a surrender - 21

(Continuing "a surrender," chapter four, "the anawim")

I was grateful that many of my encounters with people during the months I had been on the road hadn’t been like that one. When I got off the Appalachian Trail, I walked on roads for about 300 miles before I got to the monastery where I had planned to stop. Since I had gotten rid of my tent and big backpack the walking was easier, and I still had money with me. It was a different way of life than on the trail. It was easier to get food, and there were places to rest, such as parks and libraries. But it was a little more tricky finding places to sleep. I ended up sleeping in a number of unusual places, like picnic shelters and cemeteries, even in front of a volunteer fire station once (and was suddenly awakened in the middle of the night by many running boots and blaring sirens). Sometimes the police stopped me and questioned me. But people didn’t drive me away very often, and I was grateful for any opportunity to meet someone and explain what I was doing. When there were church services at a church I came to, I usually joined them, and I often met people who were friendly and welcoming and curious. 

When I had almost reached the monastery, I was leaving a town and noticed a Catholic church that was having its daily service. An older woman was going in and invited me to join them. So I went in, but sat in the back, in the separate “cry room” (for noisy kids), because I was pretty sweaty and dirty from walking. I decided not to stay, though, as I was feeling very tired. So I left the church, and walked until I found a quiet place to take a nap. At the same time, there was another woman, Colette, on her way to that church, running late. Just before she arrived, she noticed me walking along the road, and wondered about me. Then she slipped into the cry room, where I had just been. After the service, the older woman came in. “Where is he?” she said. Colette didn’t know who she was talking about, but then she remembered seeing me walking. So she was thinking about me as she did her errands in town. And on her way home she saw me again. Because of my nap, I hadn’t gotten far. Then Colette took a chance: she stopped her car and invited me to lunch at her house. We had a long, deep conversation, and she introduced me to five of her children (out of eight). She knew the monastery I was going to. And after consulting with her husband, they asked me to spend the night at their house. It was a wonderful experience for me. It felt like family, though I had never met them before. And they seemed happy and energized by the experience, not just because of our good conversations but, I think, because of the good outcome of their risky generosity. It seemed to me clearly an act of faith on their part, opening their home because they felt it was the right thing to do, even though they couldn’t be sure it was safe. The experience seemed so good for everyone involved that it felt like a gift from God.

Leaving Colette’s house, I was greatly encouraged. That was the kind of encounter I had hoped might happen as I walked through cities and towns. So when I arrived at the monastery a few days later, I was ready to take a much-needed break, then continue the walk.

Continued...

a surrender - 20

(Continuing "a surrender," chapter four)

 

the anawim

"Hands against that wall, and spread your legs.” The officer began to pat me down, checking for concealed weapons. But I was still arguing heatedly with the seminary professor next to me. 

I had noticed the school just as the sun was setting. There was no one there, so I looked around, and then lay down on the covered sidewalk that surrounded the main building. I wanted a little shelter in case it rained that night, and it didn’t seem like I would bother anyone here. I was awakened after dark, though, when a car pulled into the parking lot. An older man got out, then a young man. It sounded like they had just stopped to pick up another car that had been left there. I always asked permission before sleeping on someone’s property, so I got up and waved to the two men and introduced myself. I explained I was walking long distance, on a kind of “faith walk,” and asked if it would be okay if I slept on the sidewalk beside the school. The older man said he was a professor at this seminary, and he quickly went inside. The young man was apparently a student. When the professor returned, he informed me that he had called the police, in accordance with school policy. 

While we waited for the police to arrive, the professor asked me about my “faith walk.” I explained that I had been inspired by the way Jesus lived, how he gave freely to people and trusted God to provide for all his needs. I said I had been walking for many months now, traveling for thousands of miles, without any money of my own and without asking anyone for anything more than water for my canteen. And occasionally I had asked to sleep on someone’s porch or sidewalk. “That’s all you carry?” he asked. My small “pilgrim” bag lay on the sidewalk, along with an Army surplus coat that I also used as a blanket. “Yes,” I said, “and my walking stick.” 

Then the professor started explaining to me that the way of life and teachings of Jesus that I was referring to were meant only for that time and place. That was “the time of Jesus.” The extreme teachings like not fighting back when you’re attacked, giving to whoever asks you, and selling all your possessions to follow Jesus were meant to make an impression, to catch people’s attention. Yes, Jesus and his first followers lived that way. But Jesus didn’t expect people to continue to live that way after he was gone. So I should settle down and get a job, he said. 

“But,” I replied, “Jesus said, ‘Follow me.’” 

That’s when the conversation started to get heated, and the patrol car pulled up. The officer had me put my things in the trunk, then frisked me, while we argued. As he was leading me to the car and opening the door to the back seat, I said to the professor, “Well, I’m sorry that you’re not living in the time of Jesus, but I am.” 

The car door slammed shut. As we pulled away, I noticed the student. He hadn’t said anything the whole time, just stared, with his mouth hanging open.

Continued...

a surrender - 19

(Continuing "a surrender," chapter three, "into the wilderness")

I was off the trail. And I was going to continue walking, on roads, from town to town. But it didn’t feel like I had made the decision, it wasn’t because I felt like I was ready. The frightening experience of the previous day had shaken any feelings of strength or confidence in my preparations. That morning when I awoke in a soft bed, the words of Psalm 116 immediately came to mind. In the Dominicans we had chanted the Psalms, and I had memorized this one:

I love the Lord
for he has heard
the cry of my appeal,
for he turned his ear
to me
on the day
that I called him.

They surrounded me,
the snares of death,
with the anguish
of the tomb;
they caught me,
sorrow and distress.
I called on the Lord’s name,
“O Lord my God,
deliver me!”

How gracious is the Lord,
and just.
Our God has compassion.
The Lord protects
the simple hearts;
I was helpless
so he saved me.

Turn back, my soul,
to your rest
for the Lord has been good.
He has kept
my soul from death,
my eyes from tears,
and my feet from stumbling.

I will walk
in the presence of the Lord
in the land of the living.

Those words would come back to me many times in the years that followed.

When I called my parents to tell them I was getting off the trail, I was glad that I was over a thousand miles away. I knew it was not going to be an easy conversation. Not because I was afraid of disappointing them, but because I was sure they would be very afraid for me. And I didn’t think I could explain what I was doing in a way that they would understand. If they had been standing there in front of me, crying, I don’t know if I could have gone through with it. But I didn’t have to see their faces when I tried to explain that I was going to continue walking and trust that God would protect me and provide what I needed along the way. There was a stunned silence. Then my father saying, “So… you’re gonna to be a bum?”

I knew they loved me. And I felt sure that, if God did protect me and provide for me, my parents would eventually accept and believe that. They were good souls. 

But I didn’t think I would find the same acceptance among most of the people I would meet on the road. After my days in the wilderness, I believed that God was with me. But it didn’t seem likely that most other people would see it the same way. Soon after, I came across this poem by Emily Dickinson:

Much madness is divinest sense
To a discerning eye;
Much sense the starkest madness.
‘Tis the majority
In this, as all, prevails.
Assent, and you are sane;
Demur,—
you’re straightway dangerous,
And handled with a chain.

 

Continued...

a surrender - 18

(Continuing "a surrender," chapter three, "into the wilderness") 

When I got to the road, I set up my tent and considered my situation. The weather was no better. It was three more miles to a small village, then maybe fifteen miles to Damascus after that. I needed to sleep. It was 2:30 pm. I decided to nap as long as I could, while I was still warm from walking. I managed to sleep about an hour and a half, then woke up shivering. Checked the weather: cold, windy, no break in the clouds. That settled it. I ate my supper and braced for a long walk. First get to the village, then decide what to do next; but I was getting off the trail right now. I quickly packed my things and started down the road. It was easy walking, downhill, and I immediately began to feel better. 

The village was small, farmy, and pretty. Little ponds ringed with cattails, and even a few Canadian geese. I came to a store about 6 pm. I talked to a local man, who was also mystified by the weather, and who claimed it had got down to 38 degrees at his place the night before. It wasn’t much warmer here, even though I had descended considerably. And there was no place to spend the night. So I took the final step. I grabbed a purse-sized bag with my journal and a few other necessities, stuffed some granola bars and an apple in the pockets of my coat, and dumped the rest. If I was going to walk on roads, through towns, I could travel much lighter. I gave my big backpack to some guys I saw in a nearby parking lot. And I set off for Damascus. 

The sky still threatened. I was worried it might rain, but the walk was nice and I was warm. I didn’t think I would make it to Damascus before 10:30 pm, and I doubted that I would be able to find a room, but in any case walking was better than sitting in the cold dark. I passed sheep, cows, and horses. A grade school softball game. A farmer cutting hay. Then, after four miles, a beat-up pickup stopped, though I hadn’t been asking for a ride. My savior was an old, round, grizzled man, with a dirty cap and a full mountain-man beard. He was half-drunk, I think. But he got me to Damascus by 8 pm, and by 9:30 I was showered and in bed at “The Maples” bed-and-breakfast.

I awoke the next morning to a flawless pale blue sky. The tempest was past. Then I walked downstairs, and bumped into Geezer and Half and Half, friends from the trail. An extravagant breakfast followed. It was like a dream. 

Continued...

a surrender - 17

(Continuing "a surrender," chapter three, "into the wilderness")

By this time I had been on the trail for over a month. My body was feeling strong and I felt like I could handle myself in the woods, and I even felt more sure that somehow I would continue walking once I got off the trail. I just didn’t know how or when to take that step. 

With that on my mind, and exhausted from a long day of walking, I fell asleep early, though rain had started to fall hard on the tent. But I didn’t sleep long. With the rain an unexpected cold front moved in, and I awoke shivering at 1:30 am. Unable to get back to sleep, I sat up in the cold dark with all my clothes on, even my poncho wrapped around me, for four hours, waiting for the light. The wind blew drops of water from the trees and when I turned on my flashlight I could see my breath. Finally I said a prayer and stepped out. There was heavy fog, wind, and the temperature was in the low 40s. I ate and left quickly, hoping to escape the cold by descending (I was at 4000 feet). But the freak cold lasted all day. Cold, wind, fog, dripping trees, soggy ground. I had to walk to stay warm, being careful not to work up a sweat, because I quickly became cold each time I stopped and I needed my clothes dry for warmth. It was the coldest day since I had started on the trail. I wore three shirts, including my wool one, and long pants. All day I blew clouds of vapor. And this was June, in the South. Very strange.

I stumbled along for a few hours, feeling very fatigued but warmer. When I’d come down about 500 feet, it seemed a little warmer and I was so tired I felt I could hardly go on, so I lay down for a rest. I think I slept about thirty minutes. The cold woke me up, and I staggered to my feet and continued, somewhat refreshed by the nap. I don’t remember much of the walking after that. There were still about 25 miles to the next big town, Damascus. That would take me at least a day and a half. I had had little sleep, and the cold night ahead of me seemed threatening. I saw that I needed to sleep during the day, if I could, since the chill of night seemed impossible. I also thought of walking at night for warmth, but that didn’t seem wise in the dark woods on a narrow, winding trail marred by rocks and roots. I was getting nervous.

By lunch, the weather seemed even a little worse. The wind had increased and it felt colder. Still foggy. I made hot chocolate, which warmed me briefly. And I began to try to think of other options, other ways to get to Damascus. The distance seemed impossibly long, still almost 18 miles by trail. But there was a road in three and a half miles, where I had planned to camp that night. I considered leaving the trail early, even walking at night if necessary. I was very tired and this weather was serious. The easy, five-day, 50-mile “stroll” to Damascus that I planned had become the biggest challenge I had encountered so far. The rain of the previous weeks had been a minor inconvenience―this cold and exhaustion were threats.

Continued...