Lessons from the road
People on a pilgrimage reveal a search for something they aren’t finding in the institutional church.
by Arthur Paul BoersPrint Article Email to a Friend
Halfway along my 500-mile walk to church on a Spanish pilgrim route known as the Camino de Santiago, I came one scorching day around noon to a hostel. The heat pressed down hard, hurting my head. That and the distance to the next shelter meant I’d best remain there for the day. After a nap, I wandered the streets. A young adult couple were at an outdoor café table. We had exchanged only a few words until then and knew little more about each other than countries of origin.
“May I join you?” I inquired. The man pointed his lit cigarette at a nearby chair. Within minutes, Marcus quizzed me about the Sermon on the Mount, even though he was not a professed Christian.
On the Camino I met many who professed to be “spiritual but not religious,” a phrase that previously frustrated me. Now I admired my companions’ pining for God, valuing of authenticity, seeking of balance and commitment to virtue. An overworked cliché speaks of the need to “walk a mile” in the moccasins of others. On the Camino I walked many miles with strangers. Simple, respectful companionship got me to listen. Meals, rest stops and walking provided opportunity for in-depth conversation. We had plenty of time to explore. As a professor and preacher, I proclaim a lot, but here I was called into a more attentive mode. Pilgrims were neighbors and fellow strugglers, not stereotypes easy to dismiss. Philo of Alexandria counseled, “Be compassionate, for everyone you meet is fighting a great battle.” Those words were true for all of us on that arduous path.
I found many pilgrims to be people of reflection and virtue. They wanted to contribute to the well-being of others. They were unwilling to settle for materialism or consumerism. They were convinced there is “something more,” that matters of the spirit are vital. I often experienced compassion and care from others. Some—without professing Christian faith—carried Bibles. And most passionately admired Jesus.
Paul affirmed the seeking even of idolaters: “Athenians, I see how extremely religious you are in every way. For as I went through the city and looked carefully at the objects of your worship, I found among them an altar with the inscription, ‘To an unknown god.’ What therefore you worship as unknown, this I proclaim to you” (Acts 17:22-23). Can we name what is worthwhile about questers today and tap into their longings to point them to Christ the Way?
Folks were comfortable on this Christian route and reveled in religious art, architecture, history, rituals and symbols. Many visited each open church building, attended Mass whenever possible and appreciated pilgrims’ blessings that were occasionally offered by local priests. Yet they also complained of the institutional church: its wealth and power, dogma and hypocrisy. Sadly, almost to a person they were disbelieving when I talked about Christian nonviolence; for people I met, the militarism of George W. Bush is now the face of Christianity.
Unmoored from the church, some liked conspiracy theories. There was interest in Templars and The DaVinci Code. Many had ideas about reincarnation, auras, harmonic convergence, crystals, energy and karma. Still these seekers thirsted and longed for God. Yet the church is often absent to such folks. This was vividly illustrated on the Camino when people lamented that so few church buildings were open. Many pilgrims wanted to visit. Yet most houses of worship were locked, and the few that were not often felt more like museums than places of prayer, sometimes even charging entrance fees.
The last church I pastored was in the country. Because of isolation, it always kept its doors locked. Yet occasionally people—not necessarily church attenders—came to pray. They stayed in the parking lot or ventured into the cemetery. We raise the threshold against inquirers when we only permit or expect them to show up on Sunday mornings for formal services.
Can we—along the Camino but elsewhere as well—welcome seekers? Can we not hospitably respond to yearning? Camino pilgrims asked basic, important questions: Who am I? What is the purpose of life? Am I significant? How ought I to live? Is there reason for hope? These are the very concerns that Christians profess to know something about.
At the end of my journey, I met up with Féliz. This 30-year-old pilgrim stood out. His thick hair was matted into long black dreadlocks, and he never changed his clothes, a T-shirt and scissored-off jean shorts. One evening I saw a hostel official harass this quiet man over petty regulations. Now he was suffering. He had a large, nasty, ulcerated sore on his foot that left him hobbling. His spirits were in worse shape. He had been treated rudely in the Cathedral office at the end of his pilgrimage. Officials quizzed him relentlessly, not believing he had actually walked the entire route. He decided to burn the certificate he received for traveling so far. I suspect Féliz received that treatment because of his countercultural appearance.
How often the church gets things wrong. If we focused less on institutional power, protection and self-interest and more on prayer, mysticism and the spiritual life, we might still be heard. People told me they believed in God, matters of the spirit or “something more” but wanted to do so in a way divorced from the burdens and constraints of religious dogma and institutions and all their tawdry history.
Pilgrimages can be theologically subversive. In medieval times, such routes were also often a base for heretical evangelism. Nevertheless, it seemed odd to me now that so many non-Christians ventured on the Camino. Medieval pilgrimages—even heretical ones—at least went under Christian guise. But on the Camino people rejecting Christianity and the church walked a pilgrimage path that is authorized and still sustained by church institutions.
Curiously pilgrimages are increasing. Some argue that this form of devotion rises as church-going diminishes. Six thousand shrines and sites in Western Europe draw as many as 100 million pilgrims annually. In Europe, church attendance is low and dwindling; even so, the Camino attracts tens of thousands each year. In God’s Continent, Philip Jenkins observes that the “continuing popularity of pilgrimages … refutes simple claims that European Christianity is dead,” noting that pilgrimage may reinvent and reinvigorate our faith.
We need to listen to pilgrims, even those who do not fit tidy theological categories. Originally, Christian pilgrimages were popularly initiated. Ordinary folks would venerate a local martyr, mystic or miracle worker, and others come to be in touch with a manifestation of God. The wider church and its hierarchies got into the act of these pilgrimages only after they were underway. Then church leaders tried to channel that energy for their own purposes.
I wished for companions who journeyed in the Taizé spirit. The Taizé community is rooted in historical Christian faith and extends a listening presence to seekers from around the world. Its worship, Bible studies and meals make way for safe exploration and gentle gospel proclamation. Imagine a group of pilgrims committed to shared prayer and praise. They would walk the Camino, as that is the best way to encounter pilgrims, and would listen to other travelers. They would share faith perspectives as appropriate.
When I was in Britain in 2000, church folk were still trying to make sense of responses to Diana’s death years earlier. An Anglican priest, Ray Simpson, told me, “It was the most extraordinary event of public ritual in my life.” He quoted a bishop: “The people out there are not where we thought. They are very interested in the spiritual, but we haven’t connected.” Simpson concluded that church “worship has generally lost its street credibility.”
A Camino pilgrim I met sponsors Rave parties in Australia that involve neither drugs nor alcohol. He was seminary trained but no longer considers himself Christian. He once was active in church, but several issues came to a head for him. So one Sunday, he stood up from where he was playing guitar during worship and walked straight out of the sanctuary. An important aspect of his work is the sponsoring of life rituals for people who are not part of a religious institution.
Do we offer worship and prayer opportunities for folks who do not regularly attend church? In an era when North Americans complain of perpetual busyness, can we provide space for Sabbath and rest, renewal and reorientation? Can we develop retreats geared for seekers? Their hearts, as Augustine taught, are restless.
If the church took pilgrimage more seriously, we might connect with seekers who still long to meet God. We’d be in good company. Jesus often journeyed with people on the move. It was there that he taught followers, encountering and evangelizing newcomers. There he listened to questions and concerns. There he observed how people lived and what preoccupied them. He usually was on the road, and it was his classroom, podium, laboratory and sanctuary.
It could be ours as well.
Taken from The Way is Made by Walking: A Pilgrimage Along the Camino de Santiago by Arthur Paul Boers. Copyright © 2007 by Arthur Paul Boers. Used with permission of InterVarsity Press, P.O. Box 1400, Downers Grove, IL 60515, ivpress.com. Arthur Paul Boers teaches pastoral theology at Associated Mennonite Biblical Seminary, Elkhart, Ind.
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Additional Notes
Taken from The Way is Made by Walking: A Pilgrimage Along the Camino de Santiago by Arthur Paul Boers. Copyright © 2007 by Arthur Paul Boers. Used with permission of InterVarsity Press, P.O. Box 1400, Downers Grove, IL 60515, ivpress.com. Arthur Paul Boers teaches pastoral theology at Associated Mennonite Biblical Seminary, Elkhart, Ind.
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