was a happy surprise. I stopped at a church, hoping for a service that never happened, but a group of women showed up (with some children). They did some aerobics, then their own version of worship. Like a charismatic prayer time, but with music and dancing instead of words. The middle of the church was an open area, and 4-5 of the women (all ages, kids too) danced with hand-held flags, and sometimes without. Very vigorous and beautiful. Singing would swell with the music at times, and some loud shouts. Laughing. At climatic points, they seemed to feed on each other’s energy. When they were finally tired, they laid around on the floor with closed eyes. A few children laid close to their mothers.
	It seemed more harmonious than other charismatic prayer I’d seen, and I told them. Dance also seems more edifying to others, since we can watch each other pray. (They sometimes do choreographed dances for church services, too). I was delighted to have been a witness to it. Not many men have seen it, I bet.
	Several women asked about me, and we talked in a small group afterwards. Then Shari, a single mom, took me home with her and her kids, and Sharia. Sharia is maybe 19, a girl Shari found in a homeless shelter (after a rough past), who is now a member of their family. I talked with both of them on the way and before bed. Very impressive women. Inquisitive, courageous, and eager for God.
	We talked more in the morning over strong Spanish coffee (and Sharia slipped me $50). The kids fussed and fooled around getting ready for school. Shari went to work. Then Sharia invited me to join her morning communion. She brought out bread and wine (“It’s real-don’t tell anyone!”) and prayed simple prayers as we took each. Wow. She said I was the first to join her.
	I could really go on and on about these women. I felt and overwhelming love for them, and so honored to be their guest. Again (as a few times before), it was like God said, “Look, I’ve got someone here I’d like to show you.”
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	The bridge into Georgia was closed when I got there. But the workers let me walk right across. One even gave me one of those orange road worker’s vests. A thoughtful gift.
	Took a day off walking today. My feet are still getting in shape. Good library here for e-mail and a little forum time. I feel much more in touch with people this time out.
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	What happened this week? I got a ride from a bushy-bearded old guy who drove real slow and called everyone who passed me “speed demons” (which we meant literally, I think). He also tried to spit on a couple of them as they passed. Then there was the night I slept in the “smallest church in America” (seats 12). And the little all-Black church I stopped in on Sunday took up a collection for me and invited me for some good Southern cookin’ (it’s always “cookin’” down here). That was fun. There were more people than places at the table, so when someone got up, someone else would take their place and the dinner would continue.
	Sunday night, I made it to the next town and was the first into the church. An older couple followed me in. The man must have been hard-of-hearing, because I could hear him plainly when he whispered to his wife, “I bet he’s here looking for a hand-out.”
	I thought about that later. He must have seen I was in need; though I was clean and combed and shaved. So what’s the Christian response to someone in need? To despise them? Avoid them? I shouldn’t feel bad that people notice my need. And though I wasn’t looking for a “hand-out” necessarily, I was looking for a sign that Christ was present among those people. I was looking for the love of God. And I was disappointed to not find much evidence of it there.
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	The book I’m reading--“Facing the Lions” by Tom Wicker--is interesting. A political novel. Not nearly as good as Warren’s “All the King’s Men,” but not bad. The “hero” is an idealistic for-the-people/against-the-bosses presidential candidate. He’s appealing in passages like this (the candidate, Anderson, just told how he feels very alive in front of a crowd):

    “Not me,” Morgan said. “I look at a crowd and see them cheering on the lions.”
    Anderson’s long arm came out of the darkness and a big hand closed tightly on Morgan’s elbow, shaking him gently. “Exactly. But wouldn’t you rather be one of the Christians, Morgan? Wouldn’t you rather be in the arena than in the crowd?”

	A good thought. Though Anderson is never really “one of the Christians” in the arena. He’s a political candidate. More like a gladiator in the arena--not laying down his life, but fighting for it against the powers that send in the lions and the other gladiators. He manages to knock off a few other gladiators, and excite the crowd, but that’s it. Being a Christian in the arena is a whole other story.
	At least the author is honest in portraying Anderson’s disillusionment. Every good political story is a tragedy. I like this (maybe part of it is the southern imagery--I tend to read books about the South when I’m in the South):

...just as the fairytale vision of a big white house on a green Southern hill could not stand much historical investigation, so Anderson’s dream had not sustained the application of a man’s life.

That’s the test, isn’t it? “The application of a man’s life.” That’s where our own ideals and dreams eventually fail, and only the eternal reality of God’s Truth remains. Only that Truth can support the weight of a person’s life. And that’s what sets “the Christians” apart.
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	I’ve noticed some tall wildflowers along the roadside, and by people’s front steps throughout Savannah today. Three small, triangular petals, pale to deep purple. With stamens that stand out in bright yellow. And slender blades for leaves. I looked it up: spiderwort!
	Later, I was asking a man about church services tonight, and his four-year-old daughter came up and touched my walking stick. As we parted, I heard her ask, “Daddy, why does he got a stick?” He didn’t hesitate: “He’s got a stick to kill snakes, honey.” Dad always has an answer.
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	It’s been over a week since I’ve written. Too much activity to sit and write, but all good. I stopped at the Carters’ church and stayed with their new pastor a few days--even pounded nails one afternoon when a bunch of the men were working on their new addition. And, Once more, the Carter family was very generous (even their youngest son, Kevin). Then on to see Chin Parikh again, for some more conversation and Indian food. I liked the mango puree, with salt and ginger; also the hot, sweetened milk with chopped almonds and pecans. And, finally, a few days with the Ludwicks. The girls softball game was fun; I talked with “Dub” about “how can they hear without a preacher?”; and the men’s group let me talk the whole time about pilgrimage. Then watched a tireless congregation of chimney swifts circle the church at dusk, as several planets appeared.
	Several people offered rides, so I walked little. And many people pressed money into my hand (when I protested, I was told, “hush”). So I replaced sandals and pack--both were coming apart. Now I’m walking again; it should be quiet for a few days.
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	The Ludwicks’ youngest son (who is in high school) impressed me twice: by giving me his room while I was there, and by his musical ability (which includes composing). But he was like any other teenager when he asked me at dinner, “So… what are you?” “I’m a person,” I answered. He persisted, “But what are you?”
	He meant, of course, what’s my vocation. But I was questioning the question. I tried to say something about not being defined or valued by our job, or role in society, but I don’t think it registered. I think adolescents are very focused on finding their identity, and this often involves finding their role in society (partly because they’ve been indoctrinated to do this by society?).
	Sunday was youth day at the Methodist church I visited. Their singing was great, then several graduating high school students got up and said a few words. I noticed every single one thanked the congregation for “helping me become the person I am today.” I think this is the identity thing again, again set within a societal framework. Society has made me who I am, that I may become a contributing member of society. (One girl already knew she wanted to be in “non-profit marketing”--sounds like a contradiction in terms to me…)
	Because personal identity and value comes from God, not society, I think society is misdirecting these adolescents desire to “find themselves.” Society helps them “find their life” in the way Jesus warned against: “He who finds his life will lose it” (Mt 10.39; I return to it again and again).
	The rest of the verse is: “He who loses his life for my sake will find it.” I hope my actions and words reflect some of this truth. I like the fact that I have no role in society, I serve no social “purpose,” while still being able to offer something to people. I can share the life I have found--a life society did not (could not) give me.
	Sunday night, a pastor asked me the adult version of “What are you?” when he said, “What do you do?” “I’m doing it right now,” I answered.
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	Last week, I noticed some tiny, wild, purple irises and two blooming mountain laurel trees. They reminded me of the Appalachian Trail. I started up the trail just two years ago. Later this summer, I’ll be following some of the same roads I walked when I got off the trail to be a real pilgrim.
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	Sunday, in the Presbyterian church I stopped at, they were discussing “The Westminster Confessions” (their church’s founding document) in Sunday school. The topic of the day was “Civil Government.” Challenging their emphasis on Romans 13, I asked about the American Revolution--was the church for it or against it? The teacher faltered, the pastor mumbled something, then asked, “What do you think?” I said we should be against violent revolution, but not use Romans 13 to legitimate government. Then I reviewed what God said in 1 Sam 8. An unexpected opportunity.
	Now I’m at Tom Gray’s place. He’s a potter who I met through my online discussion group. I think I’ll be here 4 days, and we’ve had some good discussions. Today we talked while he shaped bowls and pitchers--very impressive work.
	I’ve also been able to read more theological stuff while I’m here. But much of it reminds me how I’ve been led out of the classroom and onto the street. This quote by Christoph Blumhardt sums it up for me (he said this upon returning from a popular preaching tour, after which he retired from such crowd-pleasers):

I am terribly sorry that people say I am a famous preacher. I don’t want to be a speaker before you. I am no speaker at all, nor do I want to be one. I want to be a man of experience. I do not want these things to be spoken about. I want to stand before you as a witness!
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	I ended up staying a whole week at Tom’s--a great family time with him, Deb, and Slate (their 10-year-old son, who has severe cerebral palsy). But I still left too early, because the cold made me get a motel room the next three nights. Thanks to the generosity of Tom and others, I had money to do so.
	A middle-aged woman took me about 50 miles on the third day, into Virginia and the Appalachians. On the ride, she asked me, “What’s your philosophy of life? Someone who’s walked like you have must have a philosophy of life.” I wanted to say I didn’t have one. Because Life and Truth is a person, not a philosophy or adage. But I said, “Everything we do should be a gift.” And we got into a discussion about giving freely, which seemed like a better thing to talk about than philosophy.
	Today I’ve been sitting by a river all afternoon. It’s comfortable here, and quiet (except when a train screeches by). People are fishing. Maybe I’ll sleep here tonight--I think I’d enjoy that. Sleeping outside by a river is natural and good, not like sleeping on the porch of a church in town. But I don’t think the difference is so much the physical surroundings as the social surroundings. There’s no shame in sleeping outside when you’re surrounded just by nature. But I do cringe when people “catch” me sleeping outside in town--because I know what they’re thinking. I cringe because I know they’re cringing. It’s an affront to society, on several levels, I think. (Even more so, since I’m doing it voluntarily.) But it’s not an affront to nature. Tonight should be nice.
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	Quiet night. Full moon. Then as the sun rose, I sat praying and watched the fish jump and the dandelions open. A couple guys are fly-fishing on the river now. Pretty.
	I was thinking more about the “affront to society.” I meant an affront to socially recognized property (“trespassing”), an affront to good order--which is why some people call the police on me. But I think there’s also the affront to people’s dignity, based on their own “standard of living,” which I’m not living up to. (This is not basic human dignity, based on what man is, but a socially-defined dignity, based on comparisons between people.) My living standard is equal or better than most people in the world, yet in this society it offends.
	Now, I shouldn’t be ashamed based on social expectations. Yet I can’t help but see the great wealth and comfort enjoyed by those around me. And I know they also see the contrast (that’s the source of the “affront”). But am I doing them wrong in this scenario--or are they doing me wrong? Who has possession of the wealth; who can share it? I think part of why people overlook this call to compassion is that they blame the needy person for some social offense. Using man’s law to negate God’s law. And when the poor person has become poor by following Christ (and giving freely), then I think ignoring them (based on some social affront) is clearly a form of persecution. Using the world’s ways to make it more difficult for someone to follow God’s way.
	I was just reading Paul in Philippians: “I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and want.” (4.12) And I too know something of that secret. But I’m also becoming more aware of how those around me contribute to the hunger and want part, which poses psychological and spiritual problems (not just physical ones). This is where I need to bring to mind Jesus words: “A servant is not greater than his master. If they persecuted me, they will persecute you.” (Jn 15.20) And thank God for those who help instead!
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	Started reading Jean-Jacques Rousseau’s “The Social Contract.” Great opening lines: “Man was born free, but is everywhere in bondage. This or that man believes himself the master of his fellow men, but is nevertheless more of a slave than they.” I think that’s true, but more for spiritual reasons than social ones. The social just reflects the spiritual.
	I remember reading this before. And I still think his idea of a social “collective being” (“the body politic”) that always wills “the common good” is pure fiction. He admits as much in a footnote at the end of the first book:

Under bad governments this [social] equality is merely an illusion: it serves only to perpetuate the poor man’s poverty and the rich man’s possession. Laws, in actual practice, are invariably useful to those who possess and damaging to those who do not--from which it follows that the social condition is a benefit only when all own something and none owns the least bit too much.

No government (no matter how good) could ever produce the society Rousseau envisioned. Only love can do that. And a collective cannot love--only persons can love.
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	Thinking more about Rousseau’s Social Contract, I realized he was envisioning something like the body of Christ. Only, he thought that somehow people (collectively) could form the head of the body, which they cannot. He has some good insights, though. Like this line: “Law-giving is a task for gods, not men.”
	A ninety-one-year-old lady took me to lunch after church yesterday, and then drove me about 25 miles down the road (out of her way).
	Thinking more about persecution, too, and whether I’m spreading the charge too widely. Most people are just not-helping--that’s not the same as hindering, is it? They’re just minding their own business. Or even feeling quite enlightened to our country’s post-modern diversity: letting each person do their own thing; not interfering. They would see themselves as the opposite of the persecutor. They’re not attacking anyone, they’re leaving them alone. They’re neutral.
	But there is no neutral. “He who is not with me is against me, and he who does not gather with me scatters.” (Mt 12.30) Not-helping, not-loving (not being how Christ taught us to be) is hindering others who are trying to follow Christ. It is persecution. We think our actions are neutral because we don’t immediately see who is hurt. But that is an illusion. Just going along with society where it opposes Christ (and it does oppose Christ on many levels) hurts people and hinders the followers of Christ. We don’t have to attack people directly (or for religious reasons) to be persecutors of Christ.
	Nice quiet church on a hill last night. I saw the steeple through the trees, a ways from the highway. Had to cut through a field and hop stones across a stream to get to it, then up a steep grassy hill. Watched the sun rise red through the blue clouds this morning. Three does appeared on the next hill as I left, then the last one saw me and waved her thick, white tail as they disappeared.
	A favorite verse this morning: “Do not work for the food which perishes, but for the food which endures for eternal life, which the Son of man will give you.” (Jn 6.27)
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	Turn to me and take pity on me;
	    give your strength to your servant.
	    and save the son of your handmaid.
	Show me a sign of your favor,
	    that those who hate me may see and be put to shame
	    because you, Lord, have helped me and comforted me.
					Ps 86.16-17
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	I spent the weekend with the McClains, the family I met two years ago when I was on this same road, the very first family to invite me to stay with them. This time, all eight children (several are adults) were there. A fun time. And they made me feel just like family: I got to help paint the porch, do some fence work, etc.
	Like in most families, the children took center stage, each with their own unique personality, each at some point in the discovery of their own life. The father, too, stood out as patriarch of the large family, builder of the farm. But Colette, the mother, impressed me the most (just like the last time). She was always in the background, attentive. Smiling quietly, with a soft, careful way of speaking. She often seemed like an “accessory” to the family, or to each member of the family. I didn’t think that at the time, or in any negative way, but I thought that today, admiring it. Because it comes, I think, from a spirit in her I admired already. 
	Not that being an accessory is always good--it depends what you’re an accessory to. It certainly is good if we are an accessory to another’s seeking of God, or growth towards God. That was Kierkegaard’s point in the section I read today from his “Works of Love.” (I’m at Holy Cross Abbey for a few days, so I have access to some good books.)
	He wrote that love helps others see or know God better, without drawing attention to itself. Thus, playing the role of accessory, the lover is often overlooked:

In a certain sense [the lover’s] life is completely squandered on existence, on the existence of others; without wishing to waste any time or any power on elevating himself, on being somebody, in self-sacrifice he is willing to perish, that is, he is completely and wholly transformed into being simply an active power in the hands of God.

Which reminds me again of “he who finds his life will lose it, and he who loses his life for my sake will find it.”
	Becoming “an active power in the hands of God” in this way, the lover comes into harmony with all of creation. For all creation is ordered to serve as an accessory in our discovery of God.
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	Kierkegaard made a comment in “Works of Love” about the poor offering mercy (which is a greater gift than money). I thought about that. And it made sense in conjunction with my recent thoughts about persecution. Because the bible again and again presents the poor and oppressed as the “plaintiff” in God’s judgment of the world. For example, in Pss. 9 and 10:

	For he who avenges blood is mindful of them;
	    he does not forget the cry of the afflicted.

	The wicked shall depart to Sheol,
	    all the nations that forget God.
	For the needy shall not always be forgotten,
	    and the hope of the poor shall not perish forever.

	O Lord, you will hear the desire of the poor;
	    you will strengthen their heart,
	    you will incline your ear
	to do justice to the fatherless and the oppressed.
	    so that man who is of the earth may strike terror no more.

So who better than the poor, the persecuted, to offer mercy? Who has more to forgive?
	This brings to mind Jesus’ plea, “Father forgive them, for they know not that they do.” In Jesus’ case, as in the case of all persecution, the oppressor could not help but know that they did evil in some sense, but they did not know the depth of their fault. Perhaps they felt they did a “necessary evil.” But, not recognizing Jesus as God, they did not know who they persecuted. Just as we do not recognize Christ in the poor and so do not know who we ignore, shun, and crush. And the issue is further clouded by the complex social form of persecution that I described earlier.
	Recognizing this persecution more clearly, and feeling it more intensely, I’ve wondered what my response should be. And, of course, the answer is mercy. “Father forgive them, for they know not what they do.”
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	I went to three churches last weekend. But by the third one, all I could hear was Jesus’ words, “Why do you call me ‘Lord, Lord,’ and not do what I tell you?” I also recalled Isaiah 58:

	They seek me daily,
	    and delight to know my ways,
	as if they were a nation that did righteousness
	    and did not forsake the ordinance of God…

The rest of the chapter talks specifically about fasting, but it is really a synopsis of what “true religion” should be:

	Is not this the fast that I choose:
	    to loose the bonds of wickedness,
	    to undo the thongs of the yoke,
	to let the oppressed go free,
	    and to break every yoke?
	Is it not to share your bread with the hungry,
	    and bring the homeless poor into your house;
	when you see the naked, to cover him,
	    and not to hide yourself from your own flesh?

	Then you shall call, and the Lord will answer;
	    you shall cry, and he will say, Here I am.

I like that line about not hiding from your own flesh. Because that’s what we want to do when we see the needy: hide.
	But not everyone does. This week, a Methodist pastor invited me to their potluck supper, then offered a shower, laundry, and a couch to sleep on. Money, too. Which was good, because I was down to my last meal. Why do I bother worrying?
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	I’m reading another good John LeCarre novel, “The Little Drummer Girl,” and hit the part last night where the heroine is revealed as a bit of a fraud. She’d been passing herself off as someone driven to anarchism by traumas in her childhood--traumas that never really happened. Which reminded me that I’d been feeling like a fraud recently.
	I mean, I always say my purpose is to be a witness for the kingdom of God, which is true. But I know most people take that to mean I’m some kind of evangelist. And I even try to think of myself in that way often--but it’s bothering me. Because I’m nothing like Paul or Jesus in that respect; I’m not preaching or proclaiming in the same way they did. I remember, last year, I wrote that I didn’t think we needed that sort of evangelist (announcing the arrival of the kingdom, starting churches) as much now, since the gospel is everywhere, churches are everywhere. I was going to focus on a call to purity and maturity, challenging quietly with deeds--and words only when necessary. Which I have done. But I’ve slipped back into describing myself as a type of evangelist--because it’s easier, maybe. People recognize it and accept it. But then I feel false, because that’s not really what I’m doing.
	Especially on a week like this, when I haven’t had a good talk with anyone. Today I just felt so hungry to find someone who really knew God.
	And I realized that’s much closer to the real purpose of my pilgrimage. I’m trying to be a witness to all, but most importantly, to the members of the body of Christ. To challenge them, encourage them, and help them be better witnesses. When I have found them, we shared so much; the encounter has been incredible. And when I go long without meeting them, or meeting only superficial “Christians,” I feel empty and useless. I’m really looking for the body of Christ.
	Or looking for the kingdom of God. Because the kingdom is not a place, but people: “The kingdom of God is in your midst.” That’s even a better fit with the pilgrim imagery--a quest. People always used to ask, “What are you looking for?” And I resisted, because I wanted to make it clear I wasn’t seeking anything for myself. But I am seeking others to share with. I should have answered, “I’m looking for the kingdom of God.”
	I think I’ll start using that to explain my pilgrimage. I even think it will be a better conversation starter than the witness answer, which always falls flat. There’s a challenge in it, too: looking and looking for the kingdom when there’s churches in plain view. And then there’s the question of what specifically I’m looking for (what does the kingdom of God look like?). But there’s also the desire to meet my brothers and sisters in Christ, and the invitation for them to reveal themselves. I’m on a pilgrimage looking for the kingdom of God.
	I feel a little sheepish because I seem to keep changing my purpose. There was “repentance,” then “the kingdom of God is already here,” then “a witness.” But maybe it’s not that I’m changing as much as refining. Discovering? I tend to think I know what I’m doing more than I actually do. But I think I’m gradually catching on.
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	Last Sunday was a joy. A couple invited me home for lunch after services in an Episcopalian church--and I found out they are moving to Florida, so I’ll probably get to see them again this winter. Then I spent the night in the next town with a kind miner-turned-preacher and his wife.
	But it was long walking this week, and hot. And some disappointing discussions online (I’ve kept up with e-mail and the Jesus Radicals forum) bothered me more than I wanted to admit. And getting low on food and money always makes me feel vulnerable.
	So I was a little ragged yesterday afternoon, when I had an unexpected meeting with a young pastor (who found me resting on his church steps). We talked for a couple hours, I think. Then he offered me a motel room and I got clean and rested for church this morning. The music was very good. I think that’s what brought my feelings of weakness to the surface, suddenly and overwhelmingly. Weakness and gratitude. Because God chooses the weak to manifest himself, his power. That came to me very strongly and insistently. Important, I think.
	I recalled Paul’s words to the Corinthians (1 Cor 1.26-28):

Consider your call, brethren; not many of you were wise according to worldly standards, not many were powerful, not many were of noble birth; but God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise, God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong, God chose what is low and despised in the world, even things that are not, to bring to nothing the things that are…
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And he looked around at them with anger, grieved at their hardness of heart… (Mk 3.5)
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	After a rather lonely week (I did encounter several people, but they didn’t respond much), yesterday was a flurry of activity. The Methodists I visited practically let me lead their bible study, which happened to be on the birds and lilies of Mt 6. There was good discussion, too.
	And a dinner afterwards, which I was invited to. There I sat next to an older man who asked about my walking. I told him I was looking for the kingdom of God. But he seemed adamant that the kingdom of God was where Jesus was, seated on the right hand of the Father. I tried to explain that the kingdom of God is here, in us, because Jesus is here in us. As I read in John 14 a few days ago (18-20, 22-23):

“I will not leave you desolate, I will come to you. Yet a little while, and the world will see me no more, but you will see me; because I live, you will live also. In that day you will know that I am in my Father, and you in me, and I in you”…
    Judas (not Iscariot) said to him, “Lord, how is it that you will manifest yourself to us, and not to the world?” Jesus answered him, “If a man loves me, he will keep my word, and my Father will love him, and we will come to him and make our home with him.”

But he was not convinced. We argued at the table until I said, “If you are not living in the kingdom of God, I’m sorry, but I am. And I’ve met many people who show that ‘the kingdom of God is in your midst.’ That’s what I’m here witnessing to.”
	We didn’t argue any more. But we did talk some more, and after dinner he offered to drive me to the next town. On the way, Don told me of his volunteer work with the Salvation Army. Then we stopped at his house, where he offered me a shower and his wife gave me the money she had left in her purse. Strangely, their actions made my point better than my words! It was a surprise and joy to me, and they seemed pleased as well.
	The day was not over, though. Don dropped me off at a Baptist church, for their evening service. It turned out to be a patriotic music program (the 4th of July is Thursday)--when I saw that, I really didn’t want to go. But there was nowhere else.
	I thought maybe I would go and make some sort of statement. They probably would include the Pledge of Allegiance, I thought, and I would get up and say, “Why are we in church, pledging allegiance to that which is not God?” Or say something to the pastor about it afterwards, reminding him that “no one can serve two masters.” So I went.
	And sure enough, they opened with the Pledge. I didn’t stand. But as I looked around, I realized that, though everyone was quick to jump up and say it together, it really didn’t mean much to them. It was just words. Words that would be forgotten soon after they sat down. My making a big deal about it would only make the Pledge seem more important.
	They followed with a tribute to the armed forces, playing each service’s fight song and spotlighting veterans in the audience. I almost left at that point. But I’m glad I didn’t. Because the rest of the show was surprising: it included a reminder of slavery in the U.S., and a tribute to civil rights leaders and Black spirituals like “Swing Low” and “Kum by Yah.” Then there was skit where a waitress bought a meal for a poor man that came into the restaurant. When another customer warned her that poverty was too big a problem to tackle by herself, she said, “Yeah. But I can do something.” And they even quoted Mt 25. 34-40, “As you did it to one of the least of these…” That was surprising and encouraging.
	So I was hopeful when I approached the pastor afterwards, introduced myself, and asked about a place to sleep. “You don’t have the ability to stay in a motel?” “I don’t have enough money, no,” I replied. “Well, I don’t mind if you stay on the church property… a guy sometimes sleeps here between the double doors.” I said OK and he turned to go. “I liked the skit tonight,” I called after him. “Yeah? Good!” he replied, without looking back.
	While I was waiting in the parking lot, a guy asked if I had been helped. I hesitated, “What do you mean?” As he started to come over, another guy complimented him on his pants and he stopped. “Yeah--cotton Dockers! Two for 40; I got four!” (I suddenly felt like I was in the middle of a commercial.) Then he turned to me and I explained my walk, that I needed a place to sleep, and that the pastor said I could stay on the property. “Oh…” But he didn’t hesitate for long. “OK--if that works for ya!,” he said with a smile, as he spun and walked briskly away in his cotton Dockers.
	Another pastor came back at about 11 that night, apparently to get something from the church. He walked within a foot of me. But he didn’t leave much of an impression--just the sound of him unlocking the doors, and locking them again as he left.

	I think this just illustrated so well the “allegiance” that usually trips us up. It’s not allegiance to the State--that really only comes into play during elections or wartime. And even then, we’re really only acting to protect that which actually has our allegiance: ourselves and our possessions. So it makes sense that when Jesus said, “No man can serve two masters,” he concluded, “You cannot serve both God and mammon.”
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	Thank God for cool libraries on hot days. I found these quotes by Kierkegaard today:

Christ says: Do according to what I say--then you shall know. Consequently, decisive action first of all. By acting, your life will come into collision with existence, and then you will know the reality of grace.

It is no good for you to say that the world is immersed in evil, then slip through it easily… This simply cannot be done without your also being an accomplice in one way or another.

Abraham is the eternal pattern of faith. To be a stranger and in exile is the particular suffering of faith.

If you are a millionaire and give 100,000 dollars to the poor, you make people happy; if you give it all away, you will collide. Accept a big salary and a distinguished office in order to further Christianity, and you will perhaps make people happy; renounce everything, every personal advantage, in order to proclaim Christianity, and you will be scorned.
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	I arrived here just in time to see Michael installed as pastor in his first church. So I’ve been staying with them, and enjoying the kids. Also reading “The Brothers Karamazov” again. These lines stood out this time:

Man keeps apart, each in his own groove; each one holds aloof, hides himself and hides what he has, from the rest. He ends up being repelled by others and repelling them. He heaps up riches by himself and thinks, “How strong I am now and how secure.” And in his madness he does not understand that the more he heaps up, the more he sinks into self-destructive impotence. For he is accustomed to rely on himself alone and to cut himself off from the whole; he has trained himself not to believe in the help of others, in men and in humanity, and only trembles for fear that he should lose his money and the privileges that he has won for himself.

Later:

Sometimes even if he has to do it alone, and his conduct seems to be crazy, a man must set an example, and so draw men’s souls out of their isolation, and spur them to some act of brotherly love…
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