Pilgrimage Journal

October-December 2001
Southern Florida

	A few by Thomas Wolfe:

And Christ himself, who preached the life of love, was yet as lonely as any man that ever lived.

A billion men have since professed [Christ’s] way and never lived it.
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	I had been back on the road a couple days when it came strongly to me that I should not expect many to hear me. Strangely, this gave me a great sense of peace. Even if everything I said and did was perfect truth, most people would not listen. So it was with Christ. And he told us it would continue to be that way for his followers. Most churches (most Christian ministries) act like their mission is to make the whole world Christian. What they manage is to get more and more people in the churches--and make the churches less and less Christian. A success of membership and revenue only. A great failure in Christian witness.
	That’s what I want to be: a witness. Not trying to create any mass movement; not confused by preachers with big followings. Just speaking the truth to the few that will hear. Not that the gospel is some hidden Gnostic teaching; it’s available to all and I’m happy to speak it to anyone. But I do not expect many to hear. The truth has never had a big following.
	[I later found this in an article by Richard John Neuhaus, who quotes William James (my italics):

"I am against bigness and greatness in all their forms," [James] wrote, "and with the invisible molecular moral forces that work from individual to individual, stealing in through the crannies of the world like so many soft rootlets." Bigness, success, and grand schemes for reform result, he said, in mendacity, hollowness, and brutality. He favored, rather, "the eternal forces of truth which always work in the individual and in an immediately unsuccessful way, underdogs always, till history comes, after they are long dead, and puts them on the top."]
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	The early Christians referred to Christianity as “the Way” (Acts 9.2; 19.9,23; 22.4; 24.14,22). I like that. It immediately makes me think of Tao (“the way”).
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	Also a few days ago, the thought arose that I should let people preach to me (as many often want to do). I should even encourage them to do so. That’s the best way to get to know people quickly and focus on the important things. Socrates taught by asking questions and playing dumb so people had to explain things more fully. Which usually showed how little they actually understood.
	That worked surprisingly well yesterday. A pastor took me home with him after evening church. There was virtually no conversation all evening, but the next morning I asked him to explain about his work promoting creationism (against evolution theory). Then talk quickly proceeded to how we should understand the bible. He insisted that the bible was “the absolute,” and described himself as a “servant of this book.” Which is a problem, I think. A letter of the law vs. spirit of the law issue. I insisted that only the Spirit (God, “the Word”) is the absolute and that we serve a person, not a book. But a good conversation, several hours, and we agreed on many things.
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	One commentator I read suggested that early Christians called themselves “followers of the Way” to indicate that Christianity was not just a doctrine or system of beliefs but a way of life. That’s a good point. Though I often hear that mentioned and almost never see it put into action. Usually Christianity (or any religion or spirituality) is merely a framework for making sense of the world and comforting our fears. A personal thing that helps us get through the day. Whatever works for the individual is therefore acceptable. This is far from the one, eternal Way that transforms our whole life (Rom 12.2).
	The book I just read made me think of this, too. “The Book of Lights,” by Chaim Potok. Interesting and well-written; but something bugged me. The main character was this rabbinical student-become-army chaplain, who was mystically inclined. But all his visions and mysterious intuitions seemed of such minor significance. They helped him be better liked by the other soldiers. They helped him endure his overseas duty. And they helped him decide to pursue an academic career after the army. Wow. It seems such a waste to turn to mysticism (or even less-dramatic spiritualities) just to get the strength to... live just like everybody else. Like ‘religious types’ are somehow psychologically handicapped and need a little extra support to face life’s difficulties. That’s how it often appears.
	And when people are noticeably changed by their conversion, it’s usually to become.. a normal person. They kick a habit, or stop their criminal behavior, or overcome depression. That’s good. But the transformation God offers is not just “loser” to “regular guy.” When we follow the Way we become inspirations to the “regular guy.” We recognize that life is not given so we can simply succeed in worldly institutions and be respected by worldly crowds. We’re supposed to stand out like stars in the darkness, like the (real) mystics often did, like Jesus did. The life of a normal, respectable person is not the Way. The Way is a glimpse of God with us.
	That’s a good way of putting it. Because the Way is of God, and it is seen. It’s not just a doctrine or set of beliefs. I’ve often felt superior because I secretly held some high ideal or radical conviction. Which is just like most Christians with their “I believe in Jesus.” But if the conviction is from God, if the belief is really ‘in Jesus,’ then the life should be transformed by that--and I don’t just mean we suddenly start attending church regularly. Faith without works is not faith. And Jesus showed us what the works look like: give freely, turn the other cheek, love your enemies, tend to the poor and outcast, etc. Be like him. Because Jesus is the Way.
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	A holiday weekend put me in a bad mood, because I couldn’t get into any libraries [to check internet maps] and was walking blind for a few days. Running low on food, too. But most of all, oppressed by a feeling of loneliness and isolation.
	This feeling is heightened when I meet people and still remain isolated. When people notice me or start to hear my story and turn away, uninterested. Or immediately assume I’m a bum. I know I’ve become an oddity, choosing poverty and obscurity while in the midst of a society that values the opposite. If I was in a Trappist monastery, my choice would be understood, even commonplace. Yet in society, meeting people on the road and in churches, I’m odd. Some have been intrigued by that oddity (odd in the world; not odd according to gospel standards, which call us to become nothing in the world, pilgrims, strangers, like Christ) and that’s what I hope for. The whole point of being ‘out here’ is to be a witness for others. But so many I meet seem uninterested.
	I think much of this is intentional. A willed lack-of-interest. I’m currently reading Joseph Heller’s “Something Happened.” It’s a great portrait of sinful man, seen from the inside (but way too much sex--what is it with books written in the 70s? Is this “honesty”? Maybe). Reminds me of Dostoyevsky’s “Notes from the Underground.” And it’s not the psychology of a psychotic or criminal mind, but of a normal businessman with a family in the 20th century. One thing that stands out is the fear of others and the continual avoidance of other people who might cause us problems. We deliberately ignore people, especially when they seem needy. Or strange. There’s the fear of getting hurt, but also the fear of entanglement. The fear of a problem. The fear of “having to do something” about that person. And I think that’s the mindset I run into a lot, when I’m trying to be available to people and they’re not responding at all.
	It also reminds me of DeTocqueville’s warning that a democratic society can be oppressive by shutting out those who do not agree with the majority. No one’s head is cut off; instead, they are gradually isolated if they do not fall in with the crowd. This can become a passive form of persecution (if someone is being shut out for doing good, or telling the truth). When the individual passively resists the crowd, it requires great courage and usually entails great sacrifice. But when the crowd passively resists the individual, it takes no courage and it’s the individual again who is sacrificed. The persecution of a more civilized age. It’s not organized, intentional persecution, just intentional selfishness and fear by many people, resulting in widespread, effective, social persecution.
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Money talks. God listens. God is good, a real team player. 
(“Something Happened”)

	We seem to believe this. Especially now, with every other business in America entreating, “God Bless America!” (or some variation) from their storefronts. Ever since the 9/11 terrorist attack. Meanwhile, we destroy Afghanistan with bombs, and ravage the rest of the underdeveloped world with our appetite and economic power. Why should God bless us? That popular saying carries about as much spiritual weight as “God bless you” after a sneeze.
	And while I’m ranting, I need to get a Veteran’s Day gripe off my chest: Why do we keep saying those who died in war “laid down their lives”? Sometimes comparisons to Christ are even insinuated. I’m dumbfounded. Jesus laid down his life. Those guys died because they weren’t able to kill the other guys first. They certainly didn’t intend to lay down anything. They just lost the killing game.
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	I ended up stopping at a large Baptist church last night (which I wanted to avoid, because of its largeness) and arrived just in time for their Wednesday supper. Many people asked questions. Then promptly shied away when they started to hear something that made them uncomfortable. “Willed lack-of-interest. It’s happening right now,” I thought. But the pastor did take me to a nice motel and I feel good this morning. I’d been sleeping outside churches for several days.
	The break last night loosened up some things in my head, I think. About Jesus. And the seeming paradox of a world that doesn’t want to hear the gospel, yet energetically supports so many preachers. Jesus seemed to be very popular. Actually, it was his popularity that got him killed. If Jesus hadn’t had such a big following, the leaders wouldn’t have paid any attention to him. Yes, his teaching did threaten the established order. But if he wasn’t drawing crowds, no one in power would have cared what he said.
	Jesus’ popularity was strange. Not at all like the popularity of most religious leaders today, leaders who yearn for fame, thinking they need it to do great things in the world. Jesus avoided fame. He got it because of his miracles. But he told those he healed not to spread the word. His miracles got him famous, and getting famous got him killed. He obviously didn’t want fame or power. And he didn’t have a death wish. But that didn’t stop him from healing people; it just made his miracles selfless, since he wasn’t getting anything out of it. Except the attention of those who would murder him. I really don’t think fame did anything for his ministry. Modern preachers use fame to increase their political and economic influence, and feel more effective because (worldly) people respect them. But Jesus wasn’t looking for that. He turned down political positions and ignored popular acclaim. I think he could see it was doing him no good. Because he wanted people to see the truth and follow him in the truth, and popularity didn’t help at all in that regard. If they followed him because he was the exciting ‘person of the moment,’ the wonder-worker, the one everyone was talking about, that was no good. Or if they followed him as the “savior” who would give them bread and military victory, that was no good. That kind of following is purely worldly. It’s not following the truth, the Way. No one becomes Christlike by joining that mob. I think John 6 is great on this: the crowds come for bread miracles and leave when Jesus gets into his hard teaching.
	Jesus’ popularity didn’t get him true followers. Most of the crowd turned on him by the end. And even his closest disciples were far from Christlike when he died. They scattered and hid, then went back to fishing. The Holy Spirit changed them later, and they became powerful witnesses for the Way. But it wasn’t Jesus’ fame that got the church going. His death snuffed that out, just as the Jewish leaders predicted. But the Spirit continued. So some walk in his Way even now, as they have throughout the ages. But this is not the product of popularity. The institutional church is, it’s the product of cunning politics and lots of money. But Jesus didn’t seek those things because they do not help people along the Way. His popularity triggered his crucifixion--that’s all the good it did (a strange good, but what a witness for us to see). He led his followers along an altogether different Way.
	It works the same way now. Many people follow religious leaders because of their fame, and both leaders and followers think that popularity is a sign of the truth. But the opposite is true. Jesus was not popular because he spoke the truth, and as his truth became apparent, his popularity vanished. He told his followers that they would be hated and persecuted in the world. And that few would follow the Way. And so it is. But so very many people pack the churches and put “God Bless America” on their businesses, walking the wide, easy path and pretending it’s the narrow, difficult Way.
	(If I’m really so pessimistic, then what am I doing out here? Really, I do hope to find true followers, and to help someone find the Way. I look eagerly, even beg at times to find someone. But I do not find very many. And I’m not expecting to. Not often. But sometimes. So I’m out here, looking, walking and peeking into churches and keeping my eyes peeled. Maybe I’ll see another one soon. And maybe they’ll see me.)
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	A good conversation with Kim last night. I told her I sometimes see myself as a monk out in the world, and sometimes as a performance artist (preacher), and today I thought of another one. I kinda see myself as bait. I’m ‘trawling’ as I move through all these churches (and anywhere, really), using myself to attract people. Obviously, I don’t attract everyone, or even many. I repulse some people, those who avoid the poor, strangers, outsiders. On the other hand, those who know something of God and who are trying to follow the Way, I think I do attract them. I can’t see into people’s hearts (except a little through their actions) so I need to draw them out. Sounds a lot like being a “fisher of men,” doesn’t it?
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	I’ve been reading “All Quiet on the Western Front,” by Erich Maria Remarque. About WWI from the German trenches. And a brilliant commentary on war in general, and its effect on young men. This passage really sums it up (Kantorek is their patriotic schoolteacher):

There were thousands of Kantoreks, all of whom were convinced that they were acting for the best--in a way that cost them nothing.
    And that is why they let us down so badly.
    For us lads of eighteen they ought to have been mediators and guides to the world of maturity, the world of work, of duty, of culture, of progress-- to the future. We often made fun of them and played jokes on them, but in our hearts we trusted them. The idea of authority, which they represented, was associated in our minds with a greater insight and a more humane wisdom. But the first death we saw shattered this belief.... They surpassed us only in phrases and in cleverness. The first bombardment showed us our mistake, and under it the world as they had taught it to us broke in pieces.
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	It was funny how I felt pretty sure that I’d get the full feast on Thanksgiving. Maybe because many churches offer dinners for the homeless then. But it was much nicer to be invited to Bob and Flora Whan’s home after church Wednesday night and spend the holiday with them. A very good dinner. And they treated me like family, though they didn’t ask much about what I’m doing now. They seemed to just assume I was on an adventure.
	Saturday night I was asleep in the courtyard of a Methodist church when two other homeless guys stumbled in, with their gentle dog. After introductions, I didn’t talk much; they were very drunk anyway. But we shared the space well (though one snored).
	Sunday night, I opened the hymnal at a Baptist church and found an old bulletin with Deut 10.18 on the front. Very encouraging. And it’s even better in context:

For the Lord your God is God of gods and Lord of lords, the great, the mighty, and the terrible God, who is not partial and takes no bribe. He executes justice for the fatherless and the widow, and loves the sojourner, giving him food and clothing. Love the sojourner therefore; for you were sojourners in the land of Egypt. (Dt 10.17-20)

I talked to several of the young men there (some from Jamaica), and left with a motel room and plenty of money for the week. The Lord loves the sojourner.
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	I couple new things: I went to my first Jewish Shabbat service Friday night, and they were very welcoming. I liked hearing the Hebrew parts. And the service opened with Psalms; the first was Ps 95, the same one I start with every morning (following the Divine Office tradition). A retired couple took me home with them afterward, so I woke up in a beautiful guest room right on the beach. When I stepped out a fearless Great White Heron was staring down at me. But I didn’t have the handout he was looking for.
	Also, there seems to be more homeless people down here on the Keys. I’ve talked to a few guys, and even met one in church Sunday (I’m used to being the only tramp there!). This has stirred conflicting emotions. A fear that the “squatter” spots will be taken, and that pastors and others have been hardened by overexposure to beggars. Also a desire to prove that I’m “not one of them,” especially the drunk or devious “them.” These are not good feelings, I know. So I try to rise to the challenge by being more faith-full, more humble. On the other hand, I do feel good about the opportunity to talk to some of these homeless people who are struggling. I’m glad they’ve felt comfortable to see me as a peer, and maybe a momentary friend.
	Sunday night I was out of food and money when a new Christian picked me up sitting outside his church. An interesting guy. Looks like a former surfer, with long, blond hair pulled back, but he’s a commercial fisherman. Catches them one at a time, with rod and reel. He’s also a former alcoholic, constantly sharing AA aphorisms. I stayed at his place (he treated me like a brother) and something on his fridge caught my eye. It was a list of AA advice “for today.” One was something like “I can do for today something that would be unbearable if I had to do it for a lifetime.” I guess that’s trying to promote patience, especially when unpleasant situations must be endured to achieve a desired goal. Like a degrading ‘stepping-stone’ job, maybe. Perhaps there’s some value in that, depending on the situation. But it sounds suspicious to me. Like an ‘end justify the means’ thing. I’m convinced that if the end is good, the means will be good too, so there’s a oneness in the action. The tree is of the same nature as the fruit. Love is its own reward, is good in itself, not just because of the results it may (or may not) produce in others. Goodness has the nature of eternity, meaning continuity, oneness, seamlessness.
	That reminds me of vultures. I once wrote that their circling made me think of eternity. And they’re everywhere. Over a mountain in Idaho as a ‘sign’ to me, and throughout the country, roosting on high rises in Miami, and yesterday floating over a narrow Key in a group of fifty or more.
	And I recognize more of a sense of eternity in my life, too. Possibly because I’ve avoided the weather’s seasonal fluctuations. Or my regular church/library/road routine. But more, I think, because I’m happy with the task God has set before me. I’m more satisfied to continue, without much apparent achievement or “progress,” because I’m ever more convinced of the truth and goodness of the Way, a pilgrim’s way.
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	The larger number of homeless has continued through the Keys and is worst here in Key West. The end of the line. It’s so crowded here that I won’t attempt to spend the night. But it hasn’t been too bad along the way, though most people see me as just one more addition to the homeless masses. It’s humiliating, but not so bad now.
	Reading Vera Brittain’s “Testament of Experience” has been good. She writes about her life as a writer, pacifist, and peace activist during WWII, not an easy time to speak out against war. In another book, “Humiliation with Honor,” she wrote:

As soon as you find yourself on a path which can lead to no worldly advantage, you are at last free from the competitive scheming of seekers after office or place.... Your road to salvation lies through pain and dishonor, for which there is no competition.

	She suffered career setbacks for her beliefs, but continued to work relentlessly. At times, reading her story, I felt so insignificant and useless. And when she (who published several books, made speeches all over two continents, and put out a newsletter for years) expressed frustration about being ineffective, it only made me seem that much more so. Then this passage from “Testament” cleared something up for me:

We agreed that we did not look for absolute triumph in the long struggle of love against power; we recognized that the battle for civilization had to be fought anew in each epoch...

And I realized she was fighting a war that I’m not fighting. “Love against power”; “the battle for civilization.” It seems like such a worthy fight, who could disagree with it? Even the politicians and soldiers would agree, though they think it must be waged with cruder weapons. It’s the war of political activists and humanists, too. And it’s a good thing they are relentless, because it’s a war that we don’t seem to be winning. I don’t think we can win it.
	But that’s not why I’m out of this war. Or I’m trying to stay out; sometimes my words do rush into an attack on this or that evil in society or attempt to frame a wonderful, new plan to save civilization. A mistake. Because to pit love against power, good against evil, is already a failure. That struggle does not exist. (At least not as an external, physical battle; such a struggle does occur in the soul of the individual.) Love and goodness must not condescend to declare such a war. Love does reach out to people, to release them from the bondage of fear and evil, but it will not admit an opponent that is unreal. Love is. Goodness is. Because God is. We must be good, that God may be known in the world. But good is not in a fight that may be lost. “The world” does not hang in the balance. We don’t have to save civilization. The kingdom of God will not be created or won or lost by politicians and activists. The kingdom of God is already. And faith means being a witness to that, being ‘evidence’ that goodness is real and eternal, that “the kingdom of God is among you.”
	And it’s not just a matter of doing the same things (as the social activists), only with a different attitude. There are similarities, like care for the needy, calls for justice, and negotiations for peace. But Jesus, who knew that the kingdom was not in jeopardy, was not drawn into the use of power and money to “win the war.” Other activists struggle for political might and economic resources to influence public opinion, to conquer by force. Unholy alliances are made so that victories may be won. Compromises are made that civilization might be saved. But Jesus declined political office, popular followings, and wealth. He knew that those who think they’re “saving” the world are really just pawns in the world’s game. Jesus’ Way is different. Because the love he calls us to, the life he calls us to, is “not of this world.” It is, however, for all the people of the world--for our lives right now.
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	Two good talks on long rides with pastors (one Baptist, one Catholic), and a night in a motel, and I’m a new man. I was dragging after Key West. It just didn’t seem like I could spend another month or longer down there to good purpose. And suddenly I’m over 100 miles away, refreshed, and heading up the coast again. This morning I came upon a favorite passage, Mk 1.35-38:

In the morning, a great while before day, [Jesus] rose and went out to a lonely place, and there he prayed. And Simon and those who were with him pursued him, and they found him and said to him, “Everyone is searching for you.” And he said to them, “Let us go on to the next towns, that I may preach there also; for that is why I came out.”

A personal inspiration.
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	Sunday evening, a guy stopped me on the street, wondering about “this guy with the [walking] stick.” We sat under a tree while it rained, talking. And I ended up eating dinner at his halfway house, with a large group recovering addicts (he, however, was not recovering too well--he was in the process of getting drunk at the time). So I got to talk to some of the other guys as well. The founder of their group (who died recently) had been a former Franciscan, so they recognized a lot of the spiritual stuff I made references to. Alcoholics (or Narcotics) Anonymous also has a spiritual dimension, which they were familiar with. At one point, I mentioned that Jesus spent a lot of time with prostitutes and other outcasts that people labeled “sinners.” One guy replied, “Like us!”
	It wasn’t an overwhelmingly pretty picture there, especially with the guy I met who was lapsing out of the program (though he was very kind and helpful to me, even when he was falling-down drunk). But I was glad to meet those guys and spend time there.
	Then yesterday, just as I was running out of food (and cleanliness), I stopped by a church I had visited on my way south. I expected just to leave a note for the young youth pastor I had stayed with before. But Stephen Burton was there, working. And he invited me home with him again. Now it looks like I’ll ride north with him tomorrow and be at Mom and Dad’s for Christmas. Not a bad idea, I think.
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	I recently sent out e-mail Christmas cards with this haiku, titled “The Innkeeper” (based on “no room in the inn”):

	He points to the barn
	and, whirling to face his crowd,
	turns his back on God.

And I paralleled it with more recent encounters by recalling Jesus’ words, “As you did it to one of the least of these my brethren, you did it to me.” I usually closed with the line, “I don’t know where I’ll be this Christmas, but I’m anticipating good things.”
	And, to close this trip, some lines from the psalm yesterday (31):

	I am the scorn of all my adversaries,
	    a horror to my neighbors,
	    an object of dread to my acquaintances;
	those who see me in the street flee from me.
	I have passed out of mind like one who is dead;
	I have become like a broken vessel.

	But I trust in you, O Lord,
	    I say, “You are my God.”

	Blessed be the Lord,
	    for he has wondrously shown his steadfast love to me.
	    when I was beset as in a besieged city.
	I had said in my alarm,
	    “I am driven far from your sight.”
	But you heard my supplications,
	    when I cried to you for help.
	Love the Lord, all you his saints!
	    The Lord preserves the faithful,
	    But abundantly requites him who acts haughtily.

	Be strong, and let your heart take courage,
	    all you who wait for the Lord!