From Susan
Spear
Not to travel is to travel. I continue to make
the sign of the cross when I pour the coffee, sit down at my desk, open the
Zoom classroom, or start a new poem. As I teach online during this
stay-safe-in-place pilgrimage I’ve traveled into my students’ kitchens, living
rooms, and bedrooms (note to self: establish some Zoom etiquette if this
continues in August). And I’ve traveled to Dublin, Limerick, Vietnam, Georgia
in the 1950s. I’ve driven across the Badlands on an empty tank of gas and
trudged across China, rebelling with the Boxers.
I fill the essential oil diffuser and pray for
students and their parents who have the virus, who have been exposed to the
virus, who have lost their jobs, who have no job after graduation, who have
been raped, who have no motivation to study, who have no home – literally, and
who have found their faith bruised.
My virtual pilgrimage extends far and wide, and
it requires skills I must learn on the job: “How do I share this Excel
spreadsheet on my desktop with my colleagues in this virtual faculty meeting?
How can I interest 23 students in 23 different locations in this poem they are
struggling to understand?” The learning curve is steep. Every day I hear
someone say, “When we return to the way things were...” But is the purpose of
pilgrimage to return and settle into our former lives?
When Noah and Company disembarked from the boat
onto soggy land, I doubt that they said, “Whew, glad that’s over. Let’s build
an altar to the Moon god.” When Joseph and Mary returned home from Egypt with
the young Jesus, I doubt they said, “We’re safe now. Let’s settle into
synagogue life and have more children.” No, they didn’t, for they had been
changed by the pilgrimage. They were on a continual pilgrimage into the heart
of God.
On Monday, overwhelmed with papers to grade and
added administrative tasks, I did the logical thing (tongue in cheek): I
practiced yoga to a live stream. As I slowed down and stretched, I wondered
what the new paradigm will look like? What is this time teaching me about the
future? What do I want to take with me from this leg of the journey into the
next? What do I need to let go of?
A soul on pilgrimage intentionally lets go of
some things to pursue the best thing, to pursue God. Perhaps Jesus is gently
saying, “Yes, fill the diffuser with lavender, pray for those young people, but
let me take it from there. You’ve packed too much.” Perhaps Jesus is saying, “I
see that you are conscientious. But use the extra morning time to work on
poems. Tomorrow is another day to finish that report. It’s OK to resign from
that committee.” Perhaps Jesus is saying, take time to check in with your
colleagues each day. And not about work. Perhaps Jesus is quietly repeating,
“Breathe. Remember me? I’ve got this.” On pilgrimage, our goal is a deeper
relationship with Jesus. Let us consider what we can let go of. What am I
carrying that is too heavy for this journey? Let’s prayerfully consider what we
want to permanently discard and what we want to adopt for whatever the future
holds.
In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of
the Holy Spirit. I sit down at my desk. A little lighter for today’s leg of
this virtual pilgrimage.
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