Pilgrimage Journal
April-September 2003

	I'm getting ready to leave next month after 8 months here at Reba Place. And I'm drawn to these words of Jesus on this Good Friday (John 15.18-21):

"If the world hates you, know that it has hated me before it hated you. If you were of the world, the world would love its own; but because you are not of the world, but I chose you out of the world, therefore the world hates you.

"Remember the word that I said to you, 'A servant is not greater than his master.' If they persecuted me, they will persecute you; if they kept my word, they will keep yours also. But all this they will do to you on my account..." 

They seem to point to my primary purpose in going walking again (rather than remaining here all year), and also my feelings as I prepare to go out. 
	I think I'll also quote three Christians (from three different traditions) who seem to have a very similar message. These provide a good commentary on the passage above, as I understand it. The first selection is from a letter by Thomas Merton (written in 1966, three years before his death):

Do not depend on the hope of results. When you are doing the sort of work you have taken on, essentially an apostolic work, you may have to face the fact that your work will be apparently worthless and even achieve no result at all, if not perhaps results opposite to what you expect. As you get used to this idea, you start more and more to concentrate not on the results but on the value, the rightness, the truth of the work itself. 

...The big results are not in your hands or mine, but they suddenly happen, and we can share in them; but there is no point in building our lives on this personal satisfaction, which may be denied us and which after all is not that important.

The next step in the process is for you to see that your own thinking about what you are doing is crucially important. You are probably striving to build yourself an identity in your work, out of your work and your witness. You are using it, so to speak, to protect yourself against nothingness, annihilation. That is not the right use of your work. All the good that you will do will come not from you but from the fact that you have allowed yourself, in the obedience of faith, to be used by God's love. Think of this more, and gradually you will be free from the need to prove yourself, and you can be more open to the power that will work through you without your knowing it.

The great thing after all is to live, not to pour out your life in the service of a myth: and we turn the best things into myths. If you can get free from the domination of causes and just serve Christ's truth, you will be able to do more and will be less crushed by the inevitable disappointments. Because I seenothing whatever in sight but much disappointment, frustration and confusion. . . .

The real hope, then, is not in something we think we can do but in God who is making something good out of it in some way we cannot see. If we can do His will, we will be helping in this process. But we will not necessarily know all about it beforehand...

Then, from John Howard Yoder's The Politics of Jesus:

The key to the obedience of God’s people is not their effectiveness but their patience. The triumph of the right is assured not by the might that comes to the aid of the right, which is of course the justification of the use of violence and the other kinds of power in every human conflict; the triumph of the right, although it is assured, is sure because of the power of the resurrection and not because of any calculation of causes and effects, nor because of the inherently greater strength of the good guys.

The relationship between the obedience of God’s people and the triumph of God’s cause is not a relationship of cause and effect but one of cross and resurrection.

And, from Jacques Ellul's The Politics of God and the Politics of Man (his is the most radical and best statement on this point, in my opinion):

The action we attempt will always be regarded by the world as a failure, and the more so the more it is authentically faithful. We cannot be successful or show the church to be effective in the world unless we adopt the world's criterion of efficacy, which means adopting its means as well.

As the world sees it, action which is faithful to God will always fail, just as Jesus Christ necessarily went to the cross. Such action always leads to a dead end. It is always a fiasco from the standpoint of worldly power. But this should not worry us. It does not mean that our action is in truth ineffectual. Efficacy measured in terms of faithfulness cannot be compared at any point with efficacy measured in terms of success.

...These successes, this efficacy as it would be called from man's standpoint, and especially in our own society, will never amount to anything more than the approval given by the world, by society, to certain acts and means. It is the stamp of a group of men, a social body. But if we do not believe that society is good and right, this approval proves nothing except that the action is in conformity with the world. It does not mean that the world has changed; quite the contrary. Each time the people of God becomes effective according to the world's criteria, this only implies that society has absorbed our action and is using it for its own ends and for its own profit. ...The efficacy we think we have is simply a power in the world's service, for the perfecting of its own being, for its better organization....

There can be no question of securing the approval of the world or its conformity to us. ...We have simply to be, and we can only be a question put within the world, a question invincibly confronting it. This is our efficacy. It is the efficacy of the question, a question which society and sociological movements cannot assimilate. Israel and the church have never been efficacious except to the degree that the world has been unable to assimilate them. This is the vocation of the people of God incomparably more authentic than "service" or "works."

It is not at the level of works and their results that this efficacy may be seen; it is at the level of inassimilability.
	----------

	A month later, I'm on the road again. But it's been so long since I've really journaled that I feel out of practice. I ended up spending all winter in Chicago, with Reba Place Fellowship. A common-purse Mennonite Christian community, formed 45 years ago. Helped take care of a man there who has muscular dystrophy, lived in a household with 10 other people, and did other volunteer stuff in the neighborhood. I’m planning to return there this fall.
	Also got to go to Tim’s (Catholic) church and visit him regularly. One of the Lenten refrains I remember well was based on Psalm 116 (one of my favorites):

I will walk in the presence of God
In the land, in the land of the living
For the love of the one who has heard my cry
I will walk in the presence of God

A good one to sing while walking.
	I left about a week and a half ago (though only on my fourth day walking). Spent time in Michigan with Kim and Kevin, and Michael’s family. His daughter Katie is four. I mentioned Jesus once and she said: “We can’t see Jesus. But we can feel him. The pastor says so. But he may be trying to trick us…” And her last words to me this morning were “Bye, Paulapuss!”
	----------

	In Ohio now. Sitting by a wide, shallow river, watching all the carp splashing and rolling around together. They’re so energetic, I’m getting the impression that it might be carp mating season.
	I’ve slept outside five nights in a row now, and most were pretty chilly, so I’m not surprised I’m nursing a cold (caught from little Katie, I think). I was able to get washed up pretty well at a Lutheran church last night.
	Reading another John LeCarre novel (“The Honorable Schoolboy”)--I really like his books: intelligent, realistic spy stories. This passage caught my eye (edited for clarity):

Some people are agents from birth, he told them, appointed to the work by the period of history, the place, and their own natural dispositions. In their cases, it was simply a question of who got to them first: “Whether it’s us, whether it’s the opposition, or whether it’s the bloody missionaries.”

Kierkegaard also compared the Christian life to being a spy or God’s agent in the world. I think that imagery is accurate. Much more so than the “Upstanding Christian Citizen.”
	I’m also feeling again the appeal of being on the road. Things are rapidly put back into perspective. The “God’s agent” feeling is more pronounced. And I’m seeing more and more how this plays into other relationships and service to people (when I’m not walking).
	Often people ask if I will “settle down.” I’m having a hard time seeing much value in that. Settle down? Jesus didn’t. Neither did Paul. Maybe part of what I like about the spy stories are people who have higher priorities in life than the security of a home and a fixed income. I’m supposed to meet and walk with George Walter this summer, who’s been doing much the same thing as I have, but for over 30 years. That’s encouraging. So I’m not attracted to “settling down”--though I am glad for longer, more permanent relationships with  more and more people, which I think will continue.
	----------

	A young guy asked me if I was happy, if I was always eager to get out of bed in the morning. I said, “Well, I usually sleep on something hard like a picnic table or a sidewalk, so yes, I am always eager to get up.”
	----------

	Waiting for a Saturday afternoon mass to start, I found a book by Jean Vanier (“The Broken Body”) laying around. Leafing through it, I noticed this passage:

In a special way,
for those of us called to live or work
with very broken people,
our purpose is to help them rise up
and discover and exercise their own gifts,
to discover their beauty and their capacity
to love and to serve.

The danger for those who are serving the poor
is to hold them back
by doing too much for them,
like parents who do too much
for their child with a handicap.
It is always easier to do things for people
than to help them find their dignity, and self-respect,
by doing things for themselves.
When we do too much,
not helping others to grow
or take responsibility for themselves,
are we not just serving ourselves?
--seeking power and a pedestal?
To serve broken people 
means helping them, like a mother helps her child,
to discover their own gifts and beauty,
helping them to a greater independence,
so that gradually we may disappear.

Very similar to thoughts I had over the winter. Specifically regarding care for the handicapped.
	---------

	The Apollo Theater in Oberlin, OH (a college town), shows first-run movies for three dollars. I couldn’t pass that up. Plus I love old theaters like that, with the marquee wrapped in neon and tons of little white lights, one big curtained screen, and endless rows of cushioned metal seats. I even got popcorn.
	Then walked over 22 miles the next day, which was no fun at all. But I started thinking about Jesus’ “man does not live by bread alone.” He was quoting Deuteronomy 8.3:

[God] humbled you and let you hunger and fed you with manna, which you did not know, nor did your fathers know; that he might make you know that man does not live by bread alone, but that man lives by everything that proceeds out of the mouth of the Lord.

	I see in this an answer to the nagging doubt (or criticism) that words and inspiration don’t really help anyone, at least not like providing them food and housing, etc.
	Of course, there is the hypocrisy of using this line to avoid sharing our material things, and keeping them all for ourselves (or at least most of them). By doing this we show we don’t believe what we’re saying. But if we aren’t holding back from others, I think Jesus’ point is powerful.
	Because what it offers is not God’s word instead of physical necessities, but God’s word with its promise of physical necessities as well. In Deuteronomy, God makes the point about living by “everything that proceeds out of the mouth of the Lord” by the way God fed them (in a way that it was clear that it was God’s gift to them). Not God’s word in stead of food, but God’s word as the source of all they need--all. It prefigures Jesus’ words, “Seek the kingdom of God and all these things will be yours as well.”
	I’ve been somewhat hesitant (ashamed?) to offer God’s word (even my own real experience of it) when people’s needs seem so much more… substantial. Hopefully, more prayer and experience will strengthen my faith on this, so I can be a bolder witness.
	Speaking of experiencing God’s provision, I just found out a dentist in Chicago heard of what I’ve been up to and offered to do my dental work free of charge. I’d been hoping for something like that, and am very thankful.
	----------

	Another good walking song that’s been going through my head (and out of my mouth) since I started: “Step by Step/Forever.” We sang it in church right before I left (Molly, the female lead at Reba, always makes me want to cry with the powerful way she sings the Halleluias):

God, you are my God, and I will ever praise you 
God, you are my God, and I will ever praise you 
I will seek you in the morning
And I will learn to walk in your ways
And step by step you’ll lead me
And I will follow you all of my days

Halleluia
We honor you Lord Jesus and forever we will sing
Halleluia
For you alone are worthy and forever we will sing
Halleluia, Halleluia…
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	Came across this verse, which I think illustrates well the relationship of God's providence (sovereignty) with our free will (i.e. that we can still sin even though we do something God foreknew and intends for his own purposes). Matthew 26.24; Jesus speaking at the Last Supper: "The Son of Man goes as it is written of him, but woe to that man by whom the Son of Man is betrayed!"
	----------

	I was thinking all winter about "strength in weakness," which is how love is often described (and demonstrated by Jesus). It seemed to me that endurance is a good word for this. Or maybe patience.
	The last few days, I've been thinking that the real point of such patient endurance is to "give others a chance." I think this is also the purpose behind pacifism, nonviolence, noncoercion. Give the other person (perhaps the enemy or aggressor) the chance to repent, or the chance to do the right thing. Don't give up on them and impatiently walk away (or destroy them), but really give them a chance to accept or reject what God is offering.
	I've experienced this recently in waiting for a couple priests to show up at their houses. Twice lately I've gotten pretty negative impressions (or been ignored) by people around the priest, but decided to wait anyway. To give him a chance. Saturday, the priest showed up and was nothing like I had been led to expect. He walked right up as I was sitting on his porch, and promptly invited me to stay the night in his house. He even invited me to join him for a dinner he was having for a couple friends. Steak, wine, laughter, the works. That was beautiful.
	And it reinforced for me: be patient. At least give them a chance. Endure what you must. If they reject, OK, it's bound to happen (often, even). But give them a chance.
	----------

One night I had a wondrous dream,
A set of prints on the sand was seen,
The footprints of my precious Lord,
Yet mine were not along the shore.

But then a stranger print appeared.
I asked the Lord, "What have we here?
The print is large and round and neat,
But Lord, it's just too big for feet."

"My child," He said in somber tones,
"For miles I carried you alone.
I challenged you to seek my face,
Take up your cross and walk in grace."

"You disobeyed, you would not grow.
You could not stand against the flow.
Your neck was stiff, your ears were shut,
So there I dropped you on your butt."

"Because in life there comes a time,
When one must fight, when one must climb,
When one must rise and take a stand,
Or leave one's butt-prints in the sand."
--Anonymous

	I laughed at that this morning in Matt and Lizzy's bathroom. Matt's the youth pastor at the church I stopped at last night. I had endured three soulless worship services that day and run out of food, then I walked up to this church to sleep there. Matt and some kids were playing basketball. But he stopped to talk to me and asked many questions; then he called his wife. "I love you, " he began. "Remember in Matthew 25, that part about welcoming the stranger? Well, I've met a stranger I want to welcome to our home tonight." She agreed.
	And now they've invited me to stay several days, offering to drive me to where I'm supposed to catch a ride to New York City. (I was invited to a conference this weekend, planned by people in my internet discussion forum, and one of the participants offered to pick me up on his way there.) So I'm enjoying talking with Matt and Lizzy and playing with their three kids (4, 2, and 8 months). They are not at all satisfied with their lukewarm church, and have been feeling very frustrated and alone. So we've talked about success vs. faithfulness, what "submit" to authority means, church as the universal body of Christ, and even Jesus' teaching against violence.
	The kids are great. They've embraced me with every little arm and leg (as kids do--they're always more quickly accepting than adults). Climbing all over me, and wanting to be carried, and quick to laugh. Also quick to cry, of course. So it hasn't been too quiet, but very enjoyable. Times like these always remind me of Jesus' words (Mk 10.29-30):

"Truly, I say to you, there is no one who has left house or brothers or sisters... or children... for my sake and for the gospel, who will not receive a hundredfold now in this time, houses and brothers and sisters... and children... with persecutions, and in the age to come eternal life."
	----------

	Browsing in the library today I found this line in a poem by Teresa of Avila:

	La paciencia todo lo alcanza
	(Patience attains all that it seeks)

True only for godly, faithful patience ("waiting for the Lord"), but in that case very powerfully true.
	----------

	I was reading one of Matt's books called "Spiritual Authority," by Watchman Nee. There are many questionable parts, that could easily be misused to support an abuse of authority or blind obedience to ungodly rulers. But this passage is great. It's definitely not authority as the world knows it:

Authority is established by God; therefore no delegated authority need try to secure his authority. Do not insist that others listen to you. If they err, let them err; if they do not submit, let them be insubordinate; if they insist on going their own way, let them go. A delegated authority ought not strive with men. ...if I am set up by God, need I fear lest men not submit? Whoever refuses to hear me, disobeys God. It is not needful for me to force people to listen. God is my support, why then should I fear? We should never say so much as one word on behalf of our authority; rather, let us give people their liberty. The more God entrusts to us, the more liberty we grant to people. Those who are thirsty after the Lord will come to us.
	----------

	I made it to the conference and really enjoyed the day with friends I'd written to but never met in person before. Rode in and out of New York City with some guys from a Catholic Worker house (in Illinois) who picked me up just south of Pittsburgh. And I met another internet friend for dinner a few days later in New Jersey. So there's been lots of talking and personal interactions.
	Now I'm at the Peter Maurin (Catholic Worker) farm in southeastern NY state. Waiting for George Walter to make his way down here (walking). I'm early due to the long ride and thought this might be a good place to wait fruitfully. They welcomed me very graciously. And it looks like I can help with the garden, and washing dishes, and there's plenty of interesting people to talk with. Tom Cornell, a writer for the CW paper and friend of Dorothy Day (from the early days), lives here and he's got an opinion and story for every topic. I'm enjoying our conversations--it's like a humorous, intellectual sparring.
	----------

	Two weeks at the farm: hoeing, picking, planting, weeding. And I found Jacques Ellul's "The Technological Society" on an old dusty bookcase. He presents a grim and well-developed warning against the belief in technology that has led us to value efficiency and material productivity above all else. The opposite of what Christ calls us to. I was also reading an essay by Stanley Hauerwas yesterday, "The Nonresistant Church: the Theological Ethics of John Howard Yoder." And this caught my eye (he quotes Yoder at the end):

Christ indeed brought a new life that has immense social implications, but all through his life he refused the political means, i.e. the coercive techniques, that were offered him to accomplish his purposes... The meaning of the cross is... that "agape seeks neither effectiveness nor justice, and is willing to suffer any loss or seeming defeat for the sake of obedience." 

Another Yoder quote reiterates this: "The good action is measured by its conformity to the command and to the nature of God and not by its success in achieving specific results."

	Last night I was back on the road, and was turned away from both of the places I stopped. At a Catholic religious order's retreat house the man I talked to (about sleeping outside there) kept replying in the same careful words: "I would hesitate to give the OK." Finally I asked, "So you're saying I should go away?" 
	"Not in so many words..." he answered. So I turned and left. And it started pouring before I got out of the driveway.
	But I found a little shelter not too far away, and when the rain stopped I walked up to a Methodist camp nearby. I was greeted by children (who apparently lived there year-round). The oldest girl (about 14 or 15) was friendly, and was "sure" I'd be able to stay, since bicyclists routinely stopped there. And all the campers had gone home, she said. But when she called her mother, the answer was no. "At least you have a good attitude," I told the girl.
	Then the camp caretaker came over and told me there was no room because "camp is in session" (?). I tried to say I didn't need a room, then tried appealing to him "as a Christian, not a professional," then tried to mention Mt 25, but he just kept interrupting me with "Ah-Ah-Ah" and pointing the way out. He was so determined to keep me from saying anything that I couldn't help laughing. When I turned to go, the kids had retreated into the house. Too bad they had to see his performance--they were very open and kind.
	I ended up sleeping on one of the few level spots on the steep slope of Storm King mountain, which overlooks the Hudson River. Very beautiful in the quiet mists and sunset. Trains frequently labored far below. But I didn't sleep well; the precarious height bothered me more than I thought it would. So I got up at about 3am and was getting my stuff together in the dark, when a car pulled up.
	It was four young guys, all pretty drunk (except for the driver, I think). But they started asking all kinds of questions, and couldn't believe the answers. We stood in the dark and talked for over half an hour. And they came up with $10 between them to give me. The drunkest one (who had asked, "Are you a re-born Jesus?") hugged me as they left, and another was talking to someone on his cell phone as the pulled away, "We just met a very peculiar person..."
	----------

	The gospel at mass this morning was from Mark 6:

...[Jesus] charged them to take nothing for their journey except a staff; no bread, no bag, no money in their belts; but to wear sandals and not put on two tunics. And he said to them, "Where you enter a house, stay there until you leave the place. And if any place will not receive you and they refuse to hear you, when you leave, shake off the dust that is on your feet for a testimony against them." So they went out and preached that men should repent.
	----------

	I arrived at our meeting place only about a half hour before George walked up and gave me a hug. Then we walked together for the next two days. We visited a Russian Orthodox church, packed with icons, and sat in on a service there in Russian. And we slept out in the woods (since that's his preference). A very gentle and happy man, and a good listener. We talked the whole time, practically, mostly about our journeys and the spiritual life.
	I managed to lure him into a couple libraries, but George preferred to be out walking. He's much more a traditional pilgrim (and hermit, when not walking) than I am. He dresses in a full-length robe of denim pieces stitched together, with three matching bags, a beard down to his chest, and a long staff topped with a painted crucifix (and some bells). So people notice him much more readily than me. This seems to be his way of witness, primarily through the traditional pilgrim imagery.
	I see the advantages of being more recognizable, more obviously religious, but I don't think I'll go in that direction. I think it's more important to show who we are (and who we represent) through word and action rather than what we wear. And religious imagery is always cultural. What is familiar to the Catholics and Orthodox seems foreign to the Baptists and Pentecostals. So I think it's good to use simple, basic symbolism. Also, Jesus looked just like the other people of his time. It was his way of living and his teaching that set him apart.
	But I really enjoyed my time with George. We have so much in common and can share deeply. And the duration of his walking (on and off for over 35 years) and voluntary poverty is a great encouragement. I plan to see him again next summer when he comes to Chicago.
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	I ran out of food (and money) Wednesday afternoon, but at the church I stopped at that evening I was invited to a dinner with the youth group. Then the pastor took me home with him after the bible study. I left his house the next morning clean and well-rested, but with only a sandwich for lunch.
	When I got to the next town, there was a message from one of the guys I met online. He said his mom lived near where I was now, and she would come pick me up. So I ended up spending the night and next day at the home of Carol Pike, the mother of a guy I never met in person! I also noticed that I was not far from the sister of a woman I lived with at Reba Place, and Carol offered to drive me there the next day. I spent the weekend with the Eitzens (and their visiting kids and grandkids). That was fun. And I was even asked to speak at their small group meeting, since the scheduled speaker was ill. That turned out to be a very good discussion and the generosity of some people there provided enough to feed me throughout this week.
	It seems like there's more meetings with people and chances to talk recently. I wonder if I am more able now to handle the increased activity and interaction without getting overwhelmed or distracted, so God gives me more opportunities. In any case, I feel good about it.
	----------

	It seems like I only write in my journal when I've got nothing else to do. I had another rousing conversation (or argument) the night before last, with two pastors who thought it was their Christian duty to send me away (rather than let me sleep on the sidewalk outside the church). Yesterday I wrote a letter back to them. And I've been spending a lot of time writing in the forum or e-mails to people. But this morning it's raining, and the library is not open yet.
	I got an e-mail from George yesterday. After we separated, a reporter interviewed him on the street that afternoon. Then a few days later, a friend of his shot some footage for a documentary about him, and a group of Franciscans even joined him walking that day.
	I'm not sure what to make of all that. It seems like a good way to "get the message out," and I know I've often had hopes for a similar response from people. But I'm also suspicious about what the world finds interesting, important, "newsworthy." Am I that? Do I want to be?
	And I'm even more leery about having an accepted "vocation." A niche in society. Even the idea of having (or developing) a "religious" vocation makes me wonder if I'm compromising with the world, becoming an accepted part of society (in which institutional religion has a secure and comfortable place), and thus no longer being much of a challenge. No longer a "stranger and alien" but a recognized member of the world. I don't want to be recognized or accepted in that way. I'm happy to be a member of the body of Christ, but that's the opposite of membership in the world--and those who follow Christ's way are "few." So I'm hesitant about popularity or public acclaim, which may be warning signs of compromise or assimilation (though I'm not suggesting this about George). Jesus certainly got very popular for a while with his miracle-working, but he seemed to actively resist that popularity, and as his teaching (and life) became more clear to people his popularity vanished. John 6 is a good example of this. Also the quick, dramatic shift from the crowd shouting "Hosanna to the King!" to their cries of "Crucify him!"
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	Waiting by a cemetery this morning before church, I saw this sad headstone:

	WHITMAN
	Jacob Whitman		1814-1879
	Mary Ann his wife	1816-1852
	Louisa B.		1852-1852
	William H.		1843-1847
	Milton E.		1850-1851

A story of grief...
	----------

	Into the green mountains of Pennsylvania now (I crossed the Appalachian Trail yesterday). Beautiful peach-colored lilies by the church here, each petal curled back and covered with maroon polka-dots. And as I was about to get into the church van for the night, a large owl sailed over the parking lot and, without a sound, landed on the light pole above me. I watched its head swivel.
	But the van was a bit of a disappointment. Because the pastor's wife initially invited me to their home, and was overruled, I guess. Even the pastor seemed disappointed (with himself?) about his idea of the van. "It's not the Hilton," he said. 
	I put my last two dollars in the offering plate. But I have food for about a day and a half.
	----------

	Wow. It's been a long time since I went hungry, even missed a meal--not all last year, or this year until yesterday. Fasted for a little more than a day. But I think I responded much better this time than in the past.
	When I ran out of food, I just stopped and waited. The urge was strong to Do Something! And in the past I remember walking and looking and fretting almost every minute until food came, which usually just caused me misery. But this time I just waited. I needed food to proceed, God knew I needed food, and it would come. And of course it did. The hard part was to stop and wait, and stay focused on my purpose (God's will) rather than my need. That's prayer, really. And I think this applies to most areas of life, particularly when we come up against a major hindrance or lack of resources.
	The reading at mass Saturday night was from the beginning of 1 Kings 19 (where Elijah is in the wilderness, exhausted and discouraged by the people's faithlessness):

An angel touched him, and said to him, "Arise and eat." And he looked, and behold, there was at his head a cake baked on hot stones and a jar of water... "Arise and eat, else the journey will be too great for you."

	As I was about to leave the church, it began pouring. So I waited. The (visiting) priest was the last one out and it was still raining, so he offered me a ride. I asked him to drop me at a nearby picnic shelter (where I had spent the previous night). As I got out of the car, he wished me good luck, then stopped me. "How are you for... capital?" I told him I had none. "Then what are you going to eat tonight?" "Good question," I answered with a smile. Then he got me back in the car, gave me $20, and drove me to the grocery store (as I suggested). On the way we spoke little, but I thanked him. "How could I get up there and preach, then just say to you 'Good luck'?" he said. (Excellent question--and I like his answer, too.)
	At churches today, though, it was not encouraging. Again someone initially offered me a place for the night, then didn't follow through. Like the son that told his father he would go work, then didn't go (Mt 21.28-31). It fit the worship, too: lots of vague, fervent words without much substance. So it wasn't surprising that I didn't encounter much welcome or interest. But discouraging. Again, the feeling of Elijah in the wilderness. These lines from a hymn this morning struck me:

	Guide me ever, great Redeemer, pilgrim through this barren land.
	I am weak, but you are mighty, hold me with your powerful hand.

And I need to remember that God told Elijah that there were 7000 that were still faithful...
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	Out of my distress I called the Lord; 
	the Lord answered and set me free.
	With the Lord on my side I do not fear. 
	What can man do to me?     (Ps 118.5-6)

	This week has been a great relief. Monday night (after a miserable rainy walk) I stopped at an Episcopal church and knocked on the rectory door. I asked to sleep on the back porch, but (after consultation with his wife) the rector invited me in, offering a room and shower, and after some conversation, food and money as well. Good discussions with him and his wife. And a fun breakfast the next morning with their three cockatiels flying around and landing on our heads.
	Leaving town that day, I stopped at a gas station for directions and a man there offered to drive me a two-day walk down the road (he was going that way). A rather empty, mountainous road at that. So after yesterday's climb (over a 2700ft summit) I'm through the Appalachians--again.
	Last night was interesting, too. There happened to be people at the Lutheran church I stopped at. And the pastor suggested I take advantage of the motel room that the "ministerial fund" offered; I would just have to go through the police station. I said I was hesitant to go begging to the police, so he walked me over to the station. Which turned out to be closed, and it was quite a lengthy rigmarole to get an officer to show up and provide the motel voucher (also a mile walk to the motel). But the pastor hung in there, and we got to talk. I think it was good for him to see what a needy person might have to go through with that system of charity. He called it "a learning experience." (He also turned out to be the new chair of the ministerial association.) And he asked the police officer to drive me to the motel, which he did. To top it off, one of my favorite movies was on cable...
	Ann, the wife of the Episcopalian rector, sent me an e-mail yesterday. "I'm glad there are still spirits trying to live 'the good life'," she wrote.
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	Some verses I want to remember:

'If anyone serves me, he must follow me; and where I am, there shall my servant be also." (Jn 12.26)

Not by might, nor by power, but by my spirit, says the Lord of hosts. (Zech 4.6)
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	Had an interesting adventure when I found a young woman's wallet by the side of the road. In the past I've turned such finds into the nearest police station. But I tried the more personal approach this time, attempting to return the wallet myself. I found a phone number inside (in the checkbook; there was also credit cards and quite a bit of cash). Eventually I got through and the woman's parents came to get the wallet. Her mother was embarrassed ("I don't know how that girl lives...") but thanked me, and left. Five minutes later, she came back and (apparently having seen all the money inside) gave me ten dollars. "No one else would have done that," she said, "she must have just cashed her paycheck." Then I thanked her. I had only eighty cents before that gift.
	That took me to Pittsburgh, where I discovered an old Dominican friend (who was attending a nearby seminary). I didn't expect him to be in the area during the summer, much less in the city, but he had just been assigned there as a deacon. He came and picked me up at the library, and I got to spend two nights at his church. Long conversations with him and the other priests there. And I was very well cared for. Eric always impressed me as "a man without guile," and he's still that way. I only hope the wealth and honor sometimes heaped on priests doesn't get to him.
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	Another reunion yesterday, this time with Matt Myers (the youth pastor I met and stayed with four days on my way east). I had sent him an e-mail and even called, to let him know I was coming back through town, but no reply. And I wasn't even sure he was still there, since his position as pastor seemed in jeopardy during my last visit.
	But as I was sitting at the computer in the library in his town, the guy next to me taps me. It's Matt. He had just sat down, read the e-mail from me, looked next to him... So we go to catch up. Turns out he was let go by his church (due to some nasty politics against him). But he was upbeat as he prepared for a move--partially due to the surprisingly large severance package he ended up with ("We plundered the Egyptians," he said). Glad I caught him and could add a few more words of encouragement.
	I do think his situation is what persecution in the church looks like these days: prophetic Christians, those not controlled by money or politics, being pushed out. Their income cut off and chances for fellowship and ministry made scarce and difficult. That's hard. But actually good for them and their witness.
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	Happened upon a youth church service Sunday night. Great live (and loud) music. And lots of young people enthusiastic about praying for one another. I was very impressed by the fervent worship.
	But of course it's a lot easier to say "Lord, Lord" than it is to do what he tells us to do. The service was over three hours, and it was dark by the time it wound down. So I asked the young pastor if I could sleep outside the church. He was willing to let me, but said he wanted to offer more (which was encouraging). We talked some more about what I was doing; some young guys cam up and asked questions. Then the pastor asked if I had a message for his church, a way for them to "go deeper." I paused. Then said the best way to grow in our relationship with God is to do the things Jesus taught us to do, to live like he did. The pastor agreed: "Understanding follows obedience."
	Some conferences with his fellow youth leaders followed, and he came back to offer a couch in the dorm of one of the college students there. But then, unfortunately, "responsibility" kicked in. The pastor decided he needed to see my ID (not surprisingly), then started asking questions that apparently were meant to test my veracity, then wanted to call my pastor (in IL), and finally insisted on searching my backpack and pockets. All the while assuring me, "I'm not doing this to humiliate you." I submitted to everything but the phone call (at that late hour).
	But I did let him know I didn't feel good about what he was doing. I asked to talk to the guy who was inviting me to his dorm, and found out he was no afraid at all. It wasn't him who asked for the interrogation. "This," I said, motioning between me and the college guy, "feels good. This," motioning between me and the pastor, "does not." Which led to a big, heated discussion about responsibility, church "policy," and facing the risks involved with (in one guy's words) "the way things are now." And a crowd had gathered to hear this. I hope I answered well. Mostly I focused on the power of God to protect, and the importance of taking risks to do good and be faithful witnesses.
	And I did end up going to the dorm. The whole thing seemed like a great opportunity to both encourage the love-that-casts-out-fear (in the college guy) and challenge the "responsibility"-that-makes-fear-a-duty. And it's exciting being "in the fray" like that.
	Unfortunately, in that situation, I think "understanding follows obedience" only was effective in the dorm room, not the church...
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	Yesterday was the worst weather I've seen in all my walking. It stopped raining once, for a couple hours. Cold. I stayed out of it mostly, except for the last wet mile into town. Many cars passed but none stopped.
	This morning in Psalm 142:

	I look to the right and watch,
	but there is none who takes notice of me;
	no refuge remains for me,
	no man cares for me.

	I cry to you, O Lord;
	I say, you are my refuge,
	my portion in the land of the living.
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	Last Sunday I was speaking to a former teacher and I remember her saying, offhand, "Keep an open mind." That's a teacher thing to say. And she may just have meant it in the way a Lutheran pastor recently assured me that "something better will come along" (for me). A basic misunderstanding (about me, and about where following Christ inevitably leads: the cross).
	But "keep an open mind" is also the post-modern mantra of pluralism. The idea that all teachings and all faiths are equally true. A mistaken attempt to "all get along"--mistaken because (universal) Truth is denied, leaving each of us isolated in our own personal "experience." A recent conversation in the forum illustrated this well. It raises Pilate's skeptical question again: "What is truth?"
	I was trying to come up with a good, concise answer to the extreme "open mind" position, which keeps us always accumulating experience and information and prohibits any real conclusions. Then I saw this great quote by G.K. Chesterton this weekend:

	The point of opening the mind, 
as of opening the mouth, 
	is to close it again on something solid.
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	Good visits with a couple pastors I had met previously while walking east. They received me even more warmly this time and we had more time to talk, so I'm glad I returned.
	And I met another pastor Sunday night, who invited me home with him after church. Long conversations there as well. Much of our talk focused on wealth (since he had "adjusted" his understanding of this over the years). One thing he suggested was that Jesus "validated" the lives of rich people who supported him, by accepting their gifts and not admonishing them. But I said why admonish them when they were being generous and giving away their wealth? They were taking a good step towards the kind of life Jesus demonstrated. And if they kept being more and more generous (as Jesus taught), what would be the result? I don't think they would be wealthy for long. You don't maintain wealth by giving, but by holding back...
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	I'm back in Chicago, and it's been a while since I wrote last. Most of this gap is due to the excitement during my last week on the road, and all the activity I stepped back into when I arrived. 
	I had a great feeling of anticipation in the days before I got back to the Reba Place community (and the particular household I lived with all last winter). It was nice knowing I had a place to "come home" to. And I knew there would be good conversations and lots of worthwhile opportunities to help other people and share in the community life. I stepped back into my old routine and volunteer activities very easily, as I thought I would. But the welcome I received was even better than I expected. Many people seemed happy to see me, even some who I hardly knew. For the first week, I kept meeting people on the neighborhood streets who waved, or stopped and asked about my summer. A good, warm, connected feeling, especially after four months of always being the stranger in town. In those days shortly after my return I remember noticing these lines from Psalm 26:

	Prove me, O Lord, and try me;
	test my heart and my mind.
	For your steadfast love is before my eyes,
	and I walk in your faithfulness.

	My foot stands on level ground;
	in the great congregation I will bless the Lord.

I did feel like I was "on level ground" then, amidst the "great congregation."
	But in the days that followed, the Lord also tested my heart and my mind. Especially concerning my sense of connections, and community. Over the past summer I'd had a growing feeling of "being connected," which had even increased when I'd returned here. Mostly I'd felt connected during my walk because I'd met lots of people that were friends (internet forum friends, George Walter, etc) or friends of friends. More and more, I felt part of a wider collection of interconnected relationships. Which was a nice feeling. Just like it was nice to be welcomed home by a large number of people I knew, and come to a place that was familiar. And it seemed to offer a greater sense of security, to be connected to more people. But as the warm welcome feeling wore off, I felt God questioning my attraction to such "connections."
	Could I really put my trust in such connections? Should I? They certainly seemed to offer more security than I'd had before, but did they really? This struck me harder as I settled back into normal life here. Many people had shown great interest in my return, and seemed eager to hear inspiring stories from my walk. But that initial enthusiasm seemed to wear off pretty quickly. And the widespread support suddenly appeared rather weak and shallow to me. I began to wonder seriously if this was what I wanted to be leaning on. 
	And I noticed that the feeling of "home" was quickly fading. I was faced again with some of the arguments and difficulties that had developed during my previous winter here, which hadn't gone away just because I took a break for the summer. Those tensions remained. And I was reminded of the thought I’d had then: That this particular place, church, people is not the kingdom of God. I believe the kingdom is certainly here, and I had many experiences to confirm that, but this particular community (any particular community) is not identical with the kingdom.
	I'll have to say more about that later.
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	I should start by describing how I did (and do) experience kingdom life here. The kingdom of God is especially seen in the relationships and interactions within the community. More so among those who are part of the common-purse fellowship, but also among those who have lived in the neighborhood for some time and are part of the church. I don't much like the institutional aspects of the Reba Place fellowship (though it is less institutional than many communal arrangements), because I think it detracts from their witness. But their radical sharing and caring for one another is unusually good. Sharing all their material resources and decision-making is a rare and powerful witness. And sometimes this also means living and sharing with others in a large, communal household (which is always something of a miracle). They are great about supporting each other when someone gets sick or has some kind of accident. And the group effort when someone in the neighborhood moves to a new place is an inspiring sight (something like an Amish barn-raising). 
	That's within the fellowship, where the relationships are closest and most open, but they also work hard to share with those who are not part of the fellowship but live in (or visit) the area. There's a place to get free food (donated by grocers and bakeries) and free second-hand clothes. All are welcome. And their efforts to provide lower cost housing are much needed here, and have been quite successful. There's also a good day care center available to whoever needs it. And the fellowship is great about hospitality; there's almost always room (at the table or a guest room) for someone who comes to visit or is just passing through, and the welcome is always warm and eager and comfortable. They've also offered countless other important services and ministries throughout the past 45 years, which I can't mention here but am still thankful for. I'm happy for all these aspects of their community life, and readily identify with the kingdom spirit that motivates these.
	But there's also some tension I feel, as I mentioned before. The Christian sharing within the fellowship doesn't extend as fully or far outside as I wish it would. There's complete sharing of resources among fellowship members (as well as charitable giving to others), but much of the work of members here is done for pay (at regular outside jobs). In other words, people outside the fellowship are charged for services, in order to provide for people inside the fellowship. And they are more willing than I am to use economic or political pressure to achieve certain results. For example, in handling problematic tenants in their housing business (though they are noticeably more compassionate than most landlords). Or in sometimes relying on the police to handle threats. Or in acting through the political system (voting, petitioning, etc) to work for change locally or nationally. I've talked about these things with several people here, and we disagree, so these are some aspects of life here I just don't participate in.
	And there's also the issue of "corporate" wealth. No one person owns or controls much of the resources, but as a group they own and control quite a bit (though almost all of it is in use for good purposes). This brings up wealth and power temptations and problems that I think are spiritually detrimental to the people here. And I've expressed this often; again we disagree. But this is another area where I don't recognize kingdom life very clearly, and don't identify with the spirit and motivation behind some choices here. Related to this is the question of insurance. I am impressed by how they have been able to avoid insurance of all kinds; I think that is a challenge and witness to wider society. Part of the reason they can do this is their willingness to cooperate and share and sacrifice, which is great. But another big part is the wealth they have available (communally--for example, they can use property they own for collateral). And this part is not so inspiring to me. (What I find much more inspiring is when medical care is offered as a gift, like the dentist who checked and cleaned my teeth for free soon after I arrived here. No cavities!) So this is another reason I don't feel completely "at home," and wouldn't consider being an official member of the fellowship.
	But again, I have had and continue to have many kingdom of God experiences with people here. Some tension remains, but I have been able to live well here as "one of the least of these my brethren," not too different from how I live on the road (rather than spending time walking, I mostly do simple volunteer service here, and writing). And that's a surprise. I didn't know if there was a place I could live the way Jesus did and not be constantly pushed out. I'm surprised and relieved that I can be in one place for an extended time and serve profitably, without becoming a burden or too much of an offense to people (though some offense is good, I believe). I'm very grateful for this opportunity and for these people. And I do believe I have found brothers and sisters in Christ--in his Body, I’m definitely a member with them.
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	And I do believe God led me here, and that I’ve learned and experienced many important, valuable things already. But I'm also learning that community and "connections" can have many different meanings. So I want to make sure that the community I identify with, and the connections I recognize and depend on, are the right (true, real) ones.
	Because it's easy to confuse Community (the one, true community, the Body of Christ) with a local community organization. It's easy to confuse Connections (the true unity of our oneness in Christ) with the good feeling of mere human acquaintance, familiarity, or organizational arrangements, institutional relationships, etc. I don't want to define community too narrowly (leaving true brothers and sisters out) or put my faith in human strength or cooperation (though I know it can be surprisingly powerful). I don't want to become dependent on, attached to, assimilated by, and thus mastered by any human society or organization. And I don't want my people, my home, to be anything other than God's kingdom, here and now, and eternally. 
	But the kingdom is, it truly is. God's kingdom is my home and my people. Which offers a different (more powerful) meaning for that line from Psalm 26: "My foot stands on level ground; in the great congregation I will bless the Lord."
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	Another passage that I've thought of again and again related to this is Luke 17.20-21: 

[Jesus] answered, "The kingdom of God is not coming with things that can be observed; nor will they say, 'Look, here it is!' or 'There it is!' For, in fact, the kingdom of God is among you."

We want so much to say (about God's kingdom or the body of Christ), "Here it is!" But that’s a temptation, and it leads us away from the truth, away from true community. The kingdom of God is not "here" or "there," not this or that local community (and never this or that institution or organization). But that's not a limitation of the kingdom. Each of these local communities are limited, but God's kingdom goes far beyond them, yet is closer to us at the same time. "The kingdom of God is among you." Wherever members of God's kingdom are, there the kingdom exists. We can recognize and experience the kingdom anywhere and everywhere, wherever we encounter and recognize our brothers and sisters. And even if we are the only acting representative of the kingdom in this particular place at this particular moment, there too the kingdom exists. It is not limited at all. And it is very real.
	As an example of this (and to remind myself again), I'll conclude this journal by describing my last exciting days of the summer. The beginning of the end was on a Wednesday, when I got into town early, then had trouble finding a suitable church to stop at. So I started out of town, not knowing where I'd sleep. But just as the houses were thinning out, a little church appeared. And a car was turning into the parking lot. So I joined them for their bible study, and they asked me to share a little of what I was doing. Afterwards the pastor offered to take me to a motel. He also paid for my breakfast the next morning at the restaurant across the road.
	The next day, in the next town, I was looking for a grocery store and a church to sleep at, when a jogger paused to talk to me. "You look like you're walking a ways," he said, noticing my pack and walking stick. After talking for several minutes, he invited me to his home for the night. So I did my grocery shopping then met him back at his house, where his wife made a late dinner for me (hamburgers with everything on them, beans, corn, and ice cream; I didn't have any room left for the cantaloupe). Turns out they are Mennonites, so I told them about Reba Place, and we had lots to share. A very nice room, too.
	The next night, in the next town, I was waiting for the cleaning person to leave a church so I could sleep there (my experience is that cleaning people don't feel comfortable giving me permission to stay near a church, and it sometimes scares them if they are alone, so I thought I'd just wait). Just sitting at a picnic table, reading a book. But someone saw me and called the police, and they stopped to check me out. I tried to explain myself to the young female officer, who seemed sympathetic and willing to listen (and was perhaps a Christian herself). But when I said my purpose was spiritual, she seemed skeptical. "So what spiritual thing are you doing here in Bryan?" she asked. I immediately replied, "I'm talking to you."
	I also remember saying that I was planning to catch a train into Chicago when I got closer. She asked if I had money for the fare. "No," I said, "but I will when I get there." She thought that was good positive thinking, but seemed not to know what to make of me. And so the police fell back on procedure and called the local homeless shelter coordinator. They arranged for me to stay in an apartment with four other (longer term) guests already in it, but there was a couch available. That was a bit uncomfortable, being forced on those guys, and it was understandable that they weren't too friendly. But I was inside for the third night in a row--very unusual. It wasn't a very "Christian" experience (though Christians may have been involved, just not in a very Christ-like way), nothing like the previous night. But God still provided, even when the people didn’t seem to be cooperating very well.
	The next day, walking out of that town, I stopped at a yard sale to ask directions. The women there asked a few questions, and seemed interested in my walk, but I didn't stay long and didn't think I'd see them again. I did, though. One of the women lived in the town I was headed for and picked me up on her way home. She took me to an old house next to her church (which was used for youth activities) and said I could sleep on the couch there. So I was inside again. And church was good the next morning; a good bible class discussion, and great music. Afterwards, the pastor invited me to his house for Sunday dinner. And I ended up having long conversations with both him and his wife. I spent the night there too, and the next morning he drove me to the next town (and offered some money, which I happened to really need right then).
	I stopped in the library there (as I had every day that week) then continued to the next town. I remember a young guy in a sports car stopping to offer me a ride for a few miles. Then I found a Church of Christ to stop at for the night. I hadn't had good experiences at the few Churches of Christ I'd visited before, so I thought it was about time for a good one, and people were there (apparently in a meeting) so I decided to at least ask of I could sleep outside. It felt like it was going to be a cold night--fall was falling faster than I’d expected--but I thought I could find enough shelter near the church's front door. When the pastor came out, however, he was very friendly and took me back in the church for a half hour conversation. After asking about my walk, he offered to take me to a motel. And on the way he gave me two books of gift certificates to fast food restaurants (a welcome gift). Then just before he left me, he gave me $20 as well. I was more than surprised. Now I was going to spend my sixth night in a row inside, and I had plenty of money (and certificates for food). Very, very unusual.
	But the next night was the most unusual of all. I got to the next town and found a church to sleep next to (behind, actually). It wasn't the best, because there was little shelter and I had to sleep right on the ground, on my poncho. And it was cold again. It was getting colder and colder, and I had decided I was going to catch the train to Chicago as soon as I could (now that I had enough money), but I still had to get through a few more nights. Soon after I had gone to sleep, however, I heard some voices. Apparently some guys were using a short-cut behind the church, and they saw my unexpected form laying in the dark, then noticed my foot sticking out, and ran away screaming! 
	But they were back in a few minutes with some friends (in a car). So I got up and explained myself, and they were mostly relieved that I wasn't a dead body. They were also pretty drunk (or stoned or both). But one guy invited me to sleep on the floor of his rented room, and they seemed nice enough, so I accepted. We all went there, actually, and they did have some good questions for me and we talked a while. But then they got drunker and I went to sleep. Not the greatest accommodations, but I was inside again, on another cold night. The next day a friend of one of the guys said he'd drive me to the next town if I gave him gas money, so I did, avoiding a whole day's walk through a long, townless stretch of fields.
	At the library there I got a welcome e-mail message from Erin, who I'd been writing to all summer. She said she knew several people in the town I was now in, where she had once gone to college. One family was only a few blocks from the library, and she said they were happy to take in strangers. So I called them and they welcomed me. They were also having two (different) Christian discussion group meetings at their house that evening, so I went to both. The second one was for college students and professors (from the Mennonite college there), and they asked me to lead the group and talk about my walk. Which was great--an eager, enjoyable discussion. And I spent the night in their guest room, my eighth night with a roof in a row. All unplanned. Unheard of in my experience.
	It seemed the next night would be the last one of this summer's walk. And so, after all the activity of the previous days, I was actually glad that I was alone and outside that night. It was a safe place, under a pavilion on the grounds of a Catholic church (no one home; I knocked). And it was like a ritual to brush my teeth with canteen water, make a clean, smooth place to lie down, shape my pack into a pillow, and pull my coat over me as a blanket. It felt familiar and right. And as the night sounds filled the cool air around me, memories of countless other nights like this seemed to flood back all at once. A good feeling. A feeling of being sheltered, and guided safely through. I closed my eyes with a great sense of fulfillment and peace that night.
	And woke refreshed and eager the next morning. I anticipated being back in my old room that night. The walk wasn't long that day, though I did have to dodge a fierce thunderstorm as it rolled in (and hold my hat constantly to keep from losing it to the wind). So I spent a relaxing afternoon in the city library, then walked the last few miles to the train station. Transferred to the subway in downtown Chicago. And was walking up the steps to the front porch just after dark.

	I was home. But then I'd been "home" the previous week and a half, hadn't I? And I believe that if our home is the kingdom of God, then we can always be home, wherever we are. Not home meaning our place of perfect rest. And not home as in planted or attached to things or places (which always crumble or are taken away), not home as in being "one of" or assimilated into a society that is merely human or worldly (which death inevitably destroys). But home in a way that doesn't depend on place or situation or society. Connected and in community with God and with his people. Real, living people that we meet and touch and share with and lean on. But a people identified by their one, unique Spirit. An eternal people. A pilgrim people here on earth, but an eternal people still, headed for their eternal city.