Pilgrimage continues elsewhere: Second Saturday in Advent

All packed and on the way to pilgrimage in Houston. 

Yesterday was filled with lasts. 
Last, for this trip, early morning fire and cinnamon toast. 
Last, for this trip, blue corn cheese enchiladas, this time shared with a dear friend, Sue, whose egg recipe is featured in my daughter’s newest cookbook. 

 

Last hike, for this trip, in a path scattered with snow and ice. 
Home for a prayer ritual involving herbal tea and St. Hildegard from an Advent retreat that’s been part of my daily pilgrimage. So very much better shared with a friend. 

Early morning drive to Albuquerque with a glorious sunrise. 

Last, for this trip, cappacinnos along the way. 

So very thankful for this pilgrimage. 
So very hopeful and curious about the pilgrimage ahead. 

Pilgrimage to Taos: Second Friday in Advent

My traveling friend has been fighting a cold, and had been quite a trooper.  We’d been waiting for her to feel well enough to hike and yesterday was the day. 

There are many amazing hikes along the Rio Grande Gorge, and the one she’d wanted us to do for two years was La Vista Verde Trail. It’s a two and one half mile round trip trek that takes you back and forth along the Gorge. 
As is our custom, we began our day as our pokey selves. We started the day with morning devotions and quiet, cinnamon toast before a fire, and Advent card making. Then of course we needed to eat lunch before our hike (yet another plate of blue corn cheese enchiladas). Since we were on the north side of town, there was a gallery to pop in where a friend was showing her work, followed by a couple of quick errands to run. 

Darting and lunging and detouring on our pilgrimage way, our arrival after the thirty or so mile drive to the trailhead was not until almost three in the afternoon. This put the day perilously near the early sunset, but we set out with confidence. 

We were almost immediately welcomed on the trail with a trinity of big horn sheep   who seemed content to allow us to walk beside them within touching distance. 

We were the only travelers on the trail. It’s a point of trust when walking in a place never walked before with limited signage. The trail seemed to go away from the Gorge rather than closer, so we had to watch the path with care. Footprints from other hikers were always welcome. 
After about forty five minutes we arrived at the edge of the Gorge where we were greeted with not one but two benches for rest. After praying the afternoon office, we realized it was nearly four, and the sun had moved behind the mountains. Though we had nearly an hour of light left, the air was beginning to chill. It was time to return. 

Knowing we’d been a bit foolish with beginning the hike so late, I was mindful that we were in the middle of nowhere with only sweaters to keep us warm, some water, and phones without service. 
Poorly planned as we’d been, I’d been praying and meditating this week with St. Brendan the Navigator who’d journey with God and a few monks; they had sailed without a map in a coracle for seven years. Somehow I felt safe. 
Which I was–or covered in grace, I should say, despite my lack of thoughtful planning.  The vesper light drive home took our breath away. 
Safely back to Taos, we enjoyed our annual tradition of cappacinnos at the Taos Inn, then home for soup before yet another fire, and Advent stockings, our annual gift exchange. 

Pilgrimage to Taos: Second Thursday in Advent


No wind at the window, no knock on the door 

No light from the lamp stand, no foot on the floor 

No dream born of tiredness, no ghost raised by fear

Just an angel and a woman and a voice in her ear 


Oh, Mary, Oh, Mary don’t hide from my face 

Be glad that you’re favored and filled with God’s grace 

The time for redeeming the world has begun 

And you are requested to mother God’s son 


This child must be born that the Kingdom might come 

Salvation for many, destruction for some 

Both end and beginning, both message and sign 

Both victor and victim, both yours and divine 


No payment was promised, no promises made 

No wedding was dated, no blue print displayed 

Yet Mary, consenting to what none could guess 

Replied with conviction, “tell God I say yes.”
This is the Annunciation hymn that we’re singing at St. Mary’s this Advent. I first sang it in worship on Iona this fall and when I heard the words, I knew it was to be shared. 
The words keep playing in my ear, and so when I walked a labyrinth in Taos earlier this week, this was the song I sang, particularly the verse, 
Tell God I say yes. 

Of course, like Mary, we have no idea what that yes will mean. Still, with the breath of prayer, we are requested (I love that choice of word in the hymn) to say yes. 
At Iona Abbey, in the Cloister, is this amazing sculpture. It is called “The Descent of the Spirit.”  For me, it is the Annunciation. For me, it is about saying yes. 

Pilgrimage to Taos: Second Wednesday in Advent

“If your journey is indeed a pilgrimage, a soulful journey, it will be rigorous. Ancient wisdom suggests if you aren’t trembling as you approach the sacred, it isn’t the real thing. The sacred, in its various guises as holy ground, art, or knowledge, evokes emotion and commotion.”  Phil Cousineau in The Art of Pilgrimage 

Although I use vacation days to travel each year to New Mexico during Advent, my traveling companion and I have journeyed to this holy place for over fifteen Decembers, and it has become more of a pilgrimage than a vacation. 

I’ve traveled this year with a heart full of grief. The gift of serving in a parish for seventeen years is the deep relationships that are formed within the parish. 

But with the gift comes great sorrow when those we love die. Since I came here last year, three children of St. Mary’s have died, and before I left we celebrated the Burial Eucharist of a longtime parishioner.   

As God would have it, last evening one of the precious friends I visit each year in Taos told me that this past June she was diagnosed with cancer and has but a few months to live. 

We stood in her studio as the light of the day dimmed towards night, and we talked about dying and death. About heaven. About walking with those she’ll leave behind for but a while in these final earth days. It was holy time. 

This morning, as my traveling friend and I were planning our day, she unexpectedly showed up. We spent the morning in our casita in front of the fire chatting. There was nothing more important to do today than that time to be together. It was holy once again. 

Christine Valters Paintner says it better than I:

The pilgrim is not going on a vacation to relax and unwind from the stresses of daily living. Each moment brings a new invitation. Can we stay present enough to see what is actually showing up in this moment rather than being attached to how we want things to be?

So this day continues. A lovely walk to town for my daily meal of cheese enchiladas. This afternoon a little arts and crafts. Tonight another friend will gather round our table for conversation and meal. 

Unless the pilgrim’s Advent path takes us somewhere else.