a surrender - 34

(Continuing "a surrender," chapter five, "who are my mother and my brothers?")

The community tried to provide an alternative to the individualism and isolation felt by many people in our society. Community members lived close to one another, sometimes sharing a house. They met together regularly for worship and prayer times and meals. They were committed to consulting one another before making important personal decisions that would affect others in the community. And they also shared all their income. Everything they earned went into a common fund, which paid for the needs of everyone in the community. They owned all their houses and cars as a group. And they gathered together to discuss and make all the major decisions about how community money would be spent. The hope was that people would be able to see themselves not as isolated individuals but as members of a large extended family, who took care of and depended on one another. They seemed to truly love each other, and it felt good to be among them.

I only saw that young woman at church, though. She didn’t seem to live in the neighborhood. 

The fall and winter passed, and I got used to my new routine. I would get up early to help my friend shower and get dressed, then help him with breakfast at a big table with the others in the house. The rest of my day was mostly free, and I read a lot and began writing more. Once a week I would cook supper for the ten people in the household. I helped with the grocery shopping and mowed the lawn. One of my housemates had a border collie, really smart and very well-trained, and I loved to take him for walks to the park or down by the lake shore.

But when the spring arrived, I was ready to start walking again. I planned to go east that year, to join some friends at a conference, but it would take me all summer to walk there and back, about 1600 miles. During that journey I had a chance to walk a few days with another pilgrim like myself, though he had been doing it for many more years. And then I returned to the community, to a very warm welcome. 

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a surrender - 33

(Continuing "a surrender")

 

who are my mother

and my brothers? 

The first time I remember seeing her, she was happy, waving a big colorful flag near the back of the church, with the music loud and everybody singing. She would flick her head as she sang, sending her long brown hair flying like the flag.

I came to this church because I had heard about it from some friends. It was the church of a community of people who had chosen to live together in one neighborhood in this city, to try to share their lives together, based on the teachings of Jesus and the practices of the first Christians. It was a very close community, and I was recognized as a visitor right away. An older couple invited me to lunch after church. And when they found out how I had been living for the last few years, they quickly began looking for somewhere I could stay and help out in the community.

They soon found a place for me. One of the larger houses owned by the community was shared by ten people, mostly single, some older and some younger. One of the men who lived there had muscular dystrophy, and others in the household helped him. So I was invited to move in there. If I would be a caregiver for this man, I could live there without paying anything, meals included. This sounded just right for me. I had been looking for a way to be more helpful to others, especially in the colder months when I couldn’t walk. And the people in this community seemed to care about a lot of the same things that I did. So I stopped walking in the middle of that summer and agreed to stay. 

Continued...

a surrender - 32

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

The following Sunday was fun and memorable also. I came to a small church. And I was the only white person there. Everyone else was African American. The people were very welcoming and the worship was joyful. Then I was invited to join them for a meal after the service. Everyone was invited, but the dinner was at someone’s house, with just one large table in the kitchen. So we took turns. When one person finished eating, someone else took their place at the table, with the cook still cooking and continually refilling the serving bowls. There was lots of lively conversation and everyone seemed to be enjoying their time together. I did too.

Near the end of my walk that summer, I came across these words in one of my favorite books, by Fyodor Dostoevsky: 

Sometimes 
even if he has to do it alone, 
and his conduct 
seems to be crazy, 
a man must set an example, 
and so draw men’s souls 
out of their isolation, 
and spur them to some act 
of brotherly love…

That seemed to me a fitting description of my walks. At times, I felt that I wasn’t offering people anything more than the opportunity to do good. And that seemed like enough, because often God seemed very close to us in those moments. But these words also reminded me how often I had felt alone.

My many meetings with kind, welcoming people had convinced me that there was a love that could draw people together into a real family, no matter where or who they were. And I began to realize I was wanting more of that.

I wouldn’t have to wait long.

 

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a surrender - 31

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

After I returned to my parents’ house in the fall, I only stayed a short time before starting out again. This time I went further south, where it was warm enough to walk and sleep outside all winter long. I walked until I ran out of road. Then I came back for another short rest and started north again in the early spring.

This time I felt more connected to people than I had before. I passed through some towns I had visited in previous years. And I had met some people through the internet that were interested in my walks and the way God seemed to be supporting me. I could write to these new friends from libraries along my way. Many of my encounters with people on the road were similar to what I had experienced before. But there were also some happy surprises.

One Sunday evening I came to a little charismatic church, with a sign that said there would be a service soon. So I waited. No one showed up for the service, though, and I was getting ready to leave. Just then, several women arrived. They said they had come to dance, and invited me to join them. I’m not much of a dancer, but I enjoyed talking to them and seeing their unusual, physical way of praying together. It was beautiful, and it was also very much together. The dance was synchronized in parts and improvised in parts, a very charismatic form of worshiping God. It was inspiring to see how these women felt about God. Afterwards, many of them asked me questions, and one of the women invited me stay with her and her children that night.

She was a single mom, with two young kids. And another young woman lived with them also. They had met her at a homeless shelter, after a difficult start to her life, and eventually they had asked her to join their family. I was overwhelmed by the courageous kindness of their invitation to me. I realized what a big risk it was, whenever anyone invited me into their home. But this little family didn’t seem scared, just full of life and happy to share it. After some more conversation the next morning, the mother took the kids to school, and I got ready to leave. But then the young woman asked if I would join her morning communion. She brought out some bread and wine. “It’s real wine,” she said, “don’t tell anyone!” We prayed some simple prayers together. Then ate and drank together. She said it was something she liked to do, and I was the first to join her. That made me feel even closer to that family. I really felt a deep love for them, a love that seemed to come from God. As I walked away that morning, it felt like God had brought me to them, saying, “Look, I’ve got someone here I’d like to show you.”

Continued... 

a surrender - 30

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

After a good rest with the Dominicans, I turned back east. There were long empty stretches of road again. More than once I felt pushed to the limit of what I could endure, weak and confused. And often I felt very alone. But there were some very bright moments during those weeks, as well.

In one town, a man rode up beside me on a bicycle and asked why I was walking. He was from India, his speech heavily accented. I told him I was a pilgrim. He immediately invited me to the motel he managed, right down the street. At the motel he asked me more questions. Then he explained, “I am not owner here. But I can give you good room; from God it comes through me to you. I like to help people who bring good into the world. This is you. Okay?” He told me to rest and then come back. Later, he and his wife asked me many questions about my walk, and about this country. They were only living here temporarily. They told me about India, their impressions of the U.S., and described how my walking was closer to Indian religious practices than to what they saw here. There were lots of pilgrims and monks and meditation in India, they said. At supper, his wife served me, the guest, before they ate: curry rice and vegetables, a spicy bean soup, and pickled mangoes. She was very humble, and shied away from my thanks. They were Hindu, I gathered. But the man seemed to have investigated other religions too, to find the truth. He spoke about God’s generosity and love, and I could see it. Their openness and humble kindness exceeded that of most Christians I'd met. They treated me like a brother.

Continued...