Pilgrimage Journal

July-September 2000
Holy Cross Abbey, Berryville, VA to Chicago, St. Louis, Florida

	7.1
	Before I set out this morning, I read Mt 6.25-33 ("Do not be anxious, saying, 'What shall we eat?' ...your heavenly Father knows what you need. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness..."). "Is not life more than food?" stood out especially. My attention's been drawn too much to the 'economics' of poverty, and all the arguments for and against. And my fears about not being fed have made my focus too narrow. Life is certainly more than food. Life is the pilgrimage of following Jesus. True life is IN Jesus. "Seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things shall be yours as well."
	A beautiful day to start west. I kicked up a whole flock of wild turkeys and several deer on my way out. And there was this guy, standing waist deep in the Shanandoah River, whooping and splashing--just glad to get away for the weekend, I guess.
	----------

	Not too hot today; but I still got a little dehydrated and had to stop, drink, and nap. Found a nice pavilion near a church for the night. And I did my first doorbell ringing: I asked the pastor if I could stay here. All he said was "Sure! Make yourself comfortable." So I will.
	The difference today was surprising. After all those arguments, or rather, all that encouragement--today, silence. It was like suddenly moving out of the spotlight and finding myself in complete darkness. I'm anonymous; no one bothers about me. I barely raise an eyebrow or two as motorists notice the oddity of a walker on the highway. No one asks for an explanation, so no one knows, and I just continue on my way in silence. It's a little unnerving. Because it's so humbling--to be nobody--but that is really a very good thing. I should not think I'm so important to God's plan that I have to be constantly used by him. If (when!) I disappear, the Way remains, the Truth remains, everything I've been pointing to remains and only the pointing finger is gone. That's something I need to be continually reminded of.

	7.2
	I woke up many times last night, cold and struggling with envy: Why do I have to be shivering, ignored, etc.? They were senseless thoughts, but I tried to make sense of them. I guess it all comes down to this: Either I am wrong, self-deluded, in which case I am bringing this all on myself--or, I am following Christ and suffering (a little) because of the sinfulness of others. Not to atone; that is done. But, because of the worldliness of others, the follower of Christ is exiled, and embraces exile as a witness to the gospel--also for others. The sinful world demands it, but the love of God supports it.
	The sun is up and strong. It may be hot today. And today I start begging for food, on the Lord's day.
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	Speaking of the Lord's day, I think I'll go to church today--a change from my usual walking routine. There's an old Baptist church here and I only have to wait about an hour before the action begins. (Hopefully, I can get in to shave first.)
	When I see myself reflected in the eyes of others, it's too pitiful. I can't bear to look at myself long that way. But the way God sees is very different--I felt that strongly this morning. He can look on someone like me with such compassion, and even pleasure. When I see that way, I want to meet myself and tell him. That love drives away all fear and shame, filling the soul so completely that there is no room for anything else.
	----------

	I decided not to ask for help at the church; I wanted to go just for the services. I only told people I was walking, from Georgia, etc. But the pastor started asking questions ("How are you financing this thing?") and I had to admit I had eaten my last food for breakfast. Then he preached on John's words "Bear fruit that befits repentance" (You brood of vipers!). On good works, really; he tied in "If you love me you'll keep my commandments." Some good stuff, though I was troubled by opening the service with the pledge of allegiance (to the flag, for July 4th). We cannot serve two masters, our allegiance is to God alone. After the service, the pastor took me aside and bought me lunch at the local store. He even gave me the change (from a $20), with a fatherly "Be careful out there."
	So I begged my first meal--without begging! I didn't even bring up the subject; I call that God's work. And I'm glad I went to church today. I've shied away from churches because I don't want to be disappointed; but even when deeds don't match words, the preached words can often be good (Mt 23.2-3). I'm full in every way.
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	Hot. I found a little library, closed, but with a worn wooden church pew on its porch, guarded by white pillars. Took a short nap.
	I appreciated what the pastor was trying to say this morning, and he was right: being a Christian should make a difference in our lives. A noticeable difference. But I think most people just yawned. Because he either cited gross misconduct, like adultery, cheating, pornography, or he made vague statements about not trusting 'enough,' or not loving Jesus 'enough.' It's true, but almost no one will be convicted (or offended) by that. Mention politics, business, or violence as worldly evils, however, and ears will prick up and eyes will narrow. He couldn't mention those things, though, could he? The small altar in front of his podium was a strange concoction of red and white flowers, little American flags, and lacquered plates piled with ones, fives, and tens. And the hymns celebrated the 'heroes' who died to secure our freedom--but not before sending a few of those dirty redcoats to hell first! Even if he wanted to draw attention to "fruit that befits repentance" such as serving one master (not Caesar), giving freely, and turning the other cheek, he would look ridiculous doing so. But he did welcome the stranger and feed the hungry. God bless him for that. I mentioned Mt 25 to him when I thanked him, and he seemed happy about our encounter. After firm preaching, he was not hypocritical but truly bore "fruit that befits repentance."

	7.3
	No church nearby last night, so I found a new place: an abandoned road. It's a short stretch, not 50 yards from the real highway, but blocked off at both ends. Trees and brush for privacy. And an interesting thing: the pavement was warm from the day's sun, and stayed warm almost all night! So I got a good night's sleep. There's a restaurant at the top of the rise and I still have some of the money the pastor gave me, for breakfast. A dull pink sunrise, in clouds. But this mountain offers a long view; I've been in mountains ever since I left church yesterday. Not too steep, though. The road rolls through them leisurely, with trees reaching out from both sides to almost touch in the middle. No moon last night, and a billion stars.

	7.4
	How do I describe yesterday? I was frustrated by raindrops, my feet hurt, my legs were sore, and I had to constantly fight off the urge to justify my existence. Maybe because I defined my 'work' too narrowly as walking and preaching. Well, what if I don't walk so far? What if there's no one to hear me preach? I was concerned yesterday because I seemed to be going so slow and touching no one. There are always a few every day who honk and wave; maybe I encourage or inspire them a little, but that's not much. So I was feeling a bit impotent.
	Then God just changed things. As I was leaving town, a man pulled up and offered me a ride. It turns out he wasn't going anywhere, just "killing time," had seen me walking earlier, and didn't want anyone to walk in the rain. So he took me about ten miles. And we talked about good things: God, the church, politics, feeling powerless, doing 'small' acts of mercy. I think he was fairly poor; he couldn't afford to run his truck, he said, with gas prices so high. But he drove his beat-up car ten miles each way to help me. I didn't even get his name.
	I was encouraged--but it was still late. And I am out on a mountain road, with nothing around but a few houses. It's getting dark--where will I sleep? I come over a rise and... let out a laugh. There in the semi-darkness is a sharp lighted steeple. I walk down to it and, sure enough, there's a pavilion in back with some picnic tables. Water, too. I step in just as it starts to rain. And below, someone is setting off fireworks early; I watch them and am not bothered at all.
	Yesterday I thought about Jesus' ministry. He was young too, and without credentials. But he had his miracles that gave him authority ("So that you know I have the authority to forgive sins: take up your bed and walk"). People listened to him and came to him for the miracles--when his message was heard they were offended and abandoned him. But he could preach to the crowds until then. I have no miracles, no crowds. Anyone I meet simply takes pity on (maybe) this crazy, reckless young man. That doesn't exactly set the stage for preaching. I suppose the symbolism of the act of pilgrimage has to bear more of the weight of the preaching. My 'work,' the preaching, becomes letting God make my life a work of art--following Jesus in a way that people can see and ponder. And respond to. But the 'work' is to inspire or stir something in the hearts of people, not to say or do so much, or walk so far. Really, that is the work of preaching: not to draw big crowds or speak thousands of words, but to participate in God's word reaching people's hearts. In that sense, this pilgrimage may be fruitful even when I don't see the fruit. But it's nice to see a little of it. It's good, too, to be clearly a follower and not the center of attention.
	And stop worrying about miles! God will get you where you need to be. Sore feet or not!

	7.5
	O give thanks to the Lord, for he is good,
	    for his steadfast love endures forever.
	...he who gives food to all flesh,
	    for his steadfast love endures forever. (Ps 136)

	Once again I am overwhelmed. Once again I am ashamed of my impatience. Once again I am called to step out further in faith.
	I had a good breakfast yesterday--the last food I bought with the pastor's money. Then I walked all day and ate nothing. I had planned to ask for food, but when it came time for lunch... which house should I stop at? I didn't just want to get fed. I hoped to go where the sharing could be a blessing for everyone involved. And I wanted my 'begging' to be set apart from other beggars (hobos, etc.) in that it was more clearly guided by God and an act of faith--not just scouring the neighborhood for food. "Is not life more than food?" Peace Pilgrim never asked for food; she just waited for people to offer it. I though that method was impossible for me, since I wasn't 'advertising' myself with T-shirt or fliers [like she did]--how would people know my need? But after the pastor gave without my asking, I wondered. It would certainly be something of a miracle to survive without money and without even asking. Not that I rejected begging; I think we should ask each other for help, when we really need it. But it seemed to give greater glory to God to let him initiate my sharing with people--let him choose, while I wait. So I waited. Two o'clock, 3, 5, nothing. I didn't feel overly hungry, but what was taking God so long? Six... 7:30... I felt a little weak, not starving, though. But I complained: "Is it too much to ask that you bless my pilgrimage in this way?" I don't have the miracle of healing; what about the miracle of bread? Couldn't that be a sign of God's favor, his providence, in a seemingly impossible situation? I began to doubt, however, as 8pm rolled around: Would I even be able to find a place to sleep tonight?
	O ye of little faith! I stopped to get water at the WV-MD state line. Just then, a man walked up with his dog and started asking questions. I told him a little, but asked for nothing. Then he points out his house across the street and off-handedly says he has plenty of room, if I need a place to stay. I shouldn't have been surprised. I think I surprised him a little when I accepted. He showed me around, then asked if I had eaten (I hadn't mentioned food at all). The next thing I knew, I'm eating stew, a huge salad, chicken, macaroni and cheese, even an ice cream bar! A shower! A bed! And we talked until almost midnight. He is a lonely man, I think. He's suffered great losses and is trying to get his life back together. I don't know if my words helped, but he seemed thrilled to have the company. He thought I might have a corporate sponsor, like Nike. I told him God is my sponsor.
	Yesterday, I told God I would wait until lunch today, or until I felt too weak to keep walking, then ask for food. But I'd rather have his blessing (I struggled all day for it--Gen 32.26). So he blessed me abundantly last night. I did not go to bed hungry. And when it poured down rain in the middle of the night, I was warm and dry. I will continue to wait on him. I may miss a few meals, but I believe he will glorify himself in this way, by providing for me before I ask. Then I cannot take any credit for it, and I don't 'guilt' anyone into giving. Just free, inspired love. It gives new meaning to the words "Seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be yours as well." I believe this is how God wants to do it. So I'll just stop worrying about food and let him provide in his time. He knows what I need, and what others need. Life is indeed more than food.
	----------

	I didn't leave the man's house till after lunch. Made eggs for breakfast and did dishes before he got up, then talked until lunch. Incredible. He had lost his wife and almost all his friends to cancer, and two daughters to SIDS. He feels extremely alone and is often on the brink of despair. The spice rack in his kitchen was filled with prescription drugs--no room for spices. But our talk was beautiful. He felt it was a message from God, saying don't give up. We also talked about suffering, faith, single-mindedness, and Christ. After lunch, he invited me to stay but I felt I should continue; he gave me a sandwich, $15, and a ride eight miles up the road, on his way to an errand. He looked rejuvenated, and I certainly felt that way, too. I am fed, rested, clean, and blessed by an overwhelming affirmation from God. He put me where I was needed. I've been walking about two inches above the road all afternoon.
	I'm over the highest of these mountains (Alleghenys) at almost 3100ft. Higher than I thought and still miles to go. But they are beautiful, with soft valleys and lots of historic towns, neat and quiet. The road winds gently through sunlight and trees. And my impatience is washed away--I feel so relieved and affirmed by God, it makes me realize how uncertain and doubt-filled I really was. The birds and the lilies laugh, "O ye of little faith!"
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	This is turning into quite the scenic highway. I descended more than and hour into a deep canyon, with the road winding and rolling like a ribbon twisted between your fingers. The river at the bottom met a larger river, not deep, but clear and crawling though a pristine valley. Fly fishermen up to their thighs in the moving water made me think of "A River Runs Through It." I stopped to eat where the river was wide and slow. Swallows wheeled and dove to skim the mirrored surface, and a single beaver paddled out into the middle and stopped, floating. It's almost time to start looking for a place to sleep. I wish I could stay here; it's so perfect.
	A backpacker just passed me, with a huge pack. Haven't seen that in a while. I've gotten used to being the only one walking; with people staring and honking. I guess I'm not the only nutcase out here.

	7.6
	Got permission to stay in a little pavilion by a store last night. Very cold, though. A hot breakfast in the store helped this morning. Then I climbed through a layer of fog into the sunshine--from above, it looked like a cloud sitting in the valley. Saw two black-tail does and two fawns, spotted white. Now I've found a small park by a creek, for a nap. The money I have should feed me through tomorrow, I think, so I expect a quiet day. I need it, too. Time to sort through things, check my attitude and perspective, and refocus. Quiet solitude is purifying, if it is not abused. I feel relaxed and still excited by God's affirmation.
	I read in the paper this morning about farmers dumping milk as part of a strike to raise dairy prices. Babies going hungry and farmers dumping milk all over the ground. The worldly wisdom that justifies our economic practices is utter insanity (udder insanity!).
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	I walked into a convenience store to buy lunch and this huge man jumps up, recognizing me as the walker he saw earlier, and bustles about, buying me things. I practically had to restrain him. Then the big-hearted big man just left.
	Now I'm at a church high above the road, next to a cemetery that crowns the hill. A flag hangs on a flagpole out front. I see this is a recent addition, donated for a VFW memorial service last year. It bugs me--not the flag, but its prominence here. Like the pledge of allegiance before church last Sunday. Both are meaningless, like money. Symbols of a nothingness, an unreality; a collective abstract that exists only in the minds of people. Nations don't exist. Land exists, people, buildings; and power, as ordained by God (Romans 13). But nations are imaginations. They appear and dissolve like mist, subdivide and coalesce, claim a name and then lose it. They are certainly no basis for allegiance, unless we are to swear allegiance to a lie. By all means, "give to Caesar what is Caesar's." Return to Caesar the worthless symbols he has created, but do not pledge your life. God is our master; we cannot serve two.
	It's interesting: Both times Jesus is asked about taxes (at least the two I recall), he has no money. Once, when the Pharisees ask him, Jesus asks them to show him a coin. The other time, he sends Peter to pluck a coin out of a fish's mouth. It illustrates how much Jesus valued Caesar's things.

	7.7
	It was almost 9 when I walked out of town last night, looking for a place to stay. Then I spotted a small medical building--"Walk-ins Welcome," the sign said. So I walked in (around back, actually). I left early, just in case the doctors were coming in. Found this church--with standard pavilion, of course--only 1/4 mi further. There's a bird nest above me. Every time I make a sound, a chorus of hungry peeps rains down on me; it makes me think of the line from the Psalms: "Open your mouth wide, and I will fill it." (81.10)
	In the reading this morning, the disciples return from their mission and Jesus says, "Come away by yourselves to a lonely place, and rest awhile."(Mk 6.31) Takes me back to my comments yesterday. Then Jesus performs the miracle of the loaves--I feel like he's still performing that miracle, for me. "Open your mouth wide, and I will fill it." "Seek first the kingdom of God... and all these things shall be yours as well." Not that everything becomes effortless, but the worry about survival--maybe our most basic anxiety--is removed. Also the burden of 'necessary evil' is removed. I read Psalm 142 this morning and remembered praying that psalm at a monastery in England, when I was AWOL. I was feeling then the pressure of 'necessary evil,' pursuing me, unavoidable. That some things are necessary "in this fallen world" even though they aren't quite right. Business, politics, and violence (military, police) spring to mind again. Maybe institutional religion, too--certainly denominationalism. But this is all false. 'Necessary evil' is a lie, just as having to choose the "lesser of two evils" is a lie. Only the good is ever necessary. God's will is the only necessity, and God's will is good. Woe to those who preach the "necessity" of evil, in any sense!
	While recognizing my complete unworthiness, I have to admit that I am incredibly relieved that someone is saying these things. Such horrible, oppressive lies should not go without someone denouncing them. Truth exists whether people accept it or not, speak it or not. But it is the greatest relief to hear it spoken, freely, to know that it has not everywhere been crushed into silence. I think that was the experience of the man Wednesday morning. His relief was visible. I know that my relief is such that I finally believe that life is possible. Real life--Life--is possible. "O that my people would listen to me... would walk in my ways!... I would feed you with finest wheat, and with honey from the rock I would satisfy you." (Ps 81.13,16)  

	7.8
	I'm a little beat-up this morning. Walked through a big city at the end of the day yesterday; the road turned into a major expressway. Not fun. Then I had to walk long and in the dark to find somewhere to stay. The elementary school I stopped at was good, but the night was cold: low 50s. My feet are still sore this morning. Warmer now, though.
	Roadkill notes: I see (and smell) a lot of roadkill, but yesterday offered two unusual specimens. The first was a male goldfinch, in perfect condition--except its head was laying about three feet from the rest of its body. And the second, a turtle, apparently flipped over by a car; it didn't seem to be crushed at all. But it had been unable to right itself and had dried out in the sun. Its head and legs were all out, shriveled. Nice and light, too.
	I fell asleep at a small Bible church yesterday afternoon, and woke up to talk to a new Christian there. Very enthusiastic but not solid on the basics yet. I mentioned church politics in connection with my 'not fitting in' with the institutional church, and he insisted there is none in his church. I suspect there is--wherever there's a group, there's politics--but I didn't push it. Then, reflecting later, I realized that his whole church is the product of politics. The formation of small, unaffiliated churches, when there already is an established Christian community in town, is an act of factionalism--the formation of a sect. It may be because of doctrinal differences, administrative differences, or personality differences. Maybe it's the worship, or preaching, or socializing. But it's political. Separating from other Christians, forming factions, is a political maneuver. It's what people see when there's four different Christian churches at an intersection, or five different churches advertising their services as you enter a town. People see politics. Not Christ--politics. It contradicts the oneness of the Body of Christ, the unity of the one Spirit. it contradicts the very gospel that each of those churches tries to preach. It's simple worldliness. Despite the churches, the Church is one; Christ is one; and all who follow him are brothers and sisters, members of the one Body.

	7.9
	I'm hesitant to write, because I'm still waiting. No help came since I ran out of money yesterday morning. Wait--I take that back. A young man picked me up in the afternoon and took me about ten miles. That allowed me to stop early and rest my feet, and still get 25 miles in. I found a Baptist church right beside the highway (unusual for this stretch), with pavilion. The night was cold again, though I slept pretty well. Just no food. A cat was mewing around in the middle of the night.
	My faith is stretched taut at the moment. I plan to stay for the services, but I don't know what will happen. If no one offers me anything, I'll ask--after the service. I'd rather not. But I don't think I can make it very far after a day without food. I wonder if this is doubt... no, I don't think so. To ask is not to doubt, as long as we ask expecting God to provide somehow. Only it seems being fed before I need to ask gives greater glory to God. I'll be disappointed if I have to ask. But it's not for me to decide how God should glorify himself; I don't always have to be involved. I do need guidance, however, if the encounter is going to be fruitful for others. But again, that's God's work and responsibility: bringing forth the fruit. I just need to follow his Son, act in love towards each person I meet, and have faith that God will provide.

	It's painful to read that last paragraph. I wish I could just write the final sentence and wait in silence until God moves me to act.
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	God provided--of course. Sunday school was boring, but the preaching was pretty good. On John 21. When Jesus appeared on the shore and said to his disciples, "Come and eat breakfast," I nearly cried. I shook many hands after the service, but still no offers. Finally, I decided to start walking and ask at the first place I came to; it didn't seem right to ask at church, as if I came just to beg. So I packed up and started out. I felt a little weak and my faith had been jacked one notch tighter. I had already said goodbye to the pastor, but as I passed him in the parking lot he stopped me. And asked if I "had time" to come to dinner.
	All the tension was released instantly. "Why did you doubt?" The pastor fed me a good meal, drove me back to the highway, gave me $20 and his card. As I started walking, I reviewed: Yesterday I got a ride, found this church right on the highway, rested from 6pm yesterday until 2pm today, went to church, got fed, plus food for a couple days more. What was my complaint again? I didn't even feel very hungry during the one day fast.
	One thing was strange, however. The visit with this pastor felt a lot like the meeting with the last pastor who helped me, different from the first family I stayed with and the man last Tuesday. Both pastors were generous and both offered without being asked. Yet both seemed remarkably un-interested in what I was doing. The first took me to a store and the second turned on the TV and gave me a newspaper, and we talked mostly about him (my questions). I am not un-thankful. Both men were clearly used by God and gave generously, saving my butt. But the difference, I think, is that the pastors' giving felt like 'charity.' At the other homes I felt like a friend, like the visit was a pleasant surprise, and like we both found God's grace in the time we spent together. Truly, I don't know what was in the pastors' hearts. But in both cases I felt like a 'charity case' for whom they were doing their good Christian duty. Saying this, I have to admit that most of my acts of giving in the past have resembled the pastors' rather than the other ones. It's strange. Something about doing the thing you know a Christian should do, but not quite motivated by the overflowing love of God. Again, I can't apply this to the pastors, I can only be grateful to them. But I think Christians, 'religious types' especially, are susceptible to this--perhaps doing the right thing by following the letter of the law, rather than being inspired by the Spirit. When this happens, there's clearly something amiss and the recipient can sense it. Love cannot be a 'principle to live by,' a duty, or a profession. Love is God's. And only those inspired by God through faith will display the love that gives charity its name. I'm sorry for the times I've only offered 'charity.' I was too busy going other places, or considering future lofty plans, to encounter another human being with love right now. But God is always here and now. Ubi caritas et amor, Deus ibi est (Where there is charity and love, God is there). Because love is a miracle of God.

	7.10
	It's pouring. So hard at times that it overflows the gutters over the porch where I sit. Pink flowers hang over the sides of the white wrought iron planters in front of me, soaking up the wet. Thunder.
	A joyful reversal yesterday. I stopped in a gas station to buy dinner: pork and beans, chocolate milk, granola bar. But the clerk almost wouldn't let me have a paper cup to heat up the beans--I started to get agitated. A moment later, though, he changed his mind. While I ate he asked questions, and by the time I finished he had given me a left over mini-pizza (pizza parlor there) and invited me to his house! I had to wait till 11pm, but I read and talked to him a little. He is a new Christian, has a new baby (named "Christian") and has struggled with many hardships since his marriage not long ago (flood, health problems, premature baby). But he was very generous: I had a shower, he washed my laundry, offered me a soft couch and biscuits and gravy for breakfast. Took me to the library this morning, where I checked my email and got a new book. I'm full again, completely. And this morning in the Psalms:

	The eyes of all look to you,
	    and you give them their food in due season.
	You open your hand,
	    you satisfy the desire of every living thing. (145.15-16)

	The Lord watches over the sojourners... (146.9)

	No great conversation last night; it was very late, and his place was busy with people. But I was treated as a guest (not a charity-case). And all my needs were anticipated--that's part of love. That young couple is still finding their way, but they seem to have a good anchor. It says something, too, that he recognized my need and opened up his life to me. I could only offer the promises of Mt 10.41-42 in return. I trust God will make that a good return.
	Just heard of a woman called "Granny Dee," who walked across the country for a political cause. She was in her 90s!
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	These recent experiences took me back to "the one who finds their life will lose it, and the one who loses their life for my sake will find it." (Mt 10.39) You can't be around new parents long before 'finding a life' becomes apparent. Centered around the new human life, a house is being put in order, careers are beginning, plans for the future fill young minds. It will be a long time, perhaps, before they will be able to grasp Jesus' words about 'losing their life,' It's unthinkable at this point. But God will help them, hopefully without too much pain--there's lots of time.
	Also, Granny Dee made me think of a 'life.' Like Peace Pilgrim, she had a clearly defined purpose and goal. A cause. A life? I'd rather be misunderstood, unknown, alone, than 'get a life'--a unique, individual identity of my own. My identity is only in relation to Christ. I am his follower, a witness to him, a member of his Body. If people recognize Christ in me (or me in him) then I am 'somebody'; if not, then I will be a 'nobody' to them. A wasted life. Or maybe a question mark? I'd rather be that than be the promoter, crusader, defender of a cause. I'm out here to lose my life for Jesus' sake.
	After a simple dinner of pumpernickel bread, cheese, and a pear (and a Dairy Queen...), I need to go find shelter for tonight. It will probably rain, and there's not much on the road ahead.
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	It started again at about six. I would have been very wet, if I wasn't already here by then. Actually, I was sitting in a car talking to a little grandmother named Jeanette. When she stopped to pick me up, I was more than a little surprised. I thought only young men risked picking up strangers on the highway. But she started right off talking about Jesus, and about not being afraid and having compassion on people who had to walk. As we talked, she got interested and drove me further; then as it started to rain she turned in around a corner and here was my lodging. Another little church pavilion. But we sat in the car and talked for almost an hour and a half: about prayer, unity in Christ, family, trust, pilgrimage in the Old Testament. She is a feisty lady, and fun. I would have never found this place without her; I wouldn't even have made it this far. These things are starting to seem less 'miraculous' now, they happen so often. But I guess miracles should be common, right? God's always here, isn't he?

	7.11
	This bench is marked with the birth and death dates of one Patrick Bailey--I feel like I'm sitting on a tombstone. But there's a pretty Presbyterian church here, simple white with roman-arched windows. A real bell in the bell tower, too. Daisies and gold lilies around the bench, and evergreens. I'm gathering myself.
	The day started out normal enough. A warm night, so I slept well; then up and shaved early, and back on the road. Walked all morning. I thought about the conversation with the grandmother last night, and vocation came up again. She felt strongly about 'finding your purpose.' Hers seemed to involve raising children (she had 5 or 6) and being an "encourager." Like Mom. And her last words to me included the 'encouragement' that I would soon find my "purpose in life"; apparently she understood my pilgrimage as a seeking after that purpose. Not only was that no encouragement, her words would be quite discouraging if I hadn't already struggled so much with the vocation question. I've heard "God gives us a purpose in life" during many sermons, too. Where does this come from? It's supposed to answer some need for identity, some desire to be useful and therefore valuable, I guess. But when Paul talks about the different vocations (Eph 4; 1 Cor 12), he's talking about the diversity that maintains the unity of the Body of Christ--not 'finding yourself' or being useful. And the greatest 'vocational' gift he calls us to is... love (1 Cor 13). No one thinks of making that a career or a 'calling' (except St. Therese, who was pretty un-useful locked up in her convent). Yet love is what we are all called to--it's the "one thing needful." All this about finding your purpose in life seems to me a worldly way of thinking. Like the "Industrial School for Youth" (horrible name!) I passed not too long ago. "Helping troubled youth become useful members of society," or something like that. Our value is our usefulness. That's worldliness if I ever heard it. It goes directly against "If you find your life you will lose it." And, as Christians, we should know that our value comes from God's love for us, no matter how 'useful' we are. To experience God working through our gifts is a wonderful blessing. But simply to know God's love, like Mary kneeling before Jesus, is to be made absolutely valuable.
	So I continue my 'useless' wandering today, with more surprises. I stopped at an antique mall and restaurant, and a woman who had seen me walking earlier talked to me and bought me a milkshake. Then, who should walk in but the niece of the young couple I stayed with two nights ago. She had been at their place also, though we hadn't really talked. But she recognized me on the highway this morning, and when she and her mother were returning they bought some food and hunted me down! I was off the road then, but since there were few places to stop, they found me on their second stop. We spent about two hours together, talking, eating, going to the library. And they drove me the last ten miles or so to the Ohio border. I'm constantly amazed at what people can rise to. I barely spoke to this girl, but she remembered me, and she and her mother went way out of their way to help me. Her mother wanted to make sure I put them in "my book"--the one I'm supposed to write about the pilgrimage. Well, I'm happy to put them here: Pat and Angie Moneypenny (yes, like the secretary in the James Bond movies). People can be so good. And I think holy 'uselessness' can be very inspiring.
	A tick is stalking me. I've watched it come about six feet right towards me; somehow it can sense me. It stops, waves its front legs around, then continues. If I move, when it waves its front legs it turns and continues to wave them until it smells(?) me again. [Later, someone told me they sense heat.] Then it starts towards me. Its front legs must be like a snake's tongue. Creepy. I'm outta here.

	7.12
	My funniest night yet. First night in Ohio (Oh-Hi!) and the sky was clear, no need for a roof. I saw a volunteer fire station just off the highway that looked promising; I've passed dozens of these and they're always deserted. I figured it would be a nice quiet (secluded) place to spend the night. Shortly after 11pm, however, I hear voices. Then people running, the huge garage doors roll up, engines growl, flashing lights, and four vehicles roar out. I hear a siren howl as the big fire truck pulls away. Not knowing what to do, I just laid still. But people were all around and soon an older man, flanked by two others, asks "Are you ok?" I try to explain, and apologize for being in the way. But he stops me. "No, that's all right. We're just having a little fire here"--and they walk away, leaving me there. Actually, the trucks were back and the whole thing was over in about a half hour; it must have been a false alarm or a drill--or a really small fire. Soon everything was quiet except for one cricket singing by my head. Was this God's idea of a joke?!
	This morning, in Mark 8, Jesus says "Beware of the leaven of the Pharisees and of Herod." The disciples don't understand; they think he's talking about bread. But he reminds them of the miracles of the loaves. Bread is not the problem. In Matthew's version, he says Jesus meant the teaching of the Pharisees. I also should not get hung up on the issue of food, though it has been exciting how God is providing. But food is not the problem. "Is not life more than food?" And the teaching of the Pharisees and the Herodians is still very much with us. It's hard to talk to almost anyone involved in institutional religion and not detect the Pharisee. I don't know how many times I've been asked, by church people, "By what authority do you speak/do these things?" or, "Show us a sign." Also the loaded questions meant to trip you up. Not to mention being called 'heretic.' ("Blasphemy!") And the Herodians I see as the politicians, on every level. But I've said enough about politics. Anyway, this is where the problem is, this is what Jesus' 'Beware' is aimed at. Food is not the issue, really--though it is sometimes used to justify the acceptance of these false teachings (Dostoyevsky's Grand Inquisitor). We accept worldly ways because "We have to eat!" God's providence shows that this is a lie; but it's only part of the bigger lie: the teaching of the Pharisees and the Herodians.
	----------

	I'm eating lunch in Coolville, OH. I think I should only record the names of towns that have worthy names. I haven't written much about town, city, or state names. Those classifications shouldn't really mean much, unless you're a politician, law enforcement officer, or tax collector. The reality is the land and people. The boundaries and names are pretty arbitrary. But 'Coolville' is worth mentioning--who wouldn't want to have that as their home address?
	Mom suggested e-mailing friends with news of my travels. I thought about it, but it seems too 'newsletterish' to me. I called friends when I was at the abbey only two weeks ago. And if they really want news, most of them have Mom and Dad's number. To be sending people information about my pilgrimage seems too self-promotional: "Look at what I'm doing!" Of course, if people ask I'm happy to tell them. Mom and Dad want frequent updates; and I write about myself here. But I don't expect anyone to read this (unless people start asking to see it) and I'll certainly never publish it to be sold (Get thee behind me, Business!) Let someone dig it up after I'm dead, maybe. Anyway, I can't imagine too many people being interested if they find out what I have to say here. No, forget the 'newsletter.' I'll write to people personally when possible; maybe send thank-yous, too--many people have given me their addresses. But no "Life and Times of Paul Rohde." If people want to read about a life, there's Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. Now that’s a life.

	7.13
	Yesterday afternoon was grueling. Harsh sun, highway construction, and nothing for miles. I had to push beyond 25 miles just to find a place to sleep. Then up and walking again till I found this place, just after sunrise.
	It's a large lake, hidden above the highway. Trees completely encircle it, and it stretches out fingers beyond where I can see. A frog twangs it's throat nearby, sounding like a cheap banjo. Fish leap, with mysterious purpose, then fall, making rings on the water's perfect surface. A black-headed bird, which seems designed for fishing, watches. And a soft mist rises from the lake, moving like it has intelligence; I recall "The spirit of God moved over the face of the waters." The beginning.
	I was thinking about Genesis this morning. Last Sunday, the Sunday school guide they handed out focused on the Fall and made some comment like "Because of sin, our work is stressful." A reference to Genesis 3.17-19, apparently. The curse on Adam: "By the sweat of your brow..." I've wondered a lot about that curse--what does it mean? Is it the source of our stress over work? Any loopholes? But I think the Sunday school book has missed the truth and may be absolutely false if taken at face value. My sore feet, that's a result of sin. Laboring under the hot sun, fatigue, muscle aches, shivering at night, I can accept all these as part of the curse. But these are not the primary stresses of work. People often choose all these things as an acceptable part of play: camping, mountain climbing, hiking, etc. This "sweat of the brow" is painful, but it can still be satisfying and healthy, a little rest wipes it all away. The stress we usually experience with work, however, is different. It is pure negative, draining, and a vacation doesn't make it disappear. When we come back, it's right there again, devouring us. It is not from God, even as a curse.
	I believe the stress we usually experience at work is not because of Adam's sin, but because of our own. We feel the pressure to succeed at work for various reasons (survival, respect, wealth, security, etc.)--most of which are lies. But the stress comes when we start adapting ourselves to worldly methods and standards for success. We set love aside to "do business." We don't give freely, we sell ourselves; we don't put others first, we promote ourselves; we don't turn the other cheek, we fight for "our rights." We make sinful choices and our work becomes sin. that’s the source of the horrible stress--not Adam, not God. And this ugly compromise with (surrender to) the world we call 'work'; and we have the nerve to quote Paul and say "Those who don't 'work' should not eat." What a twisted perversion of work and God's word! Work is one thing, selling ourselves to the world and its Prince is another.
	I accept "the sweat of your brow." It means sore feet, but it's a soreness that need not disturb the peace of the soul. It's a good soreness, a merciful soreness. Because it is from God, and everything from God is good and compassionate, even his rebukes. The other, life-sucking stress of work, however, I denounce. We are not victims of it, we are perpetrators of it--on ourselves and on others. It is against Christ and to accept it is to deny the good news of his gospel. The product of a "sinful and adulterous generation," as Jesus used to say. God's idea of work is something else entirely. Like the difference between the roaring of the highway behind me, and the gentle splash of a fish on the lake before me.
	----------

	Saul Bellow writes (in "Herzog") that poverty--such as is seen on Skid Row--has to be ugly, because "if there were a beautiful poverty, a moral poverty in America, that would be subversive." Absolutely.
	Speaking of poverty: I'm a little ashamed of this, but I shouldn't be; and it's too good not to write. I had some bread and peanut butter for lunch, and I stopped at a store for fruit. For some unexplained reason, it was closed. A local girl told me "You'll have a hard time finding fruit around here," so I went to sit down in the shade to eat. Someone had left some paper cups in the grass; I picked them up, and went to throw them away. Then I noticed, in the trash can... a huge banana. I paused. But it was wrapped in a clear plastic bag, right on top--so I grabbed it. It even had a produce sticker on it that said it was put on the shelf only two days ago. I laughed out loud. Not so hard to find fruit around here after all!
	This is turning into a perfect day. The lake this morning, then into town where I stopped at the library; followed the river onto a university campus (the town is appropriately named 'Athens') and stopped to read in a grassy quad under the oaks. The first time I can lay in the grass and not think about ticks. And there's plenty of people to watch. I like university towns. I might even go so far as to call this a 'beautiful poverty.'
	----------

	Not so many churches in Ohio (the heathens!). But just when I think I've seen every possible rest stop, I find a new one. This is a "wildlife research area," though I'm not exactly sure what they do here. It's a wilderness area and hunting and fishing are allowed, and there's a "Laboratory." Also a picnic table behind the laboratory, where the ranger(?) said I could stay. A deer watched me move in.

	7.14
	I have to take back that comment about churches in Ohio--I've seen three this morning. And: I ran into a bike trip rest-stop-on-wheels (a truck and trailer), surrounded by a group of cross-country cyclists. As I walked by, one guy said hi, and then, "Nice stick!" [referring to my staff] They offered me water, some candy bars, and a couple local maps (my map doesn't even have this road on it). A little farther, I found a store to stop and eat.
	As I left, a girl who helped me at the bike stop said "Enjoy your walk!" Which was nice. But I'm not out here to enjoy myself in the same way they are, traveling for fun. I thought about that last night. Yesterday was so nice, I almost forgot I was a homeless beggar. It came back to me as I lay down last night on a concrete slab with no roof. And my food's almost out again: a little peanut butter and 41 cents. Right now, it's hard to tell a 'beautiful' poverty from an un-beautiful one--based on appearances, that is. And it's not a question of choosing a better (more peaceful, integrated, natural) life, which yesterday's comments might lead someone to believe. I think this is a better life, but that's not enough to keep me going. Better is not good enough; better is only relatively good. The only good reason for doing anything is that that action is GOOD, absolutely good, because it is God's will. It must be done in faith, motivated by God's love.
	That motivation stands, even when it's not enjoyable. The physical part is not so bad; at times I complain, but overall it hasn't been too difficult. The hardest part is confronting the lies that rule our society--and not getting depressed. Even the 'good' people don't want to hear. And no large-scale change can be expected; the world remains 'the world.' But that's sad, because people make up the world. I guess it's the same "being disturbed" that I wrote about on June 30th; it's a necessary result of God's love for a sinful world. But enjoyment has nothing to do with it.
	Today makes two weeks since I left the abbey.

	7.15
	The pigeons are exercising over the woods behind the church. Someone must be keeping them nearby. They circle and change directions, moving as one body, with one or two spinning off on their own before rejoining the group. It's fun to watch, especially in this peaceful time before sunset. There's supposed to be a men's prayer group here soon. I might join in, or just ask to stay here. The quote carved in stone near the door is encouraging: "Ho, everyone who thirsts, come... and he who has no money, come..."(Is 55.1) The birds just keep going, rising above the trees and diving again. I only see their underbellies as they pass, arcing away from me. They look like they are in a race.
	It looks like the prayer group is not going to happen: no one showed up. But as I was writing, I spied some apples on a tree near the edge of the property. Still green, but I ate a couple anyway. Found a few ripe blackberries, too. Not a meal, but nice--like someone cares. Hard night last night; the locals weren't very helpful, but I found shelter at a school just as the rain started. Lots of sun today. About 25 miles yesterday and today, with little food. Nothing since breakfast (until the apples). At the first church I stopped at tonight, the pastor's wife gave me the cold shoulder, she sent me here. It's called "People's Faith Church." With a name like that and the quote by the door it sounds kinda socialist. Interesting. We'll see if I can get cleaned up before the services tomorrow. The moon is big and bright tonight.
	Oh, a tick bit me for the first time today. I had to burn it a little with a magnifying glass so it would let go.

	7.16
	Reading First Corinthians this morning (I love that "Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world?" part) and came across Paul's description of apostles: "We hunger and thirst, we are ill-clad and buffeted and homeless... we have become, and are now, as the refuse of the world, the offscouring of all things."(1 Cor 4.11-13) And then: "I urge you... be imitators of me." It's just what I need to hear this morning. The ideal of pilgrimage is pure and beautiful; the reality is hard and dirty--but still beautiful.

	7.17
	When I don't write much, it's usually because I'm either struggling to stay focused in faith (and probably going hungry)--or I'm having too good of a day to stop and write. This morning I sang Psalm 16:

	...my heart is glad, and my soul rejoices;
	    my body also dwells secure...
	You show me the path of life;
	    in your presence there is fullness of joy,
	    in your right hand are pleasures forevermore.

I'm at a high school out in the middle of a million acres of corn and soybeans. The wooded hills that guarded the valley of the last few days are gone; now there is only plains and endless sky. The road stretches straight away in both directions as far as I can see. A little disheartening. But I'm still full of the last... well, just yesterday--it was so good, it seemed too much to be one day.
	That church was definitely the right place to go. The Sunday school was stimulating--good discussion, for the first time in three weeks. Then, before the service starts, a guy comes up and says he passed me walking twice in the last two days, and he invites me to dinner. The congregation is small, but the preacher is powerful. A revival preacher, John Wesley-style, with a booming voice and passionate, emotional delivery. At one point, we all knelt on the floor, leaning on the seats of the pews, and prayed out loud all at once. A heavy murmur filled the church, with moans and cries, even. The singing was good, too. But the preaching was the high point.
	Definitely a revivalist. It seemed a little sad that there were so few people (30 some), but I think revival preaching has had its day. I talked to the pastor later and he said he used to preach revivals for a week or more at a time. Now, they're only a few days (and much less frequent, I gather). Personally, I tend to distrust such over-the-top flights of speech and blatant appeals to the emotions. It feels theatrical, and a little fake. But he said good things. Good challenges, though a little vague, and an excellent focus on the centrality of Christ. The best message I've heard since I've been walking. And it turned out that I had dinner and spent time with the pastor, since his son had asked me to dinner.
	I agreed with the pastor on many things. But he highlighted for me one dangerous problem for preachers. Like any artist or actor, I suppose, preachers use their imagination a lot in their communication. And, like philosophers, they imaginatively speculate often. But this imagination can go too far when the preaching (or the art or the philosophy) becomes too important. I believe the exuberance of this preacher overwhelmed his clarity of vision. Because he was adamant that since he "got saved" he had never sinned ("put the sin business behind me"). Even when I brought up the incredible standards of the sermon on the Mount, he insisted that he was "perfect as the Heavenly Father is perfect." Only by the grace of God--since God can make us holy, he believed he was literally without sin for the last 50-60 years. It made me think of the rich young man: "I have kept all these commandments from my youth." And Jesus said (with love, as I'm sure he loves this preacher), "Sell all you have, give to the poor, and follow me." The young man didn't, and neither would this man, but he didn't see the relevance of this. It's strange how everyone says they are "willing" to do this IF Jesus asks them, but no one actually does it!
	I talked over an hour each with the pastor, his wife, and their son, whose home I visited. Many of the challenges of pilgrimage came out in conversation, more than with anyone else I've met, which pleased me. But when these challenges (to live like Jesus) came out, people (Christians) always seem to start telling me how good they are. The pastor was the extreme. But each began to 'offset' the subtle worldliness in their lives with a list of their virtues. I get a little embarrassed listening to people's rationalizations and the ways they get around the hard sayings of Jesus ("Give freely," "Turn the other cheek," "How hard it is for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God"). But all were very kind and generous. I had dinner and supper, stayed the night, and everyone was friendly and inquisitive (not like the other pastors). At the evening prayer meeting, the pastor's daughter gave me a lunch to take today and another man (her husband?) slipped me an envelope with $25 in it. I slept great and had a good breakfast before I left (also got a shower and my laundry done!). A very open and giving family who definitely knows the love of God.
	An interesting scene as I left: They were being audited by the IRS. I suddenly saw all the challenges about business and politics drawn together in one image. The IRS auditor coming to their house as they scrambled to put receipts and numbers in order. They had a beautiful house, too (which he built himself, with bargain materials--though that will be hard to sell to the auditor). Taxes, the price to pay for a king (as God warned when Israel begged for a king: 1 Sam 8). And here is not just taxes but the threat of punishment if they're not done right. Lots of anxiety, of course. Also the full weight of possessions, all in a pile of receipts and bills ("Walmart has a lot of our money," he says)--he's self-employed, so it's all under scrutiny. Both husband and wife were scurrying around the papers at 8am; the auditor comes tomorrow. I said I'd pray for them. I pray they (and everyone) be released from the economic and political yoke. But it's really a yoke we each take on ourselves. A very different yoke than the one Jesus called "easy"--his yoke, a relief for the laborer, the overburdened. Just watch an audit and see how different it is.
	On the way out of town, I walked by an ice cream/dairy delivery truck and the driver jumped out and ran over to me with an ice cream cone. No explanation, just a smile.
	And I'm beginning to think my 'thorn in the flesh' is the fourth toe on my right foot. All my blisters have healed, but the lump there (where it presses the little toe) keeps hurting. Sometimes more, sometimes less, but always a pain.
	I wonder if there's a pay-phone in this school. I should call home.

	7.18
	I slept right in the middle of town last night, that's a new one. In a big gazebo that stands in the town square. At dawn, I watched the full moon fade, hanging over the old weather vane that tops the town hall cupola. As I stepped into the street, I glanced back to see a single tan dove perched at the peak of the gazebo, silent.
	When I stopped to buy lunch-to-go, the clerk asked some questions, then suggested I get a corporate sponsor and try for a Guinness world record. I've heard the sponsor idea before. Also several have suggested writing a book. It takes me back to "find your life/lose your life"; all these suggestions are plans for 'becoming something.' Getting the backing of a big corporation, making a career, becoming famous--that's how we make something of ourselves. But I'm not out here to become something. I'm out here to make perfectly clear my own nothingness. That's easy to feel in the middle of these vast fields, on this endless highway. Poverty, homelessness, exile are not the signs of a person who has made something of their life. But they can indicate "one who loses their life for my sake." That death-to-self for Jesus' sake is the life of faith. It means letting go of 'sponsors,' career, fame, even our own 'goodness,' our virtue, and living by faith. For this reason, it can be very helpful to challenge and even tear down the 'good lives' of people. Especially Christians. Having a 'good life' in our own eyes does not lead to faith--pride, hypocrisy, sluggishness maybe, but not faith. Let the fire of the Spirit burn away our 'something' that we may remain nothing, and God may be all in us.
	A yellow bi-plane was buzzing over the corn fields earlier. I was waiting for it to turn and dive at me, so I would have to run and throw myself in the grass (ala "North by Northwest"). But, oddly enough, it never did. Even the ticks are leaving me alone today.
	I found out Collette McClain sent Mom a picture of me with her daughter Gabrielle (6). That made me happy, and surprised Mom.
	----------

	Talked to Kim and it looks like they're coming to meet me Sunday. That will be really good--and strange. I'm used to being always with strangers, or rather new friends.
	I walked past two purposefully misnamed facilities this evening. The first, a prison, was called a "correctional institution." Institution, definitely, but "correctional"? Does anyone believe that, behind those multiple walls of brick and coiled razorwire, the officers generously point out to the inmates their 'mistakes,' so they can safely avoid such 'mishaps' in the future? The second was the "Peace Officers Academy." They may learn about law there, and order; violence, certainly. But peace has nothing to do with what is taught there. Only God teaches peace--through love.
	About a mile later, I passed a man breaking a very uncooperative horse. He had the horse with a heavy rope tethered to its head, and was 'bringing it to order' with an eight-foot bullwhip. That's a better image of what those institutions are about. They should be called "This is where we break 'em" and "This is where we learn how."
	I found a great spot for tonight: a covered balcony at a two-story brick elementary school. Had to wait for some parents to leave, but now it's deserted and quiet. Except for the cicadas, buzzing.

	7.19
	Almost didn't write today. Strange day. The heavy ceiling of clouds that hung over the area all morning are gone now. But after waiting two hours for the rain to stop, I walked another two hours in the rain before lunch. Cold wind, wet socks. Found a little white church with a crooked bell tower, to rest and eat. Now another little white church to sleep next to. I watched the sun go down over the cemetery; it slipped from a cloudless sky with no commotion, releasing the fireflies. I thought about sleeping in the cemetery, in the grass. I think I'm above the tick Mason-Dixon line now, but maybe I'll wait to be sure. The side entrance to the church will be just fine tonight. Churches always seem like havens now--churches and libraries.
	Fun experience before the rain this morning: Came to a detour where a construction crew was rebuilding a bridge. No cars could pass. But I walked right across--no detour necessary. The foreman said "We didn't see anything," and covered his eyes. There's some good imagery there, about traveling light, no detours, or something--but I can't pull anything more profound out of it than: It was fun.
	The headstones and monuments are silhouetted with the trees, black against a fading pink sky. In the gloaming.

	7.20
	Cold last night. I have a feeling I'm in for some more cold nights on the way to Chicago. I'm gradually getting used to them.
	In the last few towns I've met a couple groups of kids, who expressed awe at my journey. Close to 1200 miles now. Also, when I talk to friends they are sometimes speechless; this is almost beyond their imagination. Mom and Dad even sound a little proud, now that their fears have been eased. They've told some of their friends, who have expressed admiration.
	It all points to some kind of super-hero image, which I must deny aggressively. To myself, most of all. It sets up an imaginary standard that is mine (or theirs), not God's; it leads to contempt of others; it isolates me. It interrupts the person-to-person relationship. Maybe that's why God gives me days alone, when I'm left with my real just-human self, not the reflection in the eyes of others. The basic struggle to find shelter and food, or just to keep walking, makes me feel my plain existence. I've insisted from the start that what I'm doing is not a peculiar call. It is a simple following of the universal call of Jesus. He says to all, "Follow me." I can't allow myself or others to make a special virtue or daring adventure out of all this. Really, I'm a human disciple at the most basic level. Walking, eating, sleeping, talking, without accessories. Just what anybody might do if their life--the distraction they call "my life"--was taken away. Not a superhuman endeavor, but just what this body and mind were made for.

	7.21
	Interesting morning. I walked till after dark last night and finally found a church with a store across the street. But when I looked this morning, the store is out-of-business. Groan. Just a little food on me, no water, a new blister, and 14 miles to the next town. I sat down and prayed Psalm 22:

	My God, my God, 
	    why have you forsaken me?
	Why are you so far from helping me,
	    from the words of my groaning?

Then, just as I was finishing my prayers, a sheriff's patrol car pulled up.
	Somebody had reported an "old man" sitting on the church steps. They must have seen me hobbling around on sore feet and stiff legs. The deputy asked a few questions, checked my ID, then said he'd drive me to the county line. It sounded like they were getting rid of me, yet even this sounded like a grace right then. When I asked for water, however, the deputy seemed to soften a little. He turned off to find a gas station, took my canteen in to get it filled, and returned with a sandwich for me. He even drove me a mile or two past the county line. So I got water, breakfast, and I'll make it to the next town for lunch. And my first official ride in the back seat of a police car! I'm becoming an honest-to-goodness mendicant. The officer was surprised I'd only been questioned by police once before.
	Also: I found almost two dollars in change by the side of the road (doubling the money I had in my pocket). Things can turn around quick, with a little groaning.
	I was thinking about yesterday's comments on what I consider to be a basic, real human life (as I am living it now). And how it contrasts so sharply with the usual "normal" life people lead. It brought to mind several tragic characters-- Pascal, Tolstoy, Kierkegaard, Simone Weil--who seemed to recognize the falseness of "normal life," yet could not seem to find an alternative. They became restless critics, troubled souls that apparently could not find a way of acting and living that satisfied them. I think it had something to do with an inability to put their lives at the mercy of people whom they knew too well. They saw the depths to which human society had fallen and they could not make themselves vulnerable before it. Maybe. I've learned a lot from them--about the problem. The answer is from Jesus. It's amazing how his most significant work is not what he did, but what he suffered. He put himself at our mercy, God became vulnerable before us, to endure, to suffer our response. Simeon rightly prophesied that Jesus would be a "sign of contradiction," "that thoughts out of many hearts may be revealed."(Lk 2.34-35) He inspired love and hatred, adoration and persecution, discipleship and rejection. In this way he turned hearts inside out, revealing the depths of souls, that all might see their sin and turn and be healed. He suffered humanity, and in doing so became our greatest inspiration. Pascal, Tolstoy, Kierkegaard, Weil--they saw a horrible truth about humanity. The callousness of many people I meet and the ones who are quick to call the police but slow to offer help, these are evidence of humanity's shame. Only a masochist would put his life in their hands. But to follow Christ means to trust that he can inspire goodness and love, generosity and mercy in the human heart. He can, and does. I've seen it.
	----------

	I couldn't believe it. Twice, in one day! I had stepped off the highway to lay down in the shade, on the porch of a model home--no one living there, and they only show it on weekends. Less than twenty minutes after I had laid down, the sheriff's car arrived. For the second time today. Here's how the conversation went:

	me: I've been walking, I just stopped to take a break...
	him: You don't "take a break" on private property!
	
(Why not? If someone's bought up all the 'property' around, where do you take a break?) When he comes back from checking my ID:

	me: I didn't think I'd bother anybody here...
	him: People drive by, they see you laying there, they are concerned...

(Not for me--don't make it sound like they're being compassionate. That's absurd. Compassion stops and asks "Are you OK?"; it doesn't grab a phone and call the sheriff.) So he sent me on my way. Luckily, the next town was only a mile and a half further. I was tired, but I was going to make sure I had permission to stay somewhere tonight--enough brown cars with big yellow stars on the side for one day!
	I spotted a spire and made for it. Sacred Heart Church. Catholic. I marched up to the rectory, not knowing what to expect; there was still plenty of time to look for shelter if the priest chased me away. But he didn't. He took me out to dinner. We had a great conversation about my walk, the church, Jesus; I got a shower; my clothes got washed. So I'm clean for church on Sunday (for once!) and my meeting with Kim and Kevin. I think I even have food enough to last till then. This is a Catholic area, I hear, so I'll probably end up at mass Sunday morning. I'd really like to stay here, but I told Kim I'd meet them in the next town. Oh, I also got to check my e-mail here (the library today refused me!) and there's a bed waiting for me upstairs. From Psalm 22 to this, in one day. God does keep things interesting... 

	7.22
	For your steadfast love is before my eyes,
	    and I walk in your faithfulness.(Ps 26.3)

	7.23
	On my bed I remember you
	On you I muse through the night
	    for you have been my help;
	    in the shadow of your wings I rejoice.
	My soul clings to you;
	    your right hand holds me fast.(Ps 63.6-8)

	I love those lines, sung every Sunday morning in the Divine Office. And I did "muse" from a bed last night, interestingly enough. On my way to town yesterday, a young man picked me up and got me here by noon--and when he heard I was traveling with only 17 cents (he asked me), he gave me $12. I thanked him for all his help, but he only repeated "Ahh, it ain't nothin'!" He dropped me off at the Catholic church in town and drove off.
	My reception here, however, was nothing like the warm welcome of Fr. Pat Duffy last night (I appreciate him even more now). The first priest I met here didn't "have the authority" to offer me a place to stay. And later, I returned to find another priest who was not only suspicious, but even sounded hostile. I finally got permission to sleep outside by the school. But even then he raised fears that someone might beat me up, or suspect me if there happened to be a fire there that night. He obviously is a man living in fear--and he obviously wanted to send me away. But he offered to call the police station to let them know I had permission to sleep there. (I was wary after the previous day's events; plus the young man who drove me in said "Don't go to the police station--those guys are bastards!") I let Kim and Kevin know where to meet me, then returned for Saturday evening mass.
	But the "hostile" priest surprised me. As I was sitting in church praying, waiting for the service, he approached me. He appeared much softened. Whispering, he told me he had visited the police station, and arranged for me to get a motel room and a meal from the "Transient Aid Fund," provided by local churches. So after mass, a visit to the 'dreaded' police station, some paperwork, a half-mile walk, and a check-in, I found myself in a nice motel room. I had a spaghetti dinner, too. That was a tremendous surprise, and I was especially grateful since the night was supposed to be cold--in the mid-50s.
	As it turned out, both priests (the last two nights) provided me with dinner, a bed, and shower. But there was really no comparison. The first invited me in, we talked and shared a meal; I was a guest in his home. The second (to whom I am also grateful) sent me away, on a charity scavenger hunt, through paperwork hoops and over the hurdles of dealing with several businesses. The cost, I'm sure, was also much more than the personal approach of inviting me in. Thankfully, all the personnel--at the police station, motel and restaurant--treated me kindly and with respect. That's to their credit. But the bureaucratic charity approach is nothing compared to the trust and openness and friendship of personal charity--real love. Here, I was a problem to be "handled" (the priest's last words: "I think that's the best way to handle it"); the night before, I was an unexpected delight, a friend, who was no burden at all.
	Also last night, I called home and they had just spoken to Dave. He was astonished that I didn't need to ask for food. "He just prayed... and he got it?!," Dave asked. Then he said perhaps the most touching words a brother can hear: "I love God for taking care of Paul."
	Now there's a continental breakfast downstairs, then I'll go back to the church to thank the priest. Kim and Kevin meet me there around lunch time. I'm excited to see them; I'm sure we'll talk long and hard.
	----------

	Waiting in the park. There's a tall, brick clock tower that tolls loudly, surrounded by a fountain (No Wading!--city ordinance); an open, octagonal gazebo; and a canal through town--on it sits an old canal boat, with a wooden horse 'pulling' it, and a wooden covered bridge spanning it. Also, the usual tribute to dead soldiers. No place built by people is free from a tribute to the worldly lie. But the morning is cool and sunny; a woman circles the park, slowly, following a short-legged dog. Before they arrived, I piped strongly: "Come to the Water"(based on Is 55.1), and perhaps my favorite, "What Wondrous Love is This?" Also the Quaker hymn, "How Can I Keep From Singing?," the first song I learned. The birds sing too, matching my mood. I feel satisfied as only God can satisfy.
	And there's ladybugs all over the place!

	7.24
	I started for this town with 17 cents, and I leave here now after two nights in a motel, several real meals, new sandals, clean, rested, healed. Food and money in my pocket, too. God supplied me so I was not really in need at all when Kim and Kevin came, but they were generous anyway. 
	I went back to the church to wait for them yesterday afternoon, and stopped in to thank the priest. He said he almost didn't recognize me, though my appearance had hardly changed. I think his eyes changed. He shook my hand warmly and said, "I'm glad I met you. Keep being a good guy." Quite a change from the first words he spoke to me.
	Kevin and Kim arrived shortly after, we went to lunch, to the park, to the store (for better sandals), to dinner. Left the restaurant after 10pm. And we talked about the things of God throughout it all, almost non-stop. I think we were all exhausted; but it was a clean, happy tired. They got me a motel room near the highway I leave on this morning, and gave me some snacks and money. But I was most impressed and thankful that they came all the way down, stayed so late, and were so interested and concerned--not only about me, but about what God was saying and doing. Much more than filial affection. They displayed the love of God and the thirst for holy wisdom; that's inspiring for me.
	I'll grab another continental breakfast before I go. And it is time to go. It has been nice, and restful, good for my feet; but comfort and security can be traps that make faith difficult. Poverty, the road: pilgrimage is better. That's where Jesus was and is--our pilgrim God, the Way.

	7.25
	After almost ten straight hours of talk Sunday, yesterday was incredibly silent. Just walking. I did e-mail a friend in St. Louis (about visiting) and Michael's brother, who heard about my walk and is interested. Walked until dark. The sky stretches over this flat land--like Montana, "big sky country." I watched the sun sink into a mass of broken clouds, sunbeams pouring through the cracks. Then bats at dusk. I met a lady as I arrived in town after dark, and she directed me to a park. Cold night, but I'm used to it. Got hot chocolate this morning and sat in a small gazebo to pray. Giant yellow marigolds, red and pink zinnias nearby, with the sun appearing through the trees. The same lady reappeared this morning with fruit and a sandwich, but I never got her name. Such anonymous human exchanges seem miraculous somehow. An encounter that is not business, not friendship exactly, but... something. Something good.
	When talking about 'give freely' and love on Sunday, Kevin argued that it was "too simple" (though later he seemed very open to working for a 'free will offering,' i.e. voluntary donation rather than imposed payment). But I've come to correlate simplicity with goodness and truth. Like Occam's Razor: the simplest feasible explanation is probably the truest. Even in science, it's when theories start getting bogged down in complexity trying to explain newly discovered phenomena that theorists start looking for a better explanation. Copernicus, Kepler, Galileo and the simplicity of a sun-centered solar system. This agrees with the spiritual truth that the good is one; evil is legion. Truth is simple, straightforward; lies are a tangled web, convoluted to ensure confusion. In this, our complex rationalizations and self-justifications, our intricately reasoned side-stepping around Jesus' 'hard sayings' have the look of a lie. It takes a load of mental maneuvers to deceive ourselves. But the truth, the Good stands always before us. One--"God alone is good." A beautiful, holy simplicity.
	----------

	In town for lunch, I overheard a woman talking about her son, saying how God had blessed him (with success) for choosing the profession that he really enjoyed rather than the one that paid more. The priest I stayed with Friday night said something similar. He commended his young parishioners who chose to be happy staying on the farm rather than moving away to take higher paying jobs. Is 'doing what makes me happy' a virtue? Don't people work at high-paying jobs so that they will have to money to 'do what makes them happy'? Are the two really different? Perhaps doing work you enjoy is more likely than money to lead to what these people desire. But that doesn't make it good--except by some worldly wisdom, not by God's standard. If the point of our labor is our own happiness (with or without money) then are we not simply serving our own self-interest? It's not the same thing as pursuing the labor we think God has called us to, for his glory and for the sake of serving others. Seeking happiness in our work, and sacrificing salary as a result, may be less crass than seeking happiness through money, but both are self-seeking. Both are attempts to 'find our life' and thus both are destined to result in the loss of all we 'find.' "Do what makes you happy" is only a moral maxim on daytime talk shows. Before God, it's simply worldliness.

	7.26
	I found a big Missouri Synod Lutheran church last night, reminding me of my school days. And I slept in the cemetery, reminding me of my first night on the road--I couldn't sleep then, too cold; last night I slept despite the cold.
	Walked about ten miles this morning before a man picked me up on the way into the city (Ft. Wayne, I'm in Indiana now). He is a radio talk host and enthusiastic Christian. Somehow our talk immediately went to business and Christianity. A believer in personal (vs. bureaucratic) charity, he also seemed convinced that "you have to earn it before you can give it away; you have to get the resources before you can do ministry." But I sat in his car a living contradiction to that fallacy, and I told him so. Also, he brought up the Israel-in-the-desert/ Israel-in-Canaan storyline (I had begun to think I was forgetting about 'pilgrimage and faith'). That led me to contrast the faith of pilgrimage with the spiritually distracting effects of security and wealth. The man didn't seem convinced; but he did drive me all the way through the city, dropped me at a buffet restaurant, and paid for my lunch before rushing off. There's a park out back where I took a nap afterwards, under trees by a pond. The owner of the restaurant talked with me too, and offered me free dinner if I wanted to stay. I think I'll just wait till it cools off, then move on.
	Also: I tried to leave a tip, but the waitress saw and said, "Oh no, you might need that." And the man who gave me the ride introduced me at the restaurant as a "traveling evangelist"(!)
	Dragonflies patrol the pond--little yellow ones, and two big black ones with one white stripe across each wing. Small silvery fish break the surface. I feel like I'm catching my breath. A conversation with a radio talk host is talking--words like rush hour traffic! I'll sit here a little longer.

	7.27
	I found out this part of Indiana is rebelling against the whole daylight savings thing. They don't turn their clocks ahead/back. So I had an extra hour to walk last night, and I needed it. What I thought might be a church turned out to be a library (good), but they wouldn't let me stay there (bad). Liability. "I can't help you because you might sue me." I ended up finding a church after dark.
	That 'finances first' stuff from yesterday is a big problem. It's another example of worldly wisdom that chokes ministry and clouds our witness. We're helpless without the rich benefactor and the businessman--just like the rest of the world. But we're not told to get the money first then serve; it's "Seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be yours as well." I've even heard the Bible quoted to defend 'finances first.' Luke 14.28-32, about 'counting the cost.' Of course the next verse is overlooked: "So therefore, whoever of you does not renounce all that he has cannot be my disciple." The 'cost' is not our financial investment but the cost of our life--all must be sacrificed. Not the security of capital but the paying out of our whole self in faith. Verses 34 and 35 conclude about salt losing its saltiness: worthless. We're supposed to be the salt of the earth--so where is our saltiness?

	7.28
	Simple day yesterday--mostly walking. Rinsed clothes in a stream under the highway. Napped in a small town park. A car passed, full of girls yelling and waving, hanging out the window. Found a good church early and slept well--though there was a moment, when a thunderstorm passed close and woke me up. This morning the moon was sharp like a scythe, a huge Cheshire cat grin. It faded quickly.
	In Mark this morning, all the disciples "forsook him and fled." Only one betrayed him, but all forsook him. That's the more common response: not a frontal assault (like Nietzsche, for example) but just quietly backing away. I've been struggling because a friend I hoped to stay with in St. Louis said no, with no explanation. It's more disappointing because complete strangers have shown so much greater kindness. Such situations show the narrow limits of friendship. Poverty and exile tends to destroy the 'commonality' on which friendship is usually based. One very close friend wondered aloud if I would want to associate with her anymore (due to her comparative wealth), though I had never suggested such a thing. More likely, I think the opposite might be true. It's poverty that makes wealth uncomfortable. It's the poor that we want out of sight. But love, such as I've seen from people I hardly know, that's powerful enough to redeem, to elevate, friendship too. That's happened. Kim and Kevin; friends in Chicago. But I ache when friends fail to rise to that level--the 'disturbance' again.

	7.29
	Another first for accommodations last night: a baseball dugout. Not a real in-ground dugout, but a shelter next to the field, at a high school. A little dusty. But I found a coin laundry to wash clothes this morning. I was getting low on money yesterday, when two young boys came running across a lawn towards me, with a big bottle of water. "Do you want to talk to our Grandma?" Their mother and grandmother had seen me two days before, coming out of Ft. Wayne. Now I was walking by Grandma's house. I ended up sitting out a cloudburst there, talking. They gave me fruit and some other food, plus $10. So I can get cleaned up before church tomorrow. Now all I need is a shower.
	I stopped into a library yesterday, too. Asked about buying a book and a lady showed me some from their upcoming book sale. She returned as I was browsing and announced, "They won't let us sell any now" (something about rules limiting the number of sale days) "so if you see one you like, you can have it." Now there's someone who doesn't let the letter of the law overwhelm the spirit. I picked "Les Miserables." It starts: "An hour before sunset, on the evening of a day in the beginning of October 1815, a man traveling afoot entered the little town..." And so the wretched wanderer Jean Valjean is introduced. I think this is a good choice, a book about poverty and wandering, exile.
	----------

	Sometimes litter seems to tell a story. First, I passed a discarded cassette tape, "You Can Quit!" Then, a little further, there's a box labeled "Transdermal Nicotine Delivery System," with most if its contents scattered in the grass. Finally, further still, an empty pack of Marlboro Lights. That last one might have been a coincidence, but I can picture someone, wild-eyed, lighting all twenty at once. Trailing smoke like a locomotive, they race off down the highway, cackling gleefully.
	I thought I wasn't going to find a church tonight. After I managed to get cleaned up by Sunday (washed my hair in the sink at the laundromat), the girl at the gas station says there's no church down the road. But she was wrong. A nice new one is sitting back here in the trees; I saw the bell and investigated. So I'm set for tomorrow morning.
	Nice afternoon, once the rain stopped. I met some kids on my lunch break and spent a good hour with them (even piped for them). They didn't want me to go, then their friends showed up and they disappeared.

	7.30
	A little brown butterfly, with orange and white splotches on its wings, is enthralled with my socks. It keeps licking them. I just left the church, where God overwhelmed me again. Good rest last night, kept dry, then I discover there's a potluck after the service today. I still had $3, but I didn't know of any store nearby. I talked to a number of people before and during the service, then at the dinner the pastor made me introduce myself and say a little about my trip. I stammered out something. But during the meal, the pastor secretly took up an offering for me. He presented it as we finished eating: $75! I was so surprised, I blushed in front of everyone and didn't know what to say. They wouldn't take any back, and I don't know what to do with all this money; I need someone to give it to. Maybe in Chicago. Blessings just overflowed from that little church.
	This seems to contradict the thoughts I was having earlier this morning. In Les Miserables, Jean Valjean has two desires: "to escape from men and to return to God." Yet he soon discovers "he could only enter into sanctity in the eyes of God, by returning into infamy in the eyes of men!" That echoed Paul's words in 1 Corinthians: "If for this life only we have hoped in Christ, we are of all men most to be pitied."(15.19) For to follow Christ in this life is to follow him into infamy in the eyes of men. So what about today? I say I'm "walking for the Lord" and they pat me on the back, feed me, and shower me with money! Is that infamy? But I suppose part of it is that people see what they want to see. Jesus drew adoring crowds and received accolades at first, before he disappointed the masses and offended their leaders with his 'good news.' Perhaps people will begin listening to what I'm saying soon. Then there won't be offerings, I expect. Even from Christians.
	But I do thank these people for their generosity now. God hasn't let me miss a meal in the last two weeks. And now this! Each time I think I know what I'm doing out here...

	8.1
	I forgot to write that when I tried to give some of that collection back, the minister said, "God gave you that much, you're probably going to need it." That's important.
	Because that evening, as I was walking through yet another cornfield just before dark, looking for a town to appear, a trucker picked me up. Within an hour, I was sixty miles closer to Chicago, almost in the southern suburbs. But it was dark. And as I wandered down the expressway off-ramp, I saw only city. Not an easy place to find a safe spot to curl up. But I did see some motels, and I did have an unusually large amount of money in my pocket at that moment. The motels were near the expressway, and almost full, so they were pretty expensive. But I got a room on my second try, with $9 left over. I called Tim so we could arrange to meet in the morning. Suddenly, I was here!
	That was the night before last. Yesterday morning, I got cleaned up for my arrival, and Tim arranged for a nearby priest (a friend and former student of his) to collect me. This priest took me out to breakfast, we talked for a good hour, and he put me on the train to the city (with $25 spending money). A very warm man. I also found out that one of my Dominican classmates came from his parish! I may stay with that priest when I leave and start south.
	Tim's house was bursting with flowers. I let myself in and took my first deep breath of a week of rest.

	I had been wanting a ride in a semi, but assumed it was against company policy since no trucker ever offered. Well, I got my ride. But it wasn't so pleasant. The young driver soon made it clear that he was looking for "companionship," and I suddenly felt very vulnerable. Nothing came of it, and the guy even diverted his route to get me closer to Chicago, so overall I could only be grateful. But trucking wasn't what I expected. It felt very cold; a hard world. I also met an older driver outside the motel who had a scar across his throat where a robber had cut him, attempted to murder him, really. A hard world. The voices on the CB radio provided the fitting imagery: anonymous, disembodied, often foul--words without thickness floating through space. Symbolizing loneliness and isolation, strangers sliding by each other, hardened lives. Fear, too; I can see why they don't pick people up. They roam the same roads I do, but the journey is not the same; the difference is immeasurable. I only briefly touched their world, and it made me sad. Hopefully, through the sight of a lone pilgrim on the highway, God can comfort the heart of a trucker now and then.

	8.2
	I taped "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" last night and watched it today--first time since April. Xander is snooping around in the snooty British librarian's apartment, and he finds a TV there, under a pile of books. "Look!" he says, "Giles has a TV! He's shallow, like us!"
	Talked to Michael last night, after a great dinner at an Italian restaurant. I had penne, with sausage, tomatoes, eggplant, and goat cheese! Incredibly good. Looks like I'll go stay with Michael Sunday and Monday nights, and maybe till his brother gets here Wednesday. His brother heard about my walk and wants to talk to me. I'd like that. But that means another whole week without walking--I'll get soft! My feet already feel great after only two days off.

	8.3
	I'm reading Henri Nouwen's "Genessee Diary," which he wrote while visiting a monastery. At points, he struggles with anger (about religious practice, conservatism, "needless" labor) but feels it must simply be his own issues, since the monks seem to him so good and kind. It seems to me that their 'niceness' (my interpretation) shames him in his anger. Perhaps his own romantic conception of the loftiness of religious life also plays in. But I can identify with the struggle with 'niceness.' How can I be angry with such nice people? How can I even suggest that they perpetrate such injustices? I look down this pleasant street, neat, lined with pretty houses and colored with flowers--so nice. And the people are friendly and smiling. But the money gathered here to maintain such nice residences, with two cars each, and the furnishings and wardrobes inside, represents an injustice. It is much more than these people need, while others suffer great want in this very same city. The child next door, left with a nanny, while both parents drive off (one in a Mercedes) leaving him crying, this child also suffers injustice. At three, he already feels the hard edge of worldliness. And this is only what stands blatantly on the surface; within each house is much more. Nice people, yes. Perhaps good in many respects, as Nouwen's monks were good in many respects. But sinners, too. There is cause for anger, just cause, and good reasons to speak out, denouncing lies where they hide. Often under such a nice veneer. But to speak, not in anger, but in the truth that cannot be separated from love, that is the challenge. For we are all under that truth; no person is above it, or owns it. It is God's.

	8.5
	Talked to a good friend the night before last. So good to hear her voice again. But she laid several charges against me, questioning the "morality" of what I am doing, "disturbed" by my actions. I know people will continue to accuse me along these same lines, of being irresponsible, selfish, immoral. I just wish it wasn't her.
	The conversation with her (plus some of Nouwen's comments) echoed other common discussions on vocation and discernment. We want to do that which makes us feel good about ourselves. Also that which enables us to accomplish what we have chosen to do (which in turn makes us feel good about ourselves--powerful). This even becomes the criterion for truth. Goodness and truth becomes "that which affirms me." Politics and business takes this up, using it to motivate people--and if that doesn't work, the threat of violence will. Always appealing to the ends that apparently justify the means that we feel affirms us. This is a symptom of our lostness. Always looking to results--success, accomplishment, and how it makes us feel--to determine the goodness of our actions. This demonstrates our separation from goodness itself. The only solution is an intimacy with God that unites goodness with our very act of willing. The love of God acting though faith. This may or may not affirm us, but it always affirms God. To reflect God in our actions is to affirm him; we cannot see him without praising him. Nouwen comes up with the statement "We are the glory of God"; he's told by the abbot to meditate on the line: "I am the glory of God." As a blanket statement, that's wishful thinking at best; at worst, it's simply false. When God's love is seen in us he is glorified, but this is often not the case. Nature is usually more consistent in displaying the glory of God. But when people do display it, it is clearer, more complete. God's glory, however, cannot be identified with (or limited to) us, any more than God can be identified with us. God's glory is his love. When we are motivated (through faith) by that love, moved by God himself, then we glorify him. Otherwise, he is glorified in spite of us, despite our attempt to contradict his reality: his love, truth, goodness, beauty.
	People accuse me because of my ineffectiveness, my dependency, and because my life "condemns" others. This is what makes it "disturbing," even of "questionable morality." I cannot defend myself (and should not) by appealing to results, accomplishments, ends; I must only appeal to the act of love itself, one which only faith can discern. Love knows love. Those close to God recognize closeness to God in others. There is nothing higher or surer.
	----------

	Great line this morning, in 2 Corinthians (2.17): "We are not, like so many, peddlers of God's word; but... in the sight of God we speak in Christ."

	8.6
	Leaving Tim's this afternoon to go to Michael's. Good rest here. Read these comforting words this morning (2 Cor 6.8-10):

We are treated as impostors, and yet are true; as unknown, and yet well known; as dying, and behold we live; as punished, and yet not killed; as sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; as poor, yet making many rich; as having nothing, and yet possessing everything.
	-----------

	The interdenominational, interfaith worship service this morning brought me back to "whatever affirms me is good" (from yesterday). Also, an article I read about hallucinogenic drugs ("plants and chemicals") and religious experience. In reality, life experiences do not always affirm us, don't treat us like the heroes we may imagine we are. So the need for religious re-interpretation. The pastor today preached on the Harry Potter mythology and why it speaks to us today. Like the books, his talk was very imaginative and seemed directed to satisfy the affirmation desire. Even the 'challenges' were shame-on-yous for doubts in our self-affirmation. Everyone clapped. But the Author of reality is not so easily swept away. Life proceeds absolutely. And we are not the central hero of this story. Soothing words, practiced meditation (almost a group hypnosis this morning, with music and his voice, caressing, caressing), or mind-altering substances can temporarily help us forget this. If the whole community cooperates, the distraction can be even more effective. But reality remains. God is not conjured to affirm us. Oneness with God and all people is not produced by hypnosis or hallucination, whether individual or collective. God is. Unity, oneness means conformity to God, which means surrender to him, loss of self into his love. Faith. God is the hero; even among human beings, God alone--Jesus Christ--is the hero. It's his story, into which we are welcomed in love, invited to be made a part of life and truth. But as his body. It remains always his story, his glory, his life; all reality exists from God and though God and in God. In comparison, our 'religious' fabrications are a child's playtime: empty, self-glorifying fantasies. "Get out of your head," they say. Right, because a clear head quickly sees how false it all is. But God is real, real as the food he provides, real as self-sacrificing compassion, more real than death, real as life. God does not exist to affirm us, but we can exist (as disciples) to affirm God. Or rather, he affirms himself through our faithful obedience. "By this all men will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another."(Jn 13.35) "By this we know that we love the children of God, when we love God and keep his commandments. For this is the love of God, that we keep his commandments."(1 Jn 5.2-3, also Jn 14.15)

	8.9
	I've been visiting at Michael's since Sunday. He's busy, so lots of time alone, but also some good talks; and his children keep things interesting. A 3-year-old boy, and a daughter, almost two. Instead of yes and no, she says "yep" and "nope": "That's a butterfly, isn't it?" "yep." "Do you want to go outside?" "yep." And Michael and I went downtown last night, for a grand view of the city. A darkening skyline, sparkling with electric fire, and the lake gentle at the city's edge. We pushed through the busy streets in his car, hardly noticing the crowds and the lit buildings because of our conversation. Talked mostly about discerning God's will and the pressures of work, how these are related. Somehow, 'ambition' came up. And I do think ambition is the cause of much of the draining stress of work. It drives us until we are in over our heads, and keeps us from letting go at that point. It claims to provide our identity. If we can at least be good at something, then life will be meaningful and satisfying. 'Good at' again. No--be good. There's no ambition in being good; it is simply obedience. Not my idea, not my agenda, not my strength, not my perseverance, not my glory. "God alone is good." Ambition is a worldly value (and it appears everywhere--from business to art to motherhood). Not ambition, but love should be our motivation.

	8.10
	Michael's three-year-old boy offered these words of wisdom yesterday: "Nipples don't come off." True enough.
	This morning, Jesus stands up in the synagogue and reads from Isaiah: "The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to captives and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty those who are oppressed..."(Lk 4.18) That's the gospel: good news, release, enlightenment, liberty. With the liberty I'm experiencing now, I expect people to be inspired and desire such liberty. That "the birds and the lilies" is true--what freedom! But that is often (usually!) not the response. That good news, that liberty, comes only through faith--which means dying to self; "losing your life"; abandoning ambition and material security; poverty; exile. Seeing some of this, people recoil. They conclude that the message is only condemnation, loss, death. So they choose to remain prisoners, blind, oppressed, even when the life--life beyond the 'death' of faith--is demonstrated, right before their eyes. That's continually disturbing. To have to walk away and leave someone in the prison of their own choosing. While they comfort themselves: "It's not so bad." Jesus couldn't do much in Nazareth, and he told them so. They responded by trying to run him off a cliff; from admirers to executioners, in a word.

	8.11
	Went to a pro baseball game yesterday; free tickets for me, Michael, his brother and girlfriend. Great seats. Lower deck, seventh row, right behind the dugout off third base. I spent innings 6 to 9 talking to Michael's brother about my experiences, poverty, trusting God. He's quite an adventurer himself, though now he's getting settled into a career and thinking about marriage. Making that move towards "having things, just not being attached to them." I see that as almost always being a rationalization, a self-deception, and I gently told him so. But he seems to be sincerely seeking, and that's good.
	Last night, I got back down to see the priest that drove me from the motel to the train station (on July 31st). Again, he was very welcoming and generous. Spent all evening with me, talking. And he took me to breakfast this morning. Good, interesting conversations. He only pulled back when we discussed institutions; he seemed to think them necessary for community life. I don't think so, and have little good to say about institutions. There are natural communities based on realities like blood (families), location (towns), and ultimately the Body of Christ. These are real grounds for community, with the Body of Christ providing a full unity that crosses all boundaries, and is never threatened. It never has to define or re-create or defend itself; it is always as real as he is. It exists because Christ is. And all are invited to participate in the way, the truth, the life that he is. On the other hand, institutions are necessary for the goals of business and politics, and institutions clearly bear the mark of these pursuits, their values and their methods. Thus institutions become another of the 'necessary' evils of worldliness.
	Now I'm walking again, after almost two weeks off. I felt a little faint starting out; nerves, I think. Some food in my pockets, enough for today at least, and 85 cents--a big change from the security of a bed and full refrigerator for the last twelve days. A little scary. But the familiarity with the road comes back quickly, and I had many good, deep conversations during my rest. I'm thankful to God and to all who were involved, opening their homes and their hearts.

	8.12
	Tough day yesterday, leaving a place of rest. Twice I met people who gave encouraging words (and a bunch of grapes from some guys putting in posts along the highway)--that helped. But a little cloud hung over me from the morning's conversation with the priest. He said he believed I was searching for something (how often have I heard that!), which is disappointing because it suggests that he took my words to be the result of a confused longing. The conjectures of a young man who has yet to find himself. I'm sorry about that. But what more can I do? I think I make it clear that I'm satisfied (with clear conscience), living in imitation of Jesus (like Paul, Dominic, Francis, and others who also imitated him), and God is supporting me (making "Seek first.." a literal reality). The "he's looking for something" conclusion must come from somewhere else. I suppose, since I lack stability and material security--which it is assumed everyone desires--then I must be seeking. But I do not seek those things here on earth. I must admit I desire them, but I believe they are only to be had in heaven, our enduring city, our eternal rest. Security and stability are always temporary on earth (we deceive ourselves to think otherwise). And very often the struggle to achieve these things leads to serious compromises, rationalizations, and suffering inflicted on ourselves and others. The security of my last two weeks could not last without me becoming a burden on those I love, or (worse) adopting worldly methods to the detriment of myself and all others I 'deal' with. So walking again is good and right. And I point my desire for security towards God, and the heaven he has promised. I walk here below, but I do not seek here below; what I seek is above. [After further reflection, I see that this is the best answer to give people who assume I am 'seeking.' "Yes, I am seeking--but not what you think..."]
	----------

	Slept under a big bush last night; tonight it looks like it'll be a high school baseball dugout. On the edge of town, near a church for tomorrow morning. Got two short rides today, and my food lasted all day.

	8.13
	Good thing I got to sleep early last night. Because this morning, before 6am, there was a train whistle blasting, a screeching jay, rain on the thin metal roof, and about a million roosters. OK! I'm up--give it a rest!
	Great passages in 2 Corinthians this morning:

For you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though he was rich, yet for your sake he became poor, so that by his poverty you might become rich. (8.9)

And Paul writes:

[The Lord] said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." I will all the more gladly boast of my weaknesses, that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, calamities; for when I am weak, then I am strong. (12.9-10)

	I think I have been struggling with a feeling of impotence, weakness. Not only the inability to acquire food and shelter when I want them, but also my failure to communicate to others the beauty of "give freely," "turn the other cheek," "the birds and the lilies." Not that this should discourage me, but sometimes I wonder why?, what good does this do?, is this really the best way?, etc. It's frustration and impatience with my own weakness. But in faith I must respond, "When I am weak, then I am strong; because God's power is made perfect in weakness."
	A Presbyterian church this morning, and the front of the bulletin is emblazoned with Jn 6.35: "Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty." And, coincidentally, the annual church picnic is today. I was cordially invited.
	----------

	We had church outside, nice and casual, and the pastor introduced me (we met when he arrived and I was waiting for the church to open). So several people approached me after the service. Best response: As I was talking to a guy about trying to minister as a Christian outside the institutional structure, he interjects "Well, that's how it started out!" (Exactly!) Another man slipped me $20 after the picnic--covertly, in a handshake, like we were passing secret information. But many people heard all about my trip (even asking about how I 'financed' it) and gave nothing. That's good, in a way. Because I really get the feeling that I'm not pressuring or manipulating anyone. It goes back to the comments about strength in weakness (and the conversation with the priest Thursday night, who felt some manipulation was OK, even inevitable). Jesus forced nothing, endured everything. He took on weakness, that we might be converted, not conquered. I would like to help inspire acts of kindness, but never pressure people into it--love has to be free; it cannot be manipulated. So I simply answer people's questions, letting them determine the extent and the direction of the conversation. And I present my satisfaction rather than my need. "God is taking good care of me in every way." And God has so consistently provided (I haven't missed a meal in about a month now) that I'm thinking less about food. But I don't want to take it for granted!

	8.14
	I had to walk longer than I wanted to yesterday because (speaking of food...) no food to be found. But evening walking is the nicest. There were fine swirls of clouds to the west last night, the sun melting into them. And on the opposite horizon, a ghost-moon appeared, rising full out of the darkening blue of the sky. Strings of purple clouds marked its ascent. The moon grew brighter and more yellow as the sun fell and burned bright pink, flattening into an oval as it struck the horizon. Soon only the moon was left, very bright, against the dusk sky dusted pink. I slept at the edge of a cornfield, on straw, shielded from the road by tall grass. A cat came through the corn, saw me, and disappeared.
	Got to town early, for breakfast and a visit to the library. I hope it's open this early.
	----------

	Good day, but very hot and humid. I sent a number of e-mails and checked the road ahead (libraries have better maps than I carry), staying in town through lunch. Then a long, straight road under the sun. The next town was very welcome. Perfect, too: a deserted church with a tree to nap under, a small store with a shaded table nearby, and water available to drink and rinse clothes. An oasis in the cornfields. I'll just shoot for the next town tonight--a short day, but it's too hot to push further.

	8.15
	That "short day" turned out to be about 70 miles.
	Last night, after dark, I was approaching the town I planned to stay in. Full moon again, rising pink then turning a dark yellow (I'm not sure if this was the second or third night of the full moon--it's full for three nights each cycle, that's what the werewolves say and they should know. I learned that from "Buffy"). A guy offers me a ride into town, then decides to take me further since he's headed that way. About an hour later, I'm 55 miles away, in Farmer City (really, that's the name). It's dark, and I don't know where to go, but I find a restaurant just closing. I ask for directions, from a teenager there. But he's "better at going than telling," so he drives me to the center of town, shows me a store, and drops me at his church. Doesn't ask any questions, just "Have a safe journey, and farewell." The church is right in town, but it's after dark and apparently everyone is asleep. Soon I am too.
	I got up early this morning, and sure enough, it's a farmers' town. The grocery store opened at 6:30am. And, when it did open, there was four people (besides me) waiting! I got food and yesterday's newspaper (free), then had breakfast and prayer in the town square. A small park with multi-colored snap dragons and huge white lilies. Now I'm about two days ahead of schedule.
	----------

	Wow--moving fast again. I tried to sit out the heat, but had to move about 4pm, to get close to the next town for food tomorrow morning. So I soaked my shirt and hat and set out. HOT. And I was just thinking, "This would be a good time to get a ride," when two guys in a pickup offered me one. Ten miles in ten minutes--wind trying to tear off my hat as I sat in the back of the truck. Suddenly I was at a library again. "Just doin' the Boy Scout thing," the guy said (gave me $1.50, too). The library didn't allow e-mail normally, but made an exception for me. St. Louis is all set. But if I get there early...? We'll see.
	I've been trying to remember a Charles DeFoucault prayer I memorized once (at a monastery in England; I learned it as a chant). Got it all but two lines, which I looked up on the internet:

	Father, I abandon myself into your hands;
	Do with me what you will.
	Whatever you may do, I thank you--
	I am ready for all, I accept all.

	Let only your will be done in me
	And in all your creatures.
	I wish no more than this, O Lord.
	Into your hands I commend my soul.

	I offer it to you
	With all the love of my heart.
	For I love you Lord,
	And so need to give myself--

	To surrender myself into your hands
	Without reserve,
	And with boundless confidence
	For you are my Father.

	8.16
	I meant to stop in this tiny town for lunch, after a quiet morning. The walking was good; more contour to the terrain now, and trees casting shadows across the road. Climbed down to a small river under a highway overpass, washed and shaved, and rinsed clothes. I was feeling dirty. But it was a relaxed morning, until just before lunch. I was about to stop when a man and his wife (with a baby in the back seat) offered me a ride--and took me all the way to Springfield. Over 35 miles. He used to hitchhike and was once a 'carny.' We talked about traveling by foot and thumb, and about charity. It seems they are fairly poor themselves and had gone to several churches for help from time to time. "Jesus told them to give, right?" he said. Absolutely! So now I'm four days ahead of schedule. I visited the library and sent messages trying to adjust for my arrival. Then I wandered through the capitol of Illinois: Abe Lincoln Central. His home, his church pew, a statue of young Lincoln in front of the capitol building. Then on to a hug park and botanical garden. Lots of elaborate flower beds--big exotic irises, my favorite--and a carillon tower, tolling every 15 minutes. I need to take an hour or two to slow back down.
	I'm enjoying my book, "A Canticle for Leibowitz," about monks who preserve knowledge after a nuclear holocaust (it starts out with a pilgrim, too). In a discussion about truth, the author acknowledges that some philosophers (and scientists) have claimed truth is immortal, eternal. It cannot therefore be lost. But he says that's immaterial, since the truth that counts is the truth that people know (limited as that is)--and that can be lost. So there has to be continual research, re-interpretation, and teaching. Even written 'truth' is not safe since it has to be grasped by each succeeding generation (with their own unique language, culture, world view) or it too will be lost, by becoming meaningless. I would say most people agree with this. But what if truth is eternal and accessible by all? What if Truth is a person, who gives himself willingly to those who seek him? That's a more biblical view, and a solid Christian view if Christ is understood as the Truth. Not that we'll know everything (like how to build an electric generator) through faith and prayer. But we can know all that's important in life that way. Coming to know the Truth that is God himself makes all "working" truth (science, craft, experience) seem like crude precursors to knowledge. And yet it also glorifies them, since they too are part of God's will. But it puts them in their place, as useful but not eternal, as helpful but not satisfying, as interesting but not ultimate. Also, following the Truth, we can unconsciously come in line with truths such as the laws of nature and psychology. We serve God, and thus cooperate with nature that also serves God, and also with other people serving God. I can find no other explanation for the 'miracle' I have been living for the last month and a half. And I can't help thinking that this is the way life ought to be lived, not because it's easy, but because I believe it's obedient and loving (obedience = love when it's obedience to God who is Love). From DeFoucault's prayer: "Let only your will be done in me, and in all your creatures. I wish no more than this, O Lord."

	8.17
	Not that things always work out easily for the follower of Christ, or that they become a material success, I obviously don't mean that. "Woe to you that are rich... to you that are full now... to you that laugh now"(Lk 6.24-25. Luke's beatitudes are more physically oriented: "Blessed are you poor... Blessed are you that hunger now... Blessed are you that weep now." Yet Christians flee these things, and count riches as the favor of God). I mean that when we are obedient to God's will, he will support us in following that will. God will provide what we need to obey him, as he provides for all his creation to obey him. That's what I mean by "coming in line with truth" and "cooperating with nature and others" (who serve God). The miracle of being 'in sync' with reality.
	Last night did work out well, however. It was after dark before I got out of town, and didn't know where I'd stay in this stretch of shopping malls and busy four-lane highway. I was hoping for something a little cozier than a bush next to the road. Then I saw a glowing cross in the dark. A church right where I needed it; and in back, a little wooden playhouse--accommodations for one. Very nice. I may have a nagging cold, and only 65 cents, but last night was a comfort.
	Luke's "Sermon on the Plain" this morning, with those beautiful beatitudes, also has this passage (that's more explicit than in Matthew's version):

If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners love those who love them. And if you do good to those who do good to you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners do the same. And if you lend to those from whom you hope to receive, what credit is that to you? Even sinners lend to sinners, to receive as much again. But love your enemies, and do good, and lend expecting nothing in return; and your reward will be great, and you will be sons of the Most High... (Lk 6.32-35)

I've tried to ease up on the politics/business rant, but this passage is too perfect. Politics (with its deal-making and partisanship) and business (with its tit-for-tat and loan-making) take heavy hits with these words, at least they should among Christians. How can we justify treating our family and friends according to love ("give freely") and strangers according to the practices of business and politics? Do not even sinners do the same? (And I have no idea how a Christian banker--or bank patron--can operate without choking on these words. Lend without expecting return?! What about my interest!) OK--calm down. And remember, the next verses are "Judge not." I don't know what's in people's hearts. But the acts, the practices, certainly are questionable; and Christians clearly should stand apart in this area, as witnesses ("children of the Most High"). It doesn't seem that we do.
	----------

	 I don't know what's going on. It was supposed to be in the low 80s today, but by 10:30am it was already well into the 90s. I got to a library, and so had a comfortable early afternoon; but I needed to get moving by 2pm. My last 65 cents bought two bananas and a granola bar: lunch. Which was fine, but the road was hideously hot; only a constant breeze made it bearable. Then a guy picked me up only 2 1/2 miles out of town. And suddenly I'm another 10-15 miles down the road, at another library, hydrated and cool. A bank marquis on the way into town said 99F. So I'll stay here until close to sunset, then move to the next, smaller, town. I'm certainly in no rush. It looks like I'll be in St. Louis by Monday or Tuesday; I hope I can arrange lodging--my 'reservation' with the Dominicans is for the following Saturday to Tuesday. Plans, like the weather, are all mixed up. And I'm all out of food and money, without a clue how more will come. As I said, I don't know what's going on.

	8.19
	In distress you called, and I delivered you;
	I answered you in the secret place of thunder... (Ps 81.7)

	Missed a day, so I have to catch up. I left the library the night before last, in cooler temperatures. But I was only about a mile down the road when the wind changed and a storm began pursuing me. BIG black clouds. I got to the next town just as the rain and lightning caught me--under a roof on the porch of a little church. And food! I found two personal-size bags of Doritos, unopened, by the side of the road. Tasted great--manna from heaven, nacho cheese flavor. After Doritos again for breakfast, nothing to eat until late afternoon. Stopped in a library to tell friends in St. Louis that I was just coming, and if there was lodging, great; if not, I'd just keep going. Discovered some apple trees (ripe Romes!) that afternoon for nourishment. Then I came upon a state park, with camping and... showers! I got really clean for the first time in a week. Then found a little church in the next town (right in the middle of town, unfortunately) and settled down for the night. For about an hour. That's when the sheriff pulled up--he had gotten several calls. He checked my ID, even frisked me; but he turned out to be the kindest cop I've met. He drove me to the next town, conversing the whole way, bought me a soda, and arranged for me to stay at a local pastor's house. Another cop at the station ran out to get me a sandwich! Then, at the pastor's, I found a bed set up in the garage, with fruit, water, and a honey bun on the bedside table. I talked with the pastor for quite a while, about pilgrimage topics, and met his kids. Slept great last night, with fruit for breakfast and half a sandwich left for lunch.
	Sitting waiting for the library to open, early this morning, I met several people. Two cops (new shift) stopped by to check me out; a man followed them up--"Cops givin' you a hard time?"--and gave me $5; and another young man talked to me for about half an hour. He helped me find the laundromat, grocery, and got me change for the five. So I'm doing laundry now (I needed it!).
	When the police walked up this morning, I was feeling a little vulnerable and harassed. Not that the policemen were unkind, rather they were very friendly and respectful (after they checked my ID), and the ones last night were generous and went out of their way to help. The young deputy even seemed reluctant to have to check me out. He seemed to want to leave me alone, but had to respond to the calls from suspicious townsfolk--and he chose to spend time finding me a place to stay rather than answer a call about an unruly party. The other cop last night was similar; he said he'd let me sleep in the park, but if the sergeant found out he'd "have a cat" (be upset?). Thus the police (sometimes reluctantly) simply reflect the suspicious feelings of the community, towards strangers, the poor, the homeless. I can only imagine that Jesus would get similar treatment if he showed up today. It's so frustrating. Because how can you possibly expect people to be open to a message (hear preaching of any sort) if they want to run you out of town the minute they see you?
	So, while acknowledging all the acts of kindness, I'm still pretty distressed by society. As in the Psalms this morning: "My people did not listen to my voice... so I gave them over to their stubborn hearts, to follow their own counsels"(81.11-12); and "They have neither knowledge nor understanding, they walk about in darkness."(82.5) But I am encouraged by God's care for me amidst it all: "Open your mouth wide, and I will fill it... I would feed you with finest wheat, and with honey from the rock I would satisfy you."(81.10,16)

	8.21
	I've arrived at St. Louis to a whirlwind of activity and welcome. I called yesterday, to let people know I would be early (six days earlier than my original plan), and a room was ready when I showed up. I'm impressed.
	When I left the town Saturday morning (last entry), people warned me that from there to St. Louis it was all city. Luckily, that was not true. That night, I found a break in the metropolis: a swath of farmland between the Mississippi and Missouri rivers. And on it, a little town; and in that town, a little community church. I slept on the front porch of that church, sheltered from the rain, and no one called the police. Then I walked the last 20 miles on 5oz of bread, a granola bar, and four sticks of gum. For the following four days, however, all-you-can-eat.
	The walk in was fairly uneventful. I visited a big Lutheran church for Sunday service. When the greeter saw me walk in, she said, "What can we do for you?" Not exactly the welcome I'd hoped for. But there were two good pilgrimage hymns and the story of the miracle of the loaves, so I felt better. Later, an evangelizer of some sort approached me on the street. He was glad to hear I was a Christian, but after hearing a bit of my story, he encouraged me to do something a little more "productive" with my life. Not a real vote of confidence.
	But my reception here has been incredible. Old friends are very happy to see me, gathering around to hear my story. Everyone seems inspired and praising God, even the new guys I don't know, and the kitchen staff, too. I've had some longer talks with some people, and I am setting up appointments for the next two days. It's so good that I'm here earlier, when people are free--just unpacking and preparing for classes. I really feel God pushed me in early (through unplanned rides) to allow for more connections here. An overwhelming reception. Someone even slipped an anonymous $20 bill under my door! Fittingly enough, the preaching this morning was on the rich young man: "If you would be perfect, sell all you have, give to the poor, and follow me."

	8.22
	Finished "A Canticle for Leibowitz," by Walter M. Miller, Jr. A remarkably powerful and moving book, spiritually acute and pious (in the tradition of monastic spirituality), without dishonesty. I was surprised. And this line today: "...none was more susceptible than the wanderer to the ills that afflict the spirit to torture faith and nag a belief, harrowing the mind with doubts." 
	That was exactly my state--harrowed--during the few days before I arrived here. Struggling with crude temptations and not clearly victorious. There are specific examples: The apple trees I mentioned in the entry on the 19th bothered me for days. They were not just apple trees, but apple trees in an orchard, somebody’s orchard. I should not have taken from that orchard without asking--I'm convinced of that now. But at the time, the apples seemed like a gift from God to a hungry man. I think I knew better; I took them quickly, sneakily. But I rationalized: "The owner has millions of apples (a big orchard, in full ripeness), too much for him, and I am hungry, with nothing. In justice, the few apples I took are more mine than his, no matter what the property laws say." And I believe that's basically true. A person's need really determines what they have a right to, not money or laws or 'no trespassing' signs. But I ought not to have taken them. I should not forcefully impose even a justice; I should not make a rich man share with the poor (Robin Hood was wrong!). If I must have an apple, I should request it and hope in the generosity of others, that they will correct the injustice themselves. That might give them an opportunity to repent of the resources they withhold from others as they gather pay for what God has freely given them. That's the right thing; that's love for the owner, not just securing food. "Life is much more than food." 
	Later, walking into St. Louis, another incident: I found a young woman's wallet on the side of the road. With make-up, a driver's license, and $9 in it. I'd had a small breakfast, but had no money for lunch and 20 miles to walk. The best thing seemed to be to mail the wallet to her once I arrived here, returning it with the least trouble for her. But I really wanted to take out lunch money first. I could explain it, she would understand; or I'd say I took out postage money to mail it back; or, really, she'd probably already replaced the license and forgotten the wallet--I could keep the money! UGH! How low I sank in rationalizing my desire to steal. Just a little hunger and I was torn by doubts. But I happened upon a police station, and delivered myself from the little purse that weighed so much. I turned it in and escaped. Maybe sending it to her would have been better, she wouldn't have had to drive in (from Illinois) to reclaim it. But I was too weak at that point to carry it. Now that I am fed and comfortable, it all seems pitiful and low. But: "none is more susceptible than the wanderer...." I pray next time love will be closer to my heart.
	----------

	Thinking a little about the religious demand to be "productive" in ministry. To do 'much' is not the same as doing 'good.' The widow's two pennies were more valuable to Jesus than the riches of others. And much that is done in the name of religion is 'productive' work in opposition to the kingdom of God. Jesus rebuked some for this in Matthew 23.13-15:

Woe to you, scibes and Pharisees, hypocrites! because you shut the kingdom of heaven against men; for you neither enter yourselves, nor allow those who would enter to go in. Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for you traverse sea and land to make a single proselyte, and when he becomes a proselyte, you make him twice as much a child of hell as yourselves. 

The only 'productive' talk I hear in the gospel is about God’s productivity: we merely plant, he brings the growth: 30-, 60-, 100-fold. We plant, water, or reap by acts of faithful witness at opportune moments, but the bounty of the harvest is his work. Fixation on efficiency or productivity in work (instead of purity of motive, or truth, or love) is a symptom of the worldly lie.

	8.23
	From Kierkegaard (I saw an anthology and was drawn to him once again):

In the magnificent cathedral the Honorable and Right Reverend So and So, the elect favorite of the fashionable world, appears before an elect company and preaches with emotion upon the text he himself selected: "God hath chosen the base things of the world, and the things that are despised." And nobody laughs! [1 Cor 1.28]

	8.24
	I'm overwhelmed by the reception in St. Louis. Several long talks with Dominican brothers I knew, and also talks with the new guys. I saw Harry and Joanne, too, both very supportive (she also gave me $20). And so many seemed to really understand the implications of my walk, and were challenged by them. Talked about poverty (among other things) with one brother and the next morning he gives me a card with $80 in it! Now I'm put in the position of giving (materially) to others--strange! On top of this, Kevin sends an e-mail that's very supportive of the 'give freely' ideas we talked about when he and Kim met me in Ohio. He presented it so well, and from the perspective of someone who knows business, that I want to send it to others. That's the first time someone has responded so positively to that message. I'm not used to this!
	
[Here's Kevin's e-mail:

I've been meaning to write you for a while. Our talk several weeks ago has hung on me rather strongly. The main issue that has been surfacing (and challenging me) is the issue of doing things in love--and love being characterized by freely giving (we spoke about this in relation to charging people for work-done). The related issue of having pressure "in business" to cut corners on one's service to either make the profit or increase it has also become more apparent to me. I am really trying to see what Jesus' walk as a "business man" looks like. Though I still maintain that "the getting paid" for doing work for someone is not the problem--I am beginning to be challenged that it indeed may be "the charging" that is the problem. Since we talked, I have become increasingly intrigued by that one example of commerce I mentioned to you where the restaurateur didn't charge for the meals--patrons paid what they thought it was worth. (Recognizing the limitations of this example with respect to the restaurant's location), I think that is something that could be done in the consulting I'm engaged in. The practice of not charging, but rather allowing the recipient ("client") freedom to pay (or not) what they consider the value of the service to be holds a great deal of appeal to me (probably in some ways because of my rebellious leanings) but also because of the myriad implications: the provider of the service becomes free to do the right thing and is not coerced into doing what is often ill-established as the scope of work for fear of not getting paid; the provider's attention is on those they serve and how well they serve them (not on how well the service they render stacks up against the fees they will receive--thus helping to avoid related temptations to "cut corners"); the provider is set free from the need to "protect themselves from the recipient" (what a twisted implication, eh?) with escape clauses and exclusions to the contract in order to come up with the lowest competitive bid in order to get the job (another manifestation of "cutting corners" even before the job is acquired); etc.

I have also been thinking about the effect it would have on the normal bidding process if someone submitted a bid that said something along the lines of: "the customer is free to pay whatever amount they deem the service that is provided is worth". It could throw the bidding process out the window if it was embraced. It's ironic, but I think that would eliminate that bidder from contention: they would probably be held in suspicion (--what are the lawyers going to do with a contract like that?) It's also ironic that the customer may realize that they no longer would have power over the provider (via a threat of nonpayment) and thus they may become fearful of accepting service from someone who didn't charge them. Fascinating implications of current business ethics, eh? 

I am not sure how this may play out (or whether it is possible to explore this in my current employment). Nevertheless, I have been attentive to what it would take. It's been interesting to become aware of how much we are affected by the notion of reciprocity (eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth.... extra effort for extra recognition, etc.). Subsequent to our talk, I also began to notice that I was not always doing things freely--out of love--expecting nothing in return. I got "eyes to see" instances where I knowingly was putting forth minimal effort, because the others on the team were not "pulling their weight". Seeing, and then changing to do things out of love, was liberating.] 
	----------

	In "Nausee," Sartre says we must choose: tell or live. And truly, telling about something you did (or, better, telling about something someone else did) is not the same as doing it. Telling has its place--preaching, for example. But to live, to do, is primary; telling is but a dim reflection of that. I certainly have enjoyed 'telling' these last four days, however. But now it's time to continue the walk, not just talk about it. It was hard to step away again, but easier than Chicago (partially because I'm so well-supplied now); and now I'm already 'out there.'
	I took the train across the river and started walking south this morning. The Arch was bright steel against the heavy blue of a stormy sky. A guy pulls alongside and asks me where I'm going. 
	"Florida."
	"Heh, heh... For real?"
	I nod.
	"God be with you, man" he says and drives off, shaking his head.

	8.26
	Too much talking to write the last two days. It seems "telling" is becoming more and more of my way of "living." I thought about that in St. Louis, about emphasizing the preaching aspect more--not just pilgrimage, but pilgrimage for the sake of the gospel. It seems like I've had the opportunity to act on that, too. A young man picked me up after dark the night before last (he was on the way home from a marijuana run), and we stayed up till almost midnight talking. About God, the church, his family, his "crutches" (drinking, smoking pot). He was very generous--he let me sleep there and take a shower, and he offered me food. But his "crutches" made him feel like a sinner. I read him Matthew 25, about the judgment and "as you did it to the least of my brothers, you did it to me." The next day, I ran into a middle-aged Jehovah's Witness, at a Kingdom Hall way out in the country. She was very enthusiastic and we talked for maybe two hours. Especially about the Bible, but also about faith, family, and denominational differences. I was impressed by how much we believed in common. She gave me some Watchtower magazines (of course), but also $20. (I have to figure out what to do with all this money--over $120 now!) Then, a few hours later, I come up to a car waiting in a driveway. Waiting for me. A college-aged girl had passed me and pulled in to offer me a ride (she'd often needed a ride herself, before she got her car, so she knew the feeling). She ended up driving me over 50 miles and we talked all the way. She is spiritually inclined (even believes she has a prophetic gift) but was disillusioned by the politics of the institutional church. We talked about the Spirit, the mystics, and faith. I even bought her dinner (there's a change!). I told Mom about all of this and she mentioned that I wouldn't have met any of these people in church. That's true. It's likely none of them would have felt comfortable going to a priest; but all of them initiated the conversation with me--in their space, on their terms. And the conversation went directly to spiritual matters, not small talk, stimulated by my introduction as someone on pilgrimage. It's all very encouraging--and a little tiring.
	Warm night last night. I slept on the porch of a Baptist church. Thunderheads moving in this morning, loudly, so I'm politely standing aside to let them pass. Looks like I'll be moving into some national forest soon--more woodsy at least, less farmy.

	8.27
	The Old Testament reading this morning was Exodus 16: the people of Israel grumbling against the Lord. And the Lord heard their grumbling, providing bread and meat. That was me last night, though 'grumbling' is much too tame a word to describe it. The mileage on a road sign was way off (4-5 miles off) and I ended up miles from town after dark. When the storm hit. It was so furious I could barely get my poncho out in time, and my socks were immediately drenched. The lightning flashed with a strobe effect, giving a surreal motion to my walking and to the falling of the rain. But between lightning bolts, it was very dark. And no town. I cried out to God--there was no one else around--grumbling my way for hours before the town appeared, wet and quiet. But I ended up clean and dry. I had extra money from St. Louis and could rent a motel room (the last one available, when I dragged myself in after 10pm). And there was a place for breakfast, a laundromat, and a church (ELCA) right in succession this morning. Good readings: grumbling to the Lord, plus "I am the bread of Life." And the closing hymn was a pilgrim song, so I left encouraged. A grocery store for food for the road and I'm off, if only the rain will stop.
	Passed some strange signs yesterday: A fancy one announcing that the home was dubbed "Chateau Debris"; and, last night, a salon called "Curl Up and Dye." At the time, that matched my sentiments.
	----------

	Just passed a sign: "Do not pick up hitchhikers," which must mean there's a prison nearby. I found a little church to rest, and the trustee that lives next door opened it up so I could get some water. Turns out he's an old hitchhiker from way back. He told story after story, adjusting his straw cowboy hat over his unruly silver hair, and spitting a stream from the corner of his mouth. A good ol' boy.
	I'm reading Hesse now, "Magister Ludi," and he's addressing the dichotomy between academia and "real life," the ideal (artificial?) world of mind vs. the reality of living and surviving in the world. The discussion makes me impatient. Just like his other works I've read, about the struggle between intellectual and sensual humanity. These issues seem peripheral; the conflicts that he identifies are symptomatic, not central. The real problem is deeper, and trying to ease the symptoms will not cure it.
	That made me think of the 'symptomatic' and 'central' in my preaching, especially since I'm more attentive to preaching since I left St. Louis. Politics and business issues are not central; food is not central; pilgrimage is not central. The gospel is central. And the gospel, simply stated, is that salvation is through faith in Jesus Christ. That's good news because it means salvation is possible, and available to all, and not impossibly difficult to achieve. It's a gift of God's love. So that's what I want to preach: faith in Jesus Christ. Only from that perspective can these other issues be recognized as important. Pilgrimage and trusting God for food becomes a witness to the reality and power of faith. And the words against politics, business, violence, and institutional religion are seen as warnings about those areas in which our faith falters. We compromise and adopt worldly methods and values because we lack faith in the reality and completeness of salvation in Christ. I believe all Jesus' reproofs and hard sayings could be summed up in his words: "O ye of little faith!"
	What matters is faith--but with faith there is a new creation. If there are no fruits, what good is our 'profession of faith'? It is dead words and a mockery of true faith. True faith means surrender to God, dying to self: "The one who loses their life for my sake will find it." Whether in 'positive' inspiration and example, or in 'negative' challenges and reproof, the preaching must encourage faith. That's love, that's the gospel: Salvation is through faith in Jesus Christ.

	8.28
	I thought being caught in a storm after dark was bad--but last night topped it. I planned to arrive in town after dark, and all was going well until the police car pulled up. There was a prison nearby, a "Supermax" (highest security, worst offenders) only one and a half miles from town. Apparently its proximity put the town in a state of constant paranoia. I think I was in town 15 minutes before the local law enforcement stopped me, checked me out, and conducted me to the edge of town, to "keep right on going." First time I've heard the term 'vagrant' used. And I ended up headed nowhere well after dark. I passed several small towns, but nothing visible but houses. A long, LONG night. I managed to rest/doze under a bridge for several hours; then up and walking again at 2am. Found a church at sunrise, to rest and eat. I was just glad that the dark was over. No moon, but the stars were fabulous--Orion pointing the way. I was just so tired.
	But I got into this town about 9am--20 miles from where the cop gave me the bum's rush. I bought food, found a park and napped. Then to the library (air-conditioned) and lunch in a restaurant (very air-conditioned; it was blustery in there!). It's so hot and humid (the heat index is 102F) that I'm thankful for having to do my walking last night. Again, as if I was pushed ahead for some good reason--though at the time I groaned and felt abandoned. Walking at night makes me think of the "Dark Night of the Soul": alone, blinded, stumbling amidst stones and night noises, following some dim path that seems endless before me. Yet now it is light. And I am safe, in a very hazardous heat (water was also scarce along the stretch to this town); I'm even comfortable. This library is old and beautiful: carved wood everywhere, marble sculpture, wide windows (with stained glass), and TALL bookcases. E-mail, too. And it's virtually deserted. A quiet, cool haven; I'll stay here until the heat eases, then walk a few hours tonight. I still feel tired, but I also feel looked after, protected. "Your banner over me is love."

	8.29
	I felt fortunate to find a park last night, before I crossed into Kentucky. The park overlooked the confluence of the Ohio and Mississippi rivers, BIG rivers. I watched the tow boats (not 'tugs,' I was informed) pushing barges through that crossroads; one was maneuvering 24 barges--slowly. Black smoke appeared in puffs when the boats reversed engines and strained against their loads. A red buoy, set free, floated down the river like Huck Finn. And it cooled off. I had decided to stay there and not try for the next town; I was glad to have found such a nice spot. I read a little and played my recorder--that's when Bob showed up. "Sounds pretty good," he said. He was watching the tow boats, as he often did, and told me he was training to be a boat pilot. We talked, and he invited me to his house; and suddenly my "nice spot" was bumped up to first class. I got a shower, dinner, air-conditioning, and a water bed! And a good conversation. Again, not someone I would find in church; his only interaction with the church was the $200 they "extorted" from him for an annulment. But he believed in God, angels, and heaven, took good care of his kids, and routinely helped others in need--like me last night. Very generous guy. We talked a couple hours about life, religion, Jesus. And this morning he drove me across the river to see a giant cross that overlooks the confluence.
	I managed to walk eight miles after that--barely. Incredibly oppressive heat. Found a river and a mechanic's shop along the way to douse my head and soak my hat and shirt. And had to drink a gallon this afternoon just to keep from getting dehydrated. HOT. I might make it to the next town tonight if it cools off in the next hour or so. Bob said I must have a shield around me, to make it safely this far, and the same idea was echoed in Psalm 91 this morning. But the lines about dwelling in the shelter of the Most High and the shadow of the Almighty sound best right now. I'll have to do my walking early and late tomorrow, if I'm going to walk at all.

	8.30
	Left for the next town at dusk yesterday. Still warm, but bearable. Cows watched me go by in the gloaming, as they congregated around a pond reflecting the failing light. The pasture rolled away around them, ringed by silhouettes of big oaks. Again, no moon, so it was dark between the flashes of passing headlights. The Milky Way arched overhead. When I neared the next town, a huge unlit water tower--bulbous and black--appeared next to the road. It seemed menacing, like a mysterious obelisk (what would alien visitors think of it?). The sheriff in town stopped me (called by yet another "concerned citizen"), but my "story" convinced him and he let me pass. Then, like a dream, a little Assembly of God appeared at the far edge of town. Perfect place to sleep. I realized how the experiences of the past few nights (rain, police, trouble finding a place), plus the overwhelming heat, had made me feel a little shaky. Being invited in two nights ago, then the quiet night last night helped restore me.
	I started walking before sunrise this morning to take advantage of the night cool. Breakfast and prayer by a roadside pond. Then the heat. It's been 100-degree weather in this area; by 10am it's already in the 90s. But there was help for me. Two kids picked me up (actually, came back for me) on their way to school. The girl kept saying "I woulda taken a bus" (instead of walking 1500 miles). To which the guy remarked each time, "But that's not the point!" He didn't ask what the point was, however. After two more hours of walking, and thinking I would have to stop soon, a farmer offered a ride. He told me about the hoboes in the next town, who still hopped rides on the trains that gathered there. Also about a group of youths who had passed through there, "walking for the Lord" and preaching. He drove me almost 20 miles and dropped me at a library. So I'm sitting out the heat, checking e-mail, reading a little Epictetus, cool on the couch. The paper says the city homeless shelters are overcrowded because of the heat. I believe it. Even in the shade the heat is draining, overpowering. I'll probably stop at a restaurant once the library closes, and not start walking again until just before dusk.
	----------

	Epictetus:

Such a man [a Cynic] needs also to have a certain habit of body. If he appears consumptive, thin and pale, his testimony has no longer the same authority. He must not only prove to the unlearned by showing them what his Soul is that it is possible to be a good man apart from all that they admire; but he must also show them, by his body, that a plain and simple manner of life under the open sky does no harm to the body either.

To a good man there is no evil, either in life or death. And if God supply not food, has He not, as a wise Commander, sounded the signal for retreat and nothing more? I obey, I follow--speaking good of my Commander, and praising His acts. For at His pleasure I came; and I depart when it pleases Him; and while I was yet alive that was my work, to sing praises unto God!

Reminds me of Paul: "For me to live is Christ; to die is gain." How easily I can forget that. Faith means surrender to God's will, living for his purposes, losing my life for his sake. Relying on him to provide the means to obey. The personal ambition for life rises up when hunger or thirst, heat or cold threaten. Then comes selfish terror. Only the love of God can overcome this, through the 'death' of faith. Life through death.

	8.31
	Four months. About 2000 miles (1550 on foot).
	Walking through town last evening, a classic image: I'm trudging along, with bag and staff, as cars cruise by. Then I look up as a convertible passes, moving slowly in the opposite direction; and I see a teenage girl with her arm straight up, giving me the thumbs-up. Cool.
	I didn't walk too far last night, but I found a new and unusual place to sleep. On a bulldozer--on top of it. It was off the highway, above the traffic, with a smooth steel top. No one bothered me and I slept well, once I got over being up that high. Nice stars, too. Got up very early though (3:30am), to avoid walking in the heat. A long walk to this town, but I got much farther than I thought I'd get. And an older woman took me a few miles. I was walking on the other side of a five-lane road (four + left-turn lane), and she came back to pick me up. Then apologized for passing me initially! She said a "little voice" urged her to help me, despite the risk of picking up a stranger. We didn't talk much, but she got me here (and out of the heat) at least an hour earlier than I expected. Still over 100F, and will be for a few more days.
	----------

	Reading "Magister Ludi," I was reminded of the 'loss of self'--the discipline and self-sacrifice--of serving an institution ("something bigger than myself"). It tries to mimic the service of God through faith. But the institution is not God (as I believe Hesse will make clear); this can be seen from every angle. One is that the institution does not respect the person, only the office, the role. It's considered better if the person is lost in the role. But God cherishes the person and protects his servants because he loves them. He hears and answers their cries. This comforts me. I am not serving an institution, obviously, but I am also not serving a law or philosophy (such as Stoicism or Cynicism; I was reading Epictetus again today). I am serving the living God. I am not alone in hunger, or in heat; God is near to deliver.

	9.1
	Good sleep at a church not far out of town last night, and only ten miles into this town this morning. Started at 5am; breakfast and prayer in a cemetery on a hill, at sunrise. Peaceful and pretty, though sunrise can be a little menacing these days. I found the local library, and after some research, I think I'll stay around here tomorrow, too. It's a long way to the next town and not much chance of finding a cool place to hide there.
	Walking in this morning, I thought about Jesus and the woman at the well. He asked her for a drink (which he couldn't get himself), but he didn't forget that what he had to offer her was of much greater importance. I think I forget that. Especially lately, I've been feeling so needy and vulnerable that I forget what I have to offer. What these people give me might make my day, or even my week; but the word of God I have to offer could make their life. To walk by faith is the whole meaning of this pilgrimage we call life. To know God through faith is life itself. People suppose that I'm in search of something, that I'm a troubled young man, because I've left comfort and security to go tramping. But I believe the reality of this pilgrimage results, not from searching, but from finding. That's what I try to share with the people I meet. Only, people are not too interested in such a finding, if finding means moving in the direction I'm moving. I must not, however, let this distract me from the reality of the truth (gospel truth--good news!) I have to offer. Whether people recognize and receive that or not, it remains far more important than the food or money or shelter or bed I receive. Jesus points to this when the disciples return to the well and offer him food: "I have food to eat of which you do not know... My food is to do the will of him who sent me, and to accomplish his work."(Jn 4.32,34)

	9.2
	Today was the first time I didn't walk (except when visiting people). I did laundry and washed up this morning, after staying at a church on the edge of town last night. Then spent the day at the library. I read Jack London's account of his hobo days (late 1800s, lots of hobos then); and I read most of Peter Jenkins' "Walk Across America" and "The Walk West." I've been compared to both (hoboes and Jenkins) by people along the way. So I thought I should be better acquainted.
	They are both similar and dissimilar to what I'm doing now. Hoboes were poor, dependent on charity, despised, and harassed by the police. Jenkins had idealistic motives and morals. Hobos (in London's account) were experts at survival, which often meant lying, manipulation, sneaking around, and stealing. Jenkins sought more than survival (he had money and worked along the way to support himself), he was seeking meaning: to understand this country through experiencing its land and people. (He also seems to have found God along the way, though this is not central in his story.) I identify with the hobo's poverty and Jenkins trust and appreciation of people. But both of these types of living seem basically worldly in that they are self-motivated. One seeks survival and freedom, the other seeks adventure and enlightenment. But in both cases the people seem motivated by what they get out of it; their own desires and needs drive them (though Jenkins may have meant to encourage others by his writing...). It's crucial to me that I not be self-motivated, that I act in obedience, driven by the love of God for others. People usually assume I'm a 'hobo' or a 'Jenkins.' I try to convince them otherwise, but I'm usually unsuccessful--a hobo or a Jenkins makes (worldly) sense, and they latch onto that. But I think certain practices of mine are clearly different, proceeding from a different motivation. I choose to be poor and looked down upon. I choose to be obviously dependent on other people (and therefore humbled before them). And I really try to avoid manipulating people; I don't even ask for basic necessities (if it costs the other person anything) because I want God alone to motivate their generosity. I want them to act freely in love, like I'm trying to. I see pilgrimage as a ministry, though I suppose it doesn't look like I have much to offer. (But remember Gormania, WV, on July 5th?) Once again, I think of Jesus approaching the woman at the well. My pilgrimage is simply following Jesus.

	9.4
	When they were few in number, 
	    of little account, 
	and sojourners in the land,
	    wandering from nation to nation,
	    from one kingdom to another people,
	he allowed no one to oppress them;
	he rebuked kings on their account, saying,
	    "Touch not my anointed ones, do my prophets no harm."(Ps 105.12-15)

	Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
	    I fear no evil; for you are with me;
	    your rod and your staff, they comfort me. (Ps 23.4)

	I don't know what to say about yesterday. My needs were met: I had a cool place to stay--even a swim in a lake--and got rides for about 50 miles, had a good talk, and ended up sleeping in a park by a scenic river dam. But it felt like a brush with the shadow of death. Not that I was threatened, but the people I met seemed pretty dead inside. Not even 'interestingly' evil, just dead. Slaves to hopeless desires. It make me depressed thinking about it and I don't want to record any details. But I did come away feeling protected and guided, and I did try to help them. Maybe I did help somehow, though it wasn't apparent.
	This morning, however, I woke up in a beautiful place. By a tremendous dam in the Tennessee River. I walked over the dam at sunrise, greeted by leaping fish and tall, wading birds. Breakfast and prayer overlooking the man-made lake in the mist. Another hot day (tomorrow it's supposed to cool off), so I decided to stay at the state park on the lake. Taking the day off for Labor Day. I found a shady spot by the water, with a breeze and a place to swim. It's a little noisy with all the boats and picnickers, but a beautiful view. A plane on pontoons landed here, too, and took off again shortly after.
	----------

	I read a lot of "Magister Ludi" today, nearing the end. Hesse's Magister abandons the institutional life in the end, but for reasons I didn't guess. For Hesse's reason, obviously, not mine. It seems that he recognizes the vulnerability of institutions (they pass away in history), and also how they tend to isolate themselves from one another. Looking for an enduring unity (not only between the sciences and arts, but also with practical life, politics, etc.), he seems to want to move away from the institutional structure while still maintaining the spirit of the institution. Somehow this spirit (which Hesse values highly, especially in the intellectual realm) will transcend the limitations of the structure/hierarchy and be able to mingle and find unity with other spiritual realities, not just of mind but also of body. To follow the spirit rather than the letter is the way, though it is much more difficult.
	What Hesse wants to preserve, and defend, that's exactly what I see to be the worst element of the institution: the "spirit" of it. Everything else--its people, its resources, its organization--these are real and good. But its spirit is a lie. There certainly is spirit: God's and ours. But an institution has no living, real spirit, no matter how hard we try to make it into a body ("incorporate" it) and breathe life into it. Its "spirit" remains a fiction existing only in the minds of those who believe in it; when they stop believing, it's gone. This vulnerability is exactly why such pressure and propaganda are needed in all institutions: to guarantee their survival.
	Carving a statue does not make it an idol. Its when we give it false life and power that we begin to idolize. We take what is real and God-given (e.g. sun, fertility, preaching) and give it a spirit that we "create" (sun-god, earth spirit, "Sacred Preaching" [a phrase I ran into in the Dominican seminary--but there are much better examples in the January 23rd, 2001 entry, which quotes from the journal of Father Alexander Schmemann (1921–1983):

It would be useful to teach a course entitled "Great Western Errors," following approximately this plan: Rousseau and "Nature," with a capital N; The Enlightenment and "Reason," capital R; Hegel and "History," capital H; Marx and "Revolution," capital R; and finally, Freud and "Sex," capital S--realizing that the main error of each is precisely the capital letter, which transforms these words into an idol...]).
 
This spirit [that we create--and capitalize] may reflect God's realities, but ultimately the definition and control of this spirit are ours. God created the reality, but we created the spirit--only that part's a lie, because we cannot create. This false spirit is what I object to in institutions; it is behind their vulnerability, and also their oppressiveness. This is what makes them inherently worldly, displaying both the values and the fruits of worldliness.
	The spirit that condemns these false spirits, while providing in itself the transcendence, eternity, and unity we desire, is the Spirit of God. It cannot be institutionalized, or engraved in stone tablets, or carved out of wood. But it is accessible to us in the most intimate way. It cannot be taken by force of mind or body. But it does offer itself to us through the surrender of faith--taking all, God gives all. "The one who loses their life for my sake will find it..."

	9.7
	Missed a couple days. Nothing spectacular happened, except the heat wave finally broke. While I was still at the park, the clouds rolled in with gusts of cooler air. And they still haven't left. Complete overcast for three days now, breezy, and much cooler. I was even shivering last night, at a fire station on a hill. The biggest challenge of the last few days was running out of food. I had breakfast the day before yesterday, then maybe 4oz of peanuts and raisins for lunch. A young barge worker picked me up (driving me 70 miles!), and bought me two granola bars for dinner. Then 50 cents I found on the road bought a peanut brittle bar for breakfast yesterday. Nothing else until about 3 yesterday afternoon. I think that was the hungriest I've been--despite the snacks--and the shakiest. I kept on walking, but had to stop more frequently to rest. I didn't know what else to do. But the surprising thing was that, after the initial grumbling, I was able to forget about food yesterday afternoon. It started to get serious and that's when I seemed to handle it best, when hunger went from discomfort to a serious loss of energy. I read, rinsed socks, and called home (I didn't want to, for fear of worrying them, but not to call would have worried them more). When I started walking again, I soaked in the beauty of the fields and the approaching hills. Then I heard a honk behind me and the man (with wife and baby) motioned me into the back of his truck. The next ten miles were very windy. When we came to a crossroads I jumped out and decided to get off there, answered only a few basic questions (the driver spoke broken English), and the wife pulled out $10. There was really no reason for them to think I had no money. But something moved them. I went straight to a restaurant and ordered a big double cheeseburger. Stopped at a grocery store this morning and now the money's gone again, but I probably have enough food for today, at least. I'm just encouraged by the fact that food came again. Each time I wonder: When will it come? How? It seems impossible. Then God feeds me and I'm overwhelmed with gratitude. It's faith-building.
	----------

	Reading about Mary and Martha this morning made me think about being a monk in the world. I've thought about that before--even before joining the Dominicans (a type of monk-in-the-world)--and again now, on pilgrimage. But today I connected it with the 'spirit of the institution' I wrote about a few days back. The "spirit of monasticism" is the same kind of thing. There are realities of solitude, prayer, a dedicated life; but we are the ones who define the spirit of the monk. It, too, is a fable. When the 'monk' leaves the cloister walls, the vulnerability of his monkishness appears more clearly. As physical distinctions (place, costume, practices) decrease, conceptual distinctions (vows, "charism," ideology) become more important to define him as still a monk, if that distinct spirit is to be maintained. But, ironically, such a "spirit" is not distinct from the world. It is simply a different form of worldliness. The world defines the monk just as it defines all its members; even the "non-worldly" roles--monk, priest, pastor--each finds its place and fits in with all the other pieces. In the world--and also of it.
	To be in the world but not of it, that's much more than monasticism. Monasticism tries to reflect this, but it does not capture its spirit. For the Spirit of God cannot be defined or institutionalized. It can only be followed.

	9.9
	Tough day yesterday. The night before, I walked long to get into town and found a perfect spot at the "Plumbers and Steamfitters Local" union hall. But my food ran out yesterday morning. Hunger urged me to leave the library there, after getting cleaned up a little and checking e-mail. I got a ride later, over 30 miles with a young man in the Army, coming to see his new baby. But no food all day. I was plagued by doubts, though a nap and the ride comforted me. I ended up apparently nowhere, after dark, begging God for help. Then I found this Baptist church. On its sign are the words, "The one who holds the heavens in place also guides your steps." I slept long and hard.
	This morning, rain kept me from moving. It also allowed me to rinse socks and wash my hair, in water from the rain spouts. That felt good, as I was feeling a bit filthy. It looks like the rain is stopping, so I'll attempt to walk; but I haven't eaten now for the last 24 hours. The hunger is not bad, I'm just a little weak. I'm trying to tell myself that God already has his salvation prepared and waiting. "All things work together for good for those who love God" (a church sign yesterday paraphrased: "It's all good"). I'm not sure how far I can go, but then I didn't think I'd make it this far yesterday!

	9.10
	I managed to go all day yesterday without food. Not without complaining bitterly almost the whole day, however. I didn't feel very hungry, even now--almost 48 hours after my last meal--there's not much hunger, just a tightness in my temples and neck, like fatigue. I'm rested, though, and pretty clean. I thought I might be in for a long night as the highway wound into wooded hills--with great views, but little habitation. But just before dark I spotted a sign: "Pilgrim's Rest Baptist Church." That seemed like the place to go. I turned off the highway but couldn't see the church; I was beginning to wonder if I should turn back, then it appeared. A squat, neat red-brick church, topped with a white wooden belfry and cross. Three semi-circular steps led up to the entrance. Out back, trees sheltered me as I took a (cold) shower with the hose, and washed my shirt. Dried it in the exhaust of the air-conditioning unit, which came on periodically. So I'm ready for church this morning. Beautiful sunrise, painting the underside of the clouds with light before rising up into them.
	I struggled all day yesterday about whether to ask for food. Each time I stopped, I wondered if I could go on--maybe I should ask. But I couldn't believe God would provide for me so miraculously all this way (over 1500 miles since the abbey), then just stop and send me begging. Not that I thought it was wrong to ask, but not asking seemed more selfless. Shouldn't my only concern be how to act in love towards others? And God would provide for me, right? But I hated the uncertainty and physical weakness. I cried and begged God to release me from this suffering. Then, sometime yesterday evening, I realized that the suffering was more psychological than physical. I really wasn't that hungry. But the should I?/shouldn't I? (ask for food) was killing me. I realized that my double- mindedness came, not from physical need, but from my desire for comfort and for a feeling of security and strength. My doubts really were not about whether or not I was doing wrong, but about whether I could be better off by taking another line of action. Facing this, and repenting of it, I gained clarity. A real feeling of detachment. I decided: If no one offered me anything at church, I would simply ask the pastor for food afterward. I clearly (objectively) thought that to fast longer than two days (while walking) was not good, and that anyone would recognize the physical need at that point. And I don't think desire or self-indulgence is an issue at this point. I don't really feel bad (physically); I just don't think I can walk any more without food. If God doesn't move anyone to offer, I feel OK about asking. God may be changing his way of supporting me, but that's fine; what's important is selflessness and love, not some rule about ask/don't ask. So I feel very peaceful waiting for church this morning. I feel stretched, but confident in my walk, believing that I'm still following Jesus.
	And I wanted to mention new sights in Alabama: cotton fields (I felt some: like cotton balls, but with seeds); and the roadkill now includes armadillos and rattlesnakes. Saw a black widow spider last night, too. Big, bulbous, black body with long, slender legs, and the red hourglass etched on her underbelly. Plus: this morning I noticed her web is crawling with hundreds of babies...
	----------

	"God already has his salvation prepared and waiting..."

	And I didn't have to ask. My 'prophecy' of yesterday morning was abundantly fulfilled without my asking for anything. The church service was weak, but the pastor met me before the service and mentioned me during. Immediately after, a man invited me to dinner. And as people wandered out, two came up to me and put money in my hand--$22. One woman had not spoken with me at all, just saying "This is for you." A good discussion over dinner (real southern cookin', including hominy, okra, and corn bread), then the son drove me two towns down the road, on his way back to college. There was a laundromat and grocery where he dropped me off. So I got clothes washed and dinner in my pocket and started walking. But God was not done.
	I spotted a church on the edge of town. It had a shady table so I dropped my stuff, and seeing the door open, I wandered in. There were some old books there (I was looking for a book), so I perused. Then a minister showed up, who let me take a book and invited me to the evening service. I ate, then snuck in the back. And noticed I was the only white person in this all black Baptist church. A small gathering, but they made a big noise. Good singing; one song really struck me, with its constant refrain: "Jesus will fix it... Jesus will fix it... Jesus will fix it... after a while." Great piano player, too. And the preacher was like a man possessed, even dancing around ("I don't even need music"); and with a real message, too, between all the "Amen"s and "Praise the Lord"s. The unusual thing was how much the others supported the preacher. People shouted "Amen" and so on, of course. But some deacons also sat behind him offering encouragement; he even turned to them from time to time, and sometimes they stood up and patted him on the back. The piano player also jumped in, emphasizing certain parts with musical exclamation points and accompanying when the minister began to sing hymn passages in the sermon. A great experience. Then they had me stand up and say a few words--and the deacons prayed over me! A real laying-on of hands. Many people offered encouragement as they left, and three offered money (another $35). I asked to stay outside the church tonight, and now I have a room inside, complete with bathroom and cot. I haven't been this overwhelmed since I left St. Louis. The two days of fasting was only a preparation for the complete blessing of today.

	9.11
	I was pushed hard, so that I was falling,
	    but the Lord helped me.
	The Lord is my strength and my song;
	    he has become my salvation...
	You are my God, and I will give you thanks;
	    you are my God, I will extol you.
	O give thanks to the Lord, for he is good;
	    for his steadfast love endures forever! (Ps 118)

	9.12
	Walked all day yesterday; pretty uneventful--until last night. I left a town a dusk, not knowing where the next church was. About one and a half hours later, a sheriff's car pulls up and he really checks me out. There's not much ahead, he says, so he drives me to the county line and tries to get the police from the next city to meet me (I wasn't so excited about all this). Their dispatcher curtly informs him that they don't have a service to help transients anymore. So he drops me off, and I start walking again. I laughed a little at the dispatcher's explanation. So they no longer help certain people--because it's not their "policy" anymore? Not in their job description this year?
	But a couple cops rose to the occasion and surprised me. I hadn't walked half an hour when not one but two police cars drove past, then circled back and stopped. "So you're going to Florida, huh?" They don't even check my ID (though one officer is a little suspicious of my "pipe"), instead they offer to let me sleep in the lobby of the police station! I ended up with a bench, a blanket and pillow, and a bathroom. And close to the library to start off today very nicely. "You on a mission or something?" one of the policemen asked last night. Yeah. I am.
	I also started reading my new book yesterday. "Economics in One Lesson," by Henry Hazlitt. I thought it wouldn't hurt to be a little more informed about issues in economics, since I've been harping on it so much. Actually, I've laid off lately, but I'm itching to attack again. The book starts, "Economics is haunted by more fallacies than any other study known to man." Why? Mostly because "the inherent difficulties... are multiplied a thousandfold by a factor that is insignificant in say, physics, mathematics or medicine--the special pleading of selfish interests." Promising start. I don't know how much of the book I'll agree with--this economist advocated classic free market capitalism--but I think I'll learn a lot from his analysis of common economic fallacies.

	9.13
	Those who fear you see me and rejoice,
	    because I have hoped in you word. (Ps 119.74)

	Yesterday started normally enough. The only concern was that I noticed my sandals had been worn so thin at the ball of the foot that both soles had cracked open. Time for new sandals pretty soon. Then I walked most of the morning. At lunch time I found a RV park, where I could get a shower, then more walking. Until a semi pulled over ahead of me. I was a little wary after my last truck driver experience, but the driver seemed straightforward enough. We got to talking, and it turned out he used to be a street preacher. He was extremely encouraging and supportive of what I am doing, sure that it's from God. "Ronnie" even dropped off his trailer at a paper mill (where they were loading it) and drove me an extra town down the road, almost into Georgia. There we had dinner together, with great, enthusiastic, spirit-filled conversation. And he started offering me money for food and lodging. Eventually I settled for a new pair of sandals--and he drove me around shopping for them! He liked the new (leather) pair much better than the old ones: "Now you look like a man of God!" What a boost. Two blasts of his air horn, and he rolled away in his rig.
	I walked across a long bridge to Georgia, under a full moon. The water was flat and quiet, but not completely still. It broke the moon's reflection into hundreds of quivering ripples of light, dancing on the surface. I found a big church to wrap around me last night, but it took me a while to settle down and sleep.
	A ride today got me into town early, so I can relax at the library. It looks like I'm less than 300 miles from home now. But I'll probably take it slow for a few days, to get used to the new footwear.
	----------

	The economics book I'm reading is not extremely enlightening. It presents the logic of free market trade clearly and consistently, without questioning the morality of its assumed values: maximum production and efficiency. This system may maximize wealth and minimize toil overall, but it certainly does not ensure a just distribution. (Neither does it establish that 'maximum wealth and minimum labor' is good for people.)
	One interesting point, though. The author addresses the attempts to have distribution determined by 'need' rather than 'purchasing power.' In other words, the goods should go to those who need them, rather than to those who can pay for them. Often, government regulation has been used to attempt to shift towards need-based distribution (by using price fixing, for example). But, according to this author, even when the price is artificially lowered, purchasing power still determines distribution. The rich are always favored. Then this line: "The purchasing-power-rather-than-need argument, in fact, holds as long as we charge anything for [the product]. It would cease to apply only if [the product] were given away." Only free giving levels the playing field for the rich and the poor.
	Of course, the option of 'giving freely' is considered absurd. But that it is even mentioned is interesting. The author recognized the one case where the cruel "laws" of capitalistic economics no longer apply. And this is a glorious truth. When people give to one another, when generosity governs human exchanges, then the "laws of economics" lose all authority.
	Also: I've been prompted to refine my attitude towards savings, after reading this book. In the past, I've taken the simple view that instead of 'sitting on' money, we should give it to those in need. In reality, however, no one 'sits on' their money; it is saved in banks or invested in some other way. So the money is not idle, even though it is not being used by the owner. The bankers or investment managers use it to invest in other businesses, and return a portion of their profits to the bank patrons or investors. How does this change the picture? Only by highlighting that, by saving this way, people not only do not give to those in need, they let others use their money to promote the values and causes that business honors. They neglect God's call to give to the poor, and instead they turn their money over to worldly causes (which certainly do not favor the poor and outcast)--and for this they receive their 'cut.' I see this as far worse than merely 'sitting on' it.

	9.14
	I walked more than 10 miles last night before finding a church set way back from the highway, amid huge oaks hung with Spanish moss. Then slept long and hard. My feet were sore when I started out this morning, so I was glad when a little old lady picked me up (in a debris-laden truck--no room in the cab, so I climbed onto the piles in the back). Spent most of the day in the library. I sent e-mail, caught up on the "Buffy" episodes I'd missed (scripts on the internet), and read Sartre. I'm intrigued by his theories about "bad faith" (conscious repression, lying to oneself); they seem like a good description of sin:

	The first act of bad faith is to flee what it cannot flee, 
	    to flee what it is.

It is a "spontaneous determination of our being":

One puts oneself in bad faith as one goes to sleep and one is in bad faith as one dreams. Once this mode of being has been realized, it is as difficult to get out of it as to wake oneself up...

Reminds me of Jesus' words in Luke 12 (35,37):

	Let your loins be girded and your lamps burning...
	Blessed are those servants whom the master finds awake when he comes...

And understanding sin as "bad" faith also echoes Paul's words in Romans 14 (23): "...for whatever does not proceed from faith is sin." (The opposite of sin is not virtue, but faith. Faith is opposed to "bad faith.")
	So much of our sin is "sub"-conscious. This comes out more clearly when we look at the political and business practices we engage in without a second thought. This is unjust? This is hurting others? I didn't know! But when it's pointed out, we continue to "not know." We refuse to see. We put ourselves to sleep and find it so comfortable to remain that way. But this is "sub"-conscious only because we submerged it. Willfully. Bad faith is willfulness, the opposite of faith. It is forced belief, the horrible abuse of free will. But it is futile willfulness, the attempt "to flee what we cannot flee." Faith, on the other hand, is the surrender to reality; the surrender to what is; the surrender to God.

	9.15
	Today's unusual incident of generosity: I'm walking down the highway--four-lane divided, cars whipping past--when I hear a vehicle slowing as it approaches me. I think: police, or a ride. But it's neither; when I look, I see a woman holding out money as the car rolls by. Surprised, I blurt out "Thanks!" "God bless you," she says, and the car speeds away. Thirty-one dollars. Strange amount--almost exactly the price of an inexpensive motel room. And it's been almost two weeks since I slept in a real bed; I need a shower; my feet could use the rest... OK, I'm convinced. The room cost $32.
	Also: I found another pilgrimage novel a couple towns back. "Kim," by Rudyard Kipling. It's about a young boy in India who joins a Tibetan lama on his quest for the river that will cleanse him from all sin. It's supposed to be one of Kipling's best. I just stumbled upon it in a thrift shop, when my economics book got boring.

	9.16
	I watched "The Matrix" last night at the motel. Good sci-fi movie, about the discovery that the world is a computer-generated illusion, and the struggle to 'wake up' and overcome it. As mythology, it is pretty interesting. Like the "X-Files," it makes claims about a vast conspiracy trying to cover up a grand illusion (one "X-Files" episode was titled "Deny, Obfuscate, Inveigle"). And it also preaches that overcoming the illusion leads to super-human powers, the ability to transcend boundaries, making the impossible possible. This echoes many ancient beliefs, from Socrates to Hinduism (all things are "maya," illusion) with their heroic philosophers or yogis. Even Christianity speaks of breaking free from the slavery of sin (the devil's deception) and entering the freedom of faith, where all things are possible. Jesus said we could move mountains, and do countless other miracles, simply through prayer.
	There's truth in all of this. But one thing it doesn't make clear is that overcoming the illusion doesn't free us to do anything we want. Jesus' "move mountains" must not be understood in this way. The "impossible" becomes possible, yes, but not just any impossibility. Our breaking free, overcoming the illusion, means 'waking up' to God's will and surrendering to that reality (by faith). When we live by faith, we do transcend the boundaries of the illusion; all things do become possible. All, that is, that is good, real, true--all that God wills. Taoism points to this with the insistence that we align ourselves with the Way (Tao). But the Way is a person: Jesus Christ. His life is Life. Walking with him, through faith, is salvation--the Truth that sets us free. I've experienced some of this on pilgrimage, an impossible walk made possible. It is real. But it's not just for the sake of personal freedom and "the experience." It's for the sake of others, to help free them by denouncing the illusion, the lie, and pointing to Truth. It's for preaching (in word and action) the reality of Love. 
	----------

	From "Kim" (the lama speaking):

	The world is full of charity to those who follow the Way.

	9.17
	I was a little ashamed of the church last night. I arrived at a church in the late afternoon, tired from walking all day. Just as I sat down, a church van pulled up, bringing members back from some function. I was sitting on the front steps. Of course everyone could see me, a few walked right by me, saying nothing, until I asked one woman when Sunday services were held. After they left, a woman wandered over from next door, looking for her cat. We talked a little; then when she left, her son came over and I talked to him. He was impressed that I wanted to be poor, that I'd "rather be doing this than driving a Cadillac," like other preachers. He asked how much money I had ($1), and promptly pulled out his wallet and gave me a ten. Then he invited me to his house. We had real Southern fried chicken, talked for over an hour, and they gave me something for breakfast (though they were by no means wealthy). Then the mother called the pastor of the church, to see if he'd let me stay inside. Nope. They'd had problems, so it wasn't their policy anymore. I couldn't stay with my hosts because they had cats [I'm allergic], but they gave me a blanket and I slept just fine outside the church. "I'd rather sleep on the threshold of the house of God..."(Ps 84.10) Those people were great; I'm just sorry the church looked so empty-hearted in front of them.
	From Philemon this morning: "Though I am bold enough in Christ to command you to do what is required, yet for love's sake I prefer to appeal to you... I preferred to do nothing without your consent in order that your goodness might not be by compulsion but of your own free will."(vss.8,9,14) Really a touching, powerful letter. These lines affirm what I wrote earlier about appealing to people to correct injustice rather than trying to force the scales into balance. That way the oppressor is conquered in their own heart, by love. In the meantime, however, the oppressed suffer; but if they endure in love, their suffering can be a participation in Christ's redemptive suffering. And God will comfort them.
	----------

	The members of the church turned out to be much more impressive than the pastor. The Sunday school was good (a rare find!), much better than the preaching; and the music was excellent. At the end of the service the pastor did mention my pilgrimage, apparently forgetting that the pilgrim that he was now commending was the same pilgrim he turned away the night before. Two people also gave me gifts: $30. And I met a big guy, "Bane," who hung around me all morning and even stayed and ate lunch with me. He was huge and somewhat limited mentally, but very gentle. Happy and interested, too. He gave me a pack of gum as a gift. After lunch, the guy from last night ("Big John" West) pulled up and offered me a ride to the next town. I got some food there and walked to the outskirts, finding a place to stop just as the rain started. Now it's been raining for a couple hours. I'm on the covered porch of a "Jaycees" meeting hall, with my poncho hung up to shield me from the splashing drops. Looks like I'll be here all night.

	9.19
	That night turned out to be a wet one. A tropical storm had moved inland from the Gulf, triggering 18 hours of rain where I was. I managed to stay dry until about 6am, then had to flee to a warehouse across the street. Talked to a couple of truckers there about my pilgrimage. I couldn't proceed in the rain, so I walked back towards town, where I had seen a laundromat not too far back.
	There I met old Samuel. We talked probably an hour about politics and money in the church, and how he felt his church (Black Baptist) often seemed to be more about entertainment than worship. He also didn't think much of seminaries: "That's not where you learn to preach; that's where you learn to manipulate people." He was something of a preacher himself--a prophetic type, true to his name.
	And yesterday, for the first time, I stopped in a homeless shelter. I was worried about the cold and the rain that wouldn't stop. The place was funded solely by donations, and had 20 or so occupants. Not a real uplifting place, though. There were Bible verses tacked up everywhere, but I didn't find them comforting at all. They came across as a stern voice spewing propaganda. I ate lunch there (not bad), then left. It rained a little more on me as I got started, but the sky was clear by evening and I had covered almost 20 miles (surprising myself). Big monster mosquitoes as I walked. They were gone, though, when I found a church for the night.
	----------

	The lama in "Kim" sometimes says he gives others the opportunity to "acquire merit" by giving him food or alms. Peter Maurin (of the Catholic Worker movement) used to say something similar. "Don't thank them," he would interject when someone was expressing their gratitude for charity, "you're giving them the opportunity to gain grace." And, just the other night, "Big John" justified his gift by saying, "God repays even more, right?"
	I think 'merit' or 'grace,' rather than 'repayment' (material blessings in return for generosity), is closer to the truth. I sometimes quote Mt 10.41-42 to people who give to me (especially of they invite me in): "Whoever receives a prophet because he is a prophet will receive a prophet's reward, and whoever receives a righteous man because he is a righteous man will receive a righteous man's reward. And whoever gives to one of these little ones even a cup of cold water because he is a disciple, truly, I say to you, they shall not lose their reward." Of course, this 'reward' might be recognized in a subsequent material windfall, but I don't think that's what we should be looking for (or motivated by). A prophet's reward, a righteous man's reward, these sound like spiritual treasure. And while I don't think we can earn spiritual gifts/maturity/rewards (and certainly not buy them), I do think there is positive spiritual effects associated with giving. Jesus commanded prayer, fasting, and giving alms. I think the benefit comes from...

	9.20
...letting God use us. An openness to love, and seeing and feeling the effects of love in and through us begins to transform us. Being a "living sacrifice" to be used by God in service to others "remakes" our mind and our whole being, so that we begin to know what is good and right and perfect (Rom 12.1-2).
	----------

	I got interrupted there because a woman saw me sitting in the grass and thought I was her son. She laughed at the mistake, and some other women came out to see. One started asking me questions. Soon I was at her house, talking for hours. She is an ex-hippie, an artist and intellectual of sorts. Going though something of a mid-life crisis, and feeling a little under-stimulated in a small country town. Not a church-goer. We talked a lot about my pilgrimage and the church (money and politics and the institution). Also St. Francis of Assisi, whom she thought I resembled. I ate dinner with her and her husband, then she gave me some breakfast and paid for a motel room for the night. So I got a shower and even got to watch "Buffy"! This morning I found a library in the next town, so I can regroup after that little (blessed) change of plans.

	9.22
	Rain the last two nights, and some during the day; but I managed to stay dry. I also got to do laundry and stop in another library yesterday. For shelter, I found a corner at a big medical center (downtown) two nights ago, then an elementary school last night. No one bothered me. And, after dark last night, I walked into Florida--it seemed like crossing the finish line. I'm thinking Mom and Dad may come get me tomorrow, which would be fine with me. I'm ready for a rest.
	Waiting for the sunrise now, and for the rain to stop. In the readings this morning:

	...and lead me in the way everlasting! (Ps 139.24)

	Thus says the Lord:
	    "Stand by the roads, and look,
	    and ask for the ancient paths, where the good way is;
	    and walk in it, and find rest for your souls." (Jer 6.16)

	9.23
	And... I'm home. The rain didn't stop yesterday until well after lunch. I got a hold of Mom when they got back from Michigan, yesterday afternoon, and she immediately offered to come get me. I was happy to accept. It's been a month on the road since St. Louis, without a break. That's enough. I'm glad I made it into Florida, though; and it was nice to walk in, too. It was also nice to drop into bed last night, and Dad's homemade pizza tonight will be my first pizza in a long time. It will be great to have a good, long rest.
	In Psalm 45 this morning, these words seemed appropriate:

	The Lord is faithful in all his words,
	    and gracious in all his deeds.
	The Lord upholds all who are falling,
	    and raises up all who are bowed down.

	The eyes of all look to you,
	    and you give them their food in due season.
	You open your hand,
	    you satisfy the desire of every living thing.

	The Lord is just in all his ways,
	    and kind in all his doings.
	The Lord is near to all who call upon him,
	    who call upon him in truth.
	He fulfills the desire of all who fear him,
	    he also hears their cry, and saves them.
	The Lord preserves those who love him;
	    but all the wicked he will destroy.

	My mouth will speak the praise of the Lord,
	    and let all flesh bless his name for ever and ever.