Rachel’s Pilgrimage Reflection

In the weeks leading up to the pilgrimage it cannot be reiterated enough that “its not where your going its what you do while your there” and in some ways this is true, but that fact is that no matter where you go, anywhere in the world will send the same message---life is beautiful thanks to God. Everyday we were in the United Kingdom I wrote either an entry in my journal or a postcard, and everyday the theme was synonymous: “The empowerment one feels that overrides everything else.” I personally talk about having a stomach ache, locking myself out, oversleeping, and being weary, and how none of those physical afflictions seemed to have phased me and my love for my fellow pilgrims, for God, and for the world over those ten days spent in a dream. Someone once said that Iona has been described as the place where Heaven and Earth meet, and in every moment of everyday, no matter how little the gesture, I found that to be true. I love to travel and in all the trips I’ve taken I continue to be amazed, but as everyone had said, this was different. A pilgrimage is something that you cannot comprehend until you’ve done it, so as I said to my parents in one postcard, “Don’t even try.” Our pilgrimage surpassed all of my expectations, but not in the sense of surpassing in quality, but rather in the sense of fulfilling my expectations in different ways than I had foreseen.

Most surreal, however were two separate occasions on the Isle of Iona, which not only illustrated my favorite locations, but were the moments at which I felt closest to God…the moments at which my entire life seemed to be laid before me; clear and explained. The Lord whispered to me three things: Eeverything happens for a reason, every person you encounter you meet for a purpose, and everything you own you should be grateful for like it’s your last day on Earth. Heaven is real. Your faith isn’t futile. God is good and so are all who love God. So are Cassie, Erin, Tegan, Matthew, Sara-Alison, Katherine, Tom, Claire, Meghan, Liz, Ellis, Brian, and Rebecca and all of those that make up your second and third families at home.” All of a sudden I was standing on one of the highest hilltops on Iona with Katherine, Erin, Tegan, Claire, and Liz, and not only was my heart overflowing with understanding and appreciation, but I had formed a bond that could not be broken with God and everyone else, a contract which stated that they would not let me hike that far and fall off the cliff. They wouldn’t let me miss out on the postcards of life which I was observing at that moment. On a pilgrimage your support system intensifies and you realize that you’re 15 only for a moment. Following that incident there was the church service at the abbey, as regular as regular can be, with the Alleluias and the Amens, the hymns and the Prayers of the People, Communion and the sermon, and yet that same service, to me, symbolized the pilgrimage’s entire purpose---all that we’d done and all that was yet to come. We sat there as a community with one thing in common, we all went to St. Catherine’s, and therefore we did everything the St. Catherine’s way. We have our own practices…“The body of Christ, the bread of heaven…”and yet “all were welcome in [that] place” as we sang on Sundays back home. As I knelt there on my kneeler I noticed the edifice of a door creek again and again--enough to let light in, to allow people to listen, but not enough to break that timeless bond in the chapel at the abbey which had been shared with worshippers young and old for centuries and which was being shared by our group at the time. We had each matured and were empowered to sit patiently and listen intently to the one of us reading, and each of us became a lay person… “The blood of Christ, the cup of salvation.” despite the potent wine. Most important, however was the peace. Every person in that damp, echoing, primitive chapel, hugged every person there without second thought, and took as long as they wanted doing it. All the prayer and laughter, and meditation and inside jokes----it culminated then and there in that stronghold of love between members of the human race which cannot be broken that our group illustrated that day. It was then that everyone realized their unique vocation as Father Jim preached about that particular Sunday morning.

It was on the pilgrimage that I realized we are all talented one in the same, and all as worthy of God’s presence as the next. As I write in my journal on June 23^rd, Father Jim, this is my vocation. It is here that I will spend each August, just to write. The truth is, that when you come back and everyone asks you about your pilgrimage, the only thing you can show them is the 350 pictures you took, and describe the sense of awe and relief that you felt on the bumpy, crowded bus ride to Mull when you opened your eyes to see the ocean, rich aqua and the white capped mountains. All you can describe is the acceptance you received from the nice female native sitting next to you. What you cannot explain, not make anyone understand, is the emotions connected with sitting out on a rock at St. Columba bay and how in such a surreal location, the simple things, the signs of home, are what add to the experience. The sound of your mother playing Eternal Father Strong to Save on the piano, a reminiscence of the youth choir singing Just As I Am circling around in your head as sudden urge to burst out in song (your escape to all of life’s problems) rushes to your throat, and the acceptance you feel when Katherine asks you to help her make the Celtic cross are among them. Even the talk about college you have with Liz, your new grandma,that you have while not being able to help being distracted by the dandelions sprouting from the stump… the same dandelions that you find in your own back yard is among those surreal simple things. You are home, and yet far from it, and all you can think as you watch the waves crash up on the shore of St. Columba Bay is that by God’s grace nothing matters at that moment As I again wrote in my journal on June 23^rd, God, I am telling my story with utmost comfort and praising you for all you’ve done. Thank you for my friends, those sights, and for the world. Life is beautiful.