The first time I think I was ever fascinated with pilgrimage was in college.
Of course, the allure of leaving all that was comfortable and finding an adventure had been a desire in my heart for awhile.
I kept trying to answer it through summer trips to Texas, random weekend drives, and eventually a semester abroad in Spain.
But that's when I heard about a real pilgrimage -El Camino de Santiago.
The Camino is a yearly trek through northern Spain that people from all over the world take, ultimately leading them to the alleged tomb of St.
James the Apostle.
They do it by foot, lodging in random hostels and churches that have lent their facilities to the pilgrims.
It's exhausting, and people do it for various reasons.
Although amongst them all, there is a central desire to be cleansed and renewed.
The notion of intentionally checking out of the culture of "too busy" for awhile was almost seductive to me.
In America, pilgrimage has become a forgotten practice.
We've lost the art of taking some time to go on a journey and figure out what life is really supposed to be about.
We just don't have time.
Between college debt and career tracks, we can lose ourselves if we're not too careful.
Identity must come before activity, or our lives will always seem mundane and routine.
Most of us do this rather backward - we thrust ourselves into the real world, start doing a bunch of good things, and hope to find meaning from it.
It never comes.
We become burnt out and resentful...
towards friends, parents, spouses, and even the Church.
My mentor Seth Barnes says, "Most young people have more questions than answers.
" I resonate with that so much.
He thinks that the answers can be found in a journey of self-discovery.
It begins with questions about "me" and "what am I supposed to do with my life?" but ends with a radical desire to be used, to be poured out, to be exhausted for God's kingdom.
Two years ago, when I graduated college, I left on a nine-month tour of the United States and Canada, playing in a small band, living out of a van and trailer.
On a day-to-day basis, we didn't know where we were going to stay or eat.
Sometimes, we left one venue, and I honestly broke the news to my bandmates, "Guys, I don't know where we're going.
We're just going to drive and stop when we get there.
" Through the hospitality of strangers, we learned interdependence, that we all needed each other and not one of us has it "all figured out just yet" (to quote Alanis Morissette).
That's the point, isn't it? That we're all much less spiritual than we are religious.
We speak the language, keep the rules, and hide our shortcomings.
What if a generation was humble enough to admit that they still don't have God figured out, that he's still a mystery, and that intrigue leads them into all kinds of radical adventures? What if we took some time off and saw what God really had to offer the man or woman who was totally consecrated to him? I can't help but dream.
The importance of a pilgrimage is that you leave home and forsake comfort for the possibility that something better out there exists.
In the early nineties, there was an international bestselling book called The Alchemist by Paulo Coehlo.
It sold over ten million copies.
Coehlo tells the story of a young shepherd boy who leaves his life of simplicity for a great adventure and is surprised at where the journey takes him.
Along the way of searching for his "life's treasure," he's tempted to quit, settle down, and turn back.
What's interesting is that the author uses prosperity as the tool to tempt his protagonist - it's not failure that is his trial; it's success.
He begins the journey with nothing to lose, but as he experiences certain successes, persevering requires more sacrifice, nor abandoning of the material for the spiritual wealth he is to gain through the experience.
What is most significant about this boy's travels is not how his surroundings have changed, but how he has changed.
It's important to acknowledge that pilgrimage is for everybody, not just those who are bogged down by a 9-to-5 or those who are already wandering vagrants.
Anyone who's ever wondered what else is out there owes it to herself to go on a pilgrimage.
Don't box yourself in; that pilgrimage may look differently for everyone, but you owe it to yourself to go on a life-changing journey, if you've never done this before.
The very act of leaving is liberating in itself.
Now, the irony of it is that the very thing you're leaving may be what you find.
It doesn't make a whole lot of sense, but it's true.
When you return to a familiar place after being gone for awhile, you realize what you really love and don't take it for granted.
So, in essence, a pilgrimage leads you home.
When we leave home, we need to be ready to find that home is not where we thought it was - in the comfy levels of security to which we easily become addicted.
We must be willing to accept that home is some place entirely new to us, that our longing has led us away so that when we return home, we realize that it is not home at all.
I experienced the essence of being wrecked - of realizing that I wasn't cut out for comfort and a life without questions - when I returned to the U.
S.
after spending a semester in Spain.
It was my first time out of the country, and I loved it.
I dove into the culture, donned the Spanish name Pepe (even made it compulsory for my American friends to call me by it), and learned most of my Spanish in flamenco bars.
I came home to middle America, and every day was painful.
Smells would remind me of the streets of Seville; sounds in the middle of the night would recall European memories that were growing dimmer every day.
I started to get homesick.
They call it "reverse culture shock" and say that it's often worse than the initial shock of going some place new.
You return home thinking that life will be the same as it was before, and it is, for the most part, but the shock comes in realizing that you have changed significantly.
So, a pilgrimage is not so much about changing the scenery, but really about changing you.
My friend and fellow pilgrim Kari just got back from a summer in Uganda, and it hasn't been all roses: Life is difficult.
I am sad a lot of the time.
I cry at night or when a powerful memory comes close.
I don't feel like I belong here anymore.
Everything suddenly seems strange and ridiculous.
Do I really care what kind of fabric softener is the best? It is a torturous feeling to be somewhere you aren't meant to be.
She's preparing to sell her house, quit her job without flaking out, and move back to Uganda for good.
We shouldn't take for granted that the culture into which we were born is the one in which we're supposed to stay.
A "culture" can mean your hometown, state, country, or even a particular level of income or comfort.
The important part is that you leave it, just for awhile, to see if you really need it at all.
Let God do the work in your heart; he'll guide the process better than any formula or set of rules that you can provide.
One thing is for sure in the rite of pilgrimage - you will be changed, and a certain part of you will never be reclaimed.
The part of you that wasn't true.
The part of you that doubted why you'd do something so silly as leave home.
The part of you that hid.
Another friend who finished a year on a backpacking expedition called the World Race said: This year has been an ongoing challenge to realize how to be surrendered.
How do I know what my purpose is in life? How can I possibly make a difference in this life? God has given me a glimpse into this world as to where he wants me to begin to find out.
He has let me touch families that have suffered from hurricanes in Guatemala.
He has shown me the life of persecuted orphans in India.
He has shown me what AIDS is doing to the entire continent of Africa.
I will never be the same.
I never want to be the same.
We change.
We lose a part of ourselves, but it's the part of us that needs to get lost on the journey.
It's the other part - the real you - that needs to be discovered.
Regardless of where we end up, we have to realize that there is something substantial and significant to be gained on a pilgrimage.
Although life is a grand journey, a pilgrimage may be the best kind of trip you ever take, because there is much to be gained.
In a pilgrimage, we are actually searching for ourselves.
And it would do us good to stay disciplined in the search - the answer tends to present itself in fragments.
We have a lifetime to put them together, as we're traveling down this road together.
May you find what you're looking for.
If you want to read more about pilgrimage, just search "El Camino de Santiago," check out The Alchemist or visit the World Race - a modern-day pilgrimage for Jesus-followers.
Of course, the allure of leaving all that was comfortable and finding an adventure had been a desire in my heart for awhile.
I kept trying to answer it through summer trips to Texas, random weekend drives, and eventually a semester abroad in Spain.
But that's when I heard about a real pilgrimage -El Camino de Santiago.
The Camino is a yearly trek through northern Spain that people from all over the world take, ultimately leading them to the alleged tomb of St.
James the Apostle.
They do it by foot, lodging in random hostels and churches that have lent their facilities to the pilgrims.
It's exhausting, and people do it for various reasons.
Although amongst them all, there is a central desire to be cleansed and renewed.
The notion of intentionally checking out of the culture of "too busy" for awhile was almost seductive to me.
In America, pilgrimage has become a forgotten practice.
We've lost the art of taking some time to go on a journey and figure out what life is really supposed to be about.
We just don't have time.
Between college debt and career tracks, we can lose ourselves if we're not too careful.
Identity must come before activity, or our lives will always seem mundane and routine.
Most of us do this rather backward - we thrust ourselves into the real world, start doing a bunch of good things, and hope to find meaning from it.
It never comes.
We become burnt out and resentful...
towards friends, parents, spouses, and even the Church.
My mentor Seth Barnes says, "Most young people have more questions than answers.
" I resonate with that so much.
He thinks that the answers can be found in a journey of self-discovery.
It begins with questions about "me" and "what am I supposed to do with my life?" but ends with a radical desire to be used, to be poured out, to be exhausted for God's kingdom.
Two years ago, when I graduated college, I left on a nine-month tour of the United States and Canada, playing in a small band, living out of a van and trailer.
On a day-to-day basis, we didn't know where we were going to stay or eat.
Sometimes, we left one venue, and I honestly broke the news to my bandmates, "Guys, I don't know where we're going.
We're just going to drive and stop when we get there.
" Through the hospitality of strangers, we learned interdependence, that we all needed each other and not one of us has it "all figured out just yet" (to quote Alanis Morissette).
That's the point, isn't it? That we're all much less spiritual than we are religious.
We speak the language, keep the rules, and hide our shortcomings.
What if a generation was humble enough to admit that they still don't have God figured out, that he's still a mystery, and that intrigue leads them into all kinds of radical adventures? What if we took some time off and saw what God really had to offer the man or woman who was totally consecrated to him? I can't help but dream.
The importance of a pilgrimage is that you leave home and forsake comfort for the possibility that something better out there exists.
In the early nineties, there was an international bestselling book called The Alchemist by Paulo Coehlo.
It sold over ten million copies.
Coehlo tells the story of a young shepherd boy who leaves his life of simplicity for a great adventure and is surprised at where the journey takes him.
Along the way of searching for his "life's treasure," he's tempted to quit, settle down, and turn back.
What's interesting is that the author uses prosperity as the tool to tempt his protagonist - it's not failure that is his trial; it's success.
He begins the journey with nothing to lose, but as he experiences certain successes, persevering requires more sacrifice, nor abandoning of the material for the spiritual wealth he is to gain through the experience.
What is most significant about this boy's travels is not how his surroundings have changed, but how he has changed.
It's important to acknowledge that pilgrimage is for everybody, not just those who are bogged down by a 9-to-5 or those who are already wandering vagrants.
Anyone who's ever wondered what else is out there owes it to herself to go on a pilgrimage.
Don't box yourself in; that pilgrimage may look differently for everyone, but you owe it to yourself to go on a life-changing journey, if you've never done this before.
The very act of leaving is liberating in itself.
Now, the irony of it is that the very thing you're leaving may be what you find.
It doesn't make a whole lot of sense, but it's true.
When you return to a familiar place after being gone for awhile, you realize what you really love and don't take it for granted.
So, in essence, a pilgrimage leads you home.
When we leave home, we need to be ready to find that home is not where we thought it was - in the comfy levels of security to which we easily become addicted.
We must be willing to accept that home is some place entirely new to us, that our longing has led us away so that when we return home, we realize that it is not home at all.
I experienced the essence of being wrecked - of realizing that I wasn't cut out for comfort and a life without questions - when I returned to the U.
S.
after spending a semester in Spain.
It was my first time out of the country, and I loved it.
I dove into the culture, donned the Spanish name Pepe (even made it compulsory for my American friends to call me by it), and learned most of my Spanish in flamenco bars.
I came home to middle America, and every day was painful.
Smells would remind me of the streets of Seville; sounds in the middle of the night would recall European memories that were growing dimmer every day.
I started to get homesick.
They call it "reverse culture shock" and say that it's often worse than the initial shock of going some place new.
You return home thinking that life will be the same as it was before, and it is, for the most part, but the shock comes in realizing that you have changed significantly.
So, a pilgrimage is not so much about changing the scenery, but really about changing you.
My friend and fellow pilgrim Kari just got back from a summer in Uganda, and it hasn't been all roses: Life is difficult.
I am sad a lot of the time.
I cry at night or when a powerful memory comes close.
I don't feel like I belong here anymore.
Everything suddenly seems strange and ridiculous.
Do I really care what kind of fabric softener is the best? It is a torturous feeling to be somewhere you aren't meant to be.
She's preparing to sell her house, quit her job without flaking out, and move back to Uganda for good.
We shouldn't take for granted that the culture into which we were born is the one in which we're supposed to stay.
A "culture" can mean your hometown, state, country, or even a particular level of income or comfort.
The important part is that you leave it, just for awhile, to see if you really need it at all.
Let God do the work in your heart; he'll guide the process better than any formula or set of rules that you can provide.
One thing is for sure in the rite of pilgrimage - you will be changed, and a certain part of you will never be reclaimed.
The part of you that wasn't true.
The part of you that doubted why you'd do something so silly as leave home.
The part of you that hid.
Another friend who finished a year on a backpacking expedition called the World Race said: This year has been an ongoing challenge to realize how to be surrendered.
How do I know what my purpose is in life? How can I possibly make a difference in this life? God has given me a glimpse into this world as to where he wants me to begin to find out.
He has let me touch families that have suffered from hurricanes in Guatemala.
He has shown me the life of persecuted orphans in India.
He has shown me what AIDS is doing to the entire continent of Africa.
I will never be the same.
I never want to be the same.
We change.
We lose a part of ourselves, but it's the part of us that needs to get lost on the journey.
It's the other part - the real you - that needs to be discovered.
Regardless of where we end up, we have to realize that there is something substantial and significant to be gained on a pilgrimage.
Although life is a grand journey, a pilgrimage may be the best kind of trip you ever take, because there is much to be gained.
In a pilgrimage, we are actually searching for ourselves.
And it would do us good to stay disciplined in the search - the answer tends to present itself in fragments.
We have a lifetime to put them together, as we're traveling down this road together.
May you find what you're looking for.
If you want to read more about pilgrimage, just search "El Camino de Santiago," check out The Alchemist or visit the World Race - a modern-day pilgrimage for Jesus-followers.
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