ideals and possibilities

“By judging the truth of things according to the divine measure,
we acquire wisdom; by embracing the supreme good,
we are liberated to enjoy and use the goods of creation
for the enrichment of human life.”

~ Zachary Hayes, O.F.M., The Hidden Center.

The lead quotation for this essay comes from a book written by a modern-day Franciscan, addressing Saint Bonaventure- a fellow Franciscan who lived in the 13th century. The consistency of insight to this reader is such that I have the impression of studying a philosophical writer reflecting upon his own esteemed ancestor. I read the sentence to my philosophy students, as an example of idealism- and good, lofty one, too: Acquire wisdom and improve the lives of others. Cultivate what is needed to practice the golden rule. We subsequently had a lively Socratic forum about such divisions of idealism as the subjective, the divine, the ontological, and the epistemological. These topics will be revisited in greater depth, seeing how strongly they’ve resonated with the group.

One of my colleagues added encouragement, having participated in my treatment about how happiness ("eudaemonia") is defined in philosophy, generating an enthusiastic discussion. “Keep doing these,” she added, “we all need this.” Admittedly, so do I. Perhaps the study of philosophy- or philosophizing, in itself- may be just a bit escapist? Well, that’s worth another group forum. For the moment, I’ll say it’s a combination of reckoning with the surrounding world, and consolation. All points lead to understanding, to making sense of perceptions. Beyond the abstraction of thought is the praxis of a physical sign. The illuminative and the literal riding in tandem, searching for signs. Spring began showing itself at least a month later than usual, in northern New England, with persistent cold temperatures clashing against lengthened daylight. Eager for new growth, both metaphorically and three-dimensionally, I have my camera close at hand to photograph what treasured signs can be found and savoured. Living to such ideals as Bonaventure’s, and the later Bergson’s “realization of what is yet to exist which will provide greater significance” relates well to the new promise of spring.

For a week of respite, my first in four months, I recently enjoyed a nourishing string of days in Boston. My studies at the Athenaeum were centered around encouragement and assurance, all penned by various theological thinkers. More philosophy for inspiration. I select the readings through bibliographies and lengthy catalogue searches, followed by submitting the requests several weeks before my arrival. Those e-mailed communications signify initial forward motions toward pilgrimage, choosing my direction immediately after having my time-off request delicately approved. As the swirls of preparation, packing, transportation, and logistics settled, the brilliance of great company and thoughtful studies emerged. A lingering thought occupying many musings was a suggestion to consider the possible as an antidote in the struggle against confining and incessant frustrations. What possibilities are available while swamped in recessed economics, undercapacity, and treadmill existence? Turning toward an ideal of possibilities brings me to the captivating word, potential. Convinced for many years of the underutilized potential for my skills and experience, my perseverance toward better days continues to be fueled by the prospect of future opportunities. Necessary components and energies are at the ready; but there needs to be a convinced and welcoming receiving end. Realized potential as an ideal is the stuff of daily and constant prayers, immersed in quotidian productivity and conscientious service. The magnitude and immediacy of responsibility eliminates the option of waiting around for the miraculous. But a state of readiness can still abide, seeking out the possible, despite the encroachment of negative limits.

While drafting this essay, and during my recent week of commuting, my reading included two new books by Pope Francis, one which included these words...

“Do not surrender to the night; remember that the first enemy to conquer is not outside: it is within you. Therefore, do not give space to bitter, obscure thoughts... Faith and hope go forward together.”
(Light in the Night, 2024)

...and the day after reading these sentences, I learned of his passing. Pope Francis wrote in gentle and direct tones, as a seasoned mentor. The surrender he wrote about refers to something familiar to me, and I absorb his exhortation as a warning against my habitual tendency toward immersing thoughts with impossibilities. Entirely unusual for his position, Pope Francis engaged with this world and its many humanitarian crises, sharply critical of injustice- yet his idealism remained solidly intact. As with Brother Roger of Taizé (whom I knew), living to a similar age, Pope Francis consistently wrote about hope. Both leaders approached the entirety of life as a pilgrimage of trust. Brother John, former prior of Weston Priory (whom I also knew), passed away last month at the age of 100. When an esteemed leader- especially an elder- passes from our lives, and we notice traits and turns-of-phrase attributable to them, we begin to realize a spiritual inheritance.

“In revealing the possibility of a life lived in the presence of God,” continued Zachary Hayes’ gloss of Saint Bonaventure, “it reveals what is in fact the original possibility of humanity, created from the beginning in the image of God.” We’re reminded that various possibilities are in our midst to be discovered, if the “big picture” isn’t lost, while struggling to create wider opportunities. During my recent studies at the Boston Athenaeum, I read the inspiring Life of God in the Soul of Man, written by Scotland’s Henry Scougal in 1677. His term for spirituality was the divine life, and his intention for the work was that his readers derive encouragement to stay the course through the challenges of hardship. His enjoinder to continue making progress in faith has the reminder that with wholehearted devotion, “we shall have all the saints on earth and all the angels in heaven” interceding for us. Readers are instructed to take heart, keep faith, and not be afraid. “Away with perplexing fears,” Scougal insisted, continuing with:

“We cannot excuse ourselves by the pretense of impossibility.”

... which is to say that we mustn’t be so quick to unquestioningly say “it can’t be done.” Indeed, we have yet more idealism, and I welcome strengthening words, relieved to discover such fine company. Studying written treasures is more than reason enough to travel. As I witness the passing of various visionary leaders that taught generations preceding and including mine, I’ve become increasingly aware of thinning ranks, in no less than these darkened times. Let us all consider our reception of torches passed into our hands, no matter our states of readiness. Many are already teaching others, unwittingly and by profession. There is little choice but to carry on. Now, how shall we find and flex our discovered possibilities?

sprint the marathon

“Of itself, the light of the created intellect is not sufficient
for the certain comprehension of anything without the light
of the eternal word...
St. Augustine says in On The Trinity: “The eye of the human mind,
since it is weak, is dazzled in the presence of such excellent light,
unless is it purged through the justice of faith.”

~ Saint Bonaventure, Christ, The One Teacher of All.

1

Just as critical as it is to keep on productively working, it is equally essential to continue being ambitiously creative. I’ve been insistent upon this directive for myself. Maintaining perspective demands increasingly vigilant discipline, amidst these pervasively discouraging times. A soul is not wired to expend all its energies for merely holding one’s ground, but rather to aspire and grow. With such abundance of convenient and ready technology, learning and mental health should not be so intensely daunting- but the fray above which we live tends much more to the nightmarish than to dreamlike hopes. Many say, “life is short,” and “you only live once,” all of which resembles forbidden fruit while most of us tread the mill of survival mode. A well-meaning colleague of mine, as sympathetic as they are prone to offer solutions, likes to tell me, “life is a marathon, not a sprint.” All of these sayings serve as nice reminders, while not necessarily practical. Some of us are fulltime caregivers that are also fulltime workers, managing both scenarios single-handedly- even gratefully. With enough coffee and clever planning, I get to write and study. Sprinting the marathon must have a fixed duration, though I continue testing that theory.

Priorities and urgency determine the pace, along with instincts informing me what is needed to survive. For at least the past half-dozen years, and for the foreseeable future, it remains imperative to hold course- at least until it’s possible to adjust the pace. Atop all that perpetuates my insomnia, it’s easy to believe we’re all witnessing universal decline. But haven’t observers been saying this since time immemorial? Indeed, though each one of us experience our own times and trials. A recently introduced reader of these essays told me that my writing is dark. Well that’s fair enough, and it isn’t my place to contradict another’s insight. For my part, I mentioned something I’ve repeated to my writing students for years, which is to write true- in all subjects, whether favorable or not. In personal writing, one must commit to practicing the written word and to do so with authenticity. Another subject I’ve been teaching, now for a solid decade, is philosophy. My own studies have long been with medieval philosophy, and I’ve always been profoundly impressed by thinkers who insisted upon extolling light Divine immersed in extremely dark ages.

2

Being grounded in the reality of vigilant and multiple responsibilities, there is the beckoning balance struck in the gospel to navigate society without allowing one’s soul to be owned by this exploitive world. Exemplified by the overabundance of newsfeed salespitch lures, one would think all our decisions are made for us. But not entirely. And the temptations are not limited to consumer products; there are also peddled ideologies piped to our personal devices. As a longtime student of such beacons as Erasmus, Ruysbroeck, Scotus Eriugena, and Bonaventure, I know to be enlightened in the darkness. The conscientious choice for what is lifegiving also comprises choosing away from unhelpful idols and ideals. Doing so requires strong doses of discernment, especially as even our work and worship passively absorb seepage running off from prevailing brutish culture. This entails an intentional choosing away from disrespect, keeping constantly aware that our vocations are for the purposes of service to one another. In other words, choosing that which is honorable is to choose away from denigrating others. Choosing the high road means choosing away from the low blows. Kindness over quagmire. A life’s work, to be sure; easier to utter than to fully apply. The road less and less traveled (but no less worthy) is that of human genuineness. A decade ago, many of us were striking the contrast between real and “virtual.” A meeting at a real table, or in a physical classroom, became an “in-person meeting.” The covid pandemic accelerated the transition from videoconferencing to meetings- or visits. Of late, the world has waded into varying degrees of artificial intelligence, expanding the distance between manipulated appearance and actual physical experience. For the conscientious, we’ll integrate watchfulness about choosing and choosing-away-from, into our days.

Somehow, I’ve been able to make productive careers around sustaining the unsustainable. From my years in extremely frenetic, deadline-driven commercial graphic arts and photographic production- to my following couple of decades in painstaking archival work and public services- my solitary output has regularly outpaced much larger departments. More than “just by doing,” it’s meant constant and strategized work. In the photo field, I kept a sleeping bag and changes of clothes in my studio. Through my second career, my thirty-minute lunches comprise 15 for eating what I’ve packed with me, followed by another 15 for journaling. Doing free-lance contract work, I took on (and completed) projects nobody else would take. In all circumstances, it’s been about earning my keep, proving the value of the work, and tenaciously keeping strides ahead of demands and due dates. Private-sector businesses and nonprofits each have their own versions of anxiety, bottom-lines, and absurdities. With both sectors, a worker must derive their own sense of satisfaction, and both involve bringing people and purposes together with well-crafted presentations. The same levels of craftsmanship, thoroughness, and communication are essential in both fields. Alongside appreciation from clientele, both spheres require constant proof of the worker’s worth. And clever innovation. All of which entail a disciplined sense of confidence, and impassioned drive. Through tougher days and easier days, consistency is de rigueur.

3

Fortunately, sustaining the paces of production and service grew to become an ingrained instinct. Occasionally I’ll notice the cumulative effects when I stop for a portion of a weekend. Nothing makes itself known quite like contrast. A wise friend suggested creating a sustainable bridge, spanning between protracted strings of strenuousness and the rare day off. Being one who loves words, the imagery suggested in bridge is much more interesting to me than my customary puddle-jump. And a metaphorical bridge needn’t necessarily be a place or particular length of time- elusive as both are. A sustaining bridge can be as humbly accessible as a coffee break chaplet, a sidewalk saunter, or an evening spared of lit screens. And writing. My handwritten lines are stitches connecting hours, days, and years. All words, which I compose myself; and the intelligence, if any, is natural.

There’s a worthwhile thought exercise in the consideration of what sustains. Years ago, I re-translated the old “daily bread” into the encompassing “Give us our sustenance, today.” A logic that precedes grocery errands, by making shopping lists, can inspire listing sustaining principles and endeavors. Indeed, there’s writing and studying- both reflective and practical. A philosophical shopping list of sustaining provisions would continue with such vital inspirations as discovery, faith, exploration, and opportunities to cultivate projects. As I’m sustained by physical and metaphysical nutrients, there are such corresponding manifestations as sharing my abilities and experience, while accomplishing and motioning toward the future. As it implies, sprinting a marathon persists at vigilant full-throttle. What’s most needed doesn’t always scream loudest.

With my philosophy students, we recently had an animated discussion about how we define happiness. The general consensus was their interest in simplicity, far exceeding material abundance. We talked about utilitarian ethics and there were many comments about the word pursuit. Most of the youngest students emphasized their weariness with electronic tethers, shifting the discussion toward self-discipline and personal interaction. And all of this took place after we disengaged from our “hybrid” live/teleconferencing model which we had been using for the past five years, deciding that we favored meeting together in person. Admirable and hopeful. Committed to being a fit and inspiring educator, I’m reminded about self-care, with the unadorned simplicity we were extolling this week. Deep-seated learning manifests with contemplation, and that is essential for the praxis of compassion. The squeeze of multiple fulltime commitments has compressed me into reaching for the refuge of the written word. Years of contending with time deficits has caused me to savour the oases all the more. At work, I’ve long conditioned myself into refraining from metaphorically looking up at the mountain, ingraining myself to persevere. For example, this past December saw my completion of a 14-year project in which I processed eighty years of archival journalistic photographic negatives- from physically salvaging hundreds of thousands of pieces of largely uncaptioned film from a gutted office building, to their preservation, inventorying, and digital publication. All the work of one person, in the midst of managing my multifaceted department myself. It took intense determination, not just to defend the project and my vision, but also to refrain from looking up at those heaps of cellulose and avoid being overwhelmed. Indeed, I worked as quickly and efficiently as possible, sprinting the marathon. The even bigger picture comprises belief in the value and purpose of the opus- whether it’s archives, or teaching, or writing, or living. The tie that binds is the drive to be the Renaissance worthy of pursuit.

‘Yet a little while, light is among you. Be faithful to the light that you have, for fear darkness should overtake you; for a person who walks in the dark does not know where they are going.” ~ John 12:35

accompaniment

“I see at certain epochs of history what seems like an emergence,
an incursion, of the Divine Life.
It seems as though in a marked way
and to a peculiar degree the Life of God-
again humanly revealed- has broken, like a vernal equinox,
into the lives of humans and into the stream of history.
A new installment of life has burst into the world,
like a mutation, that changes the old level forever...
Divine wisdom, changing the line of march...
Not always was it a saint that did it,
but it was always a transmitter,
and always the trail was luminous.”

~ Rufus Jones, The Luminous Trail.


among others

As I proceed, the trails of my creating are as equally evident to me as the paths I’ve chosen to follow. Survival has required years of roadbuilding and provisioning, albeit through poor visibility. And this is said amidst constant, resourceful, and tireless work. There are countless souls in far lesser straits, visible daily in these stratified times. Having lived for decades in a small city that suddenly turned so radically and severely into gentrification, my continuum has been pushed to the margins. Among those who manage to stay for various reasons, we substantiate one another’s experiences. A significant portion of the pre-2020 Maine population has out-migrated for improved fortunes elsewhere. When a five-year resident looks like a seasoned doyen, community memory loses its depth. As local resources such as businesses and churches have continued closing, replaced- if at all- by big-box versions of both, the hunger for comforts intensifies. It is seen and heard. And the seeing and hearing are right at the surface at squalid inner-city bus stops. The bus line with which I commute to work is busier on occasional Thursday evenings when a city church offers free suppers. I know this because passengers talk to me, and I always respond. Many climb aboard and disembark with backpacks and plastic bags of belongings, en route to shelters. That’s not to mention the desperation along sidewalks. The wait for my return evening bus witnesses the banter among those turned out for the night. Some help one another haul their bundles. City officials really need to get out more. I could teach them how to be an observer and a participant at the same time.

When we recognize each other, we’re reciprocally bearing witness at the most basic level. From there, we can corroborate our stories. That is inspiration’s ground of being- every scenario from pavement filth to plush meeting offices. When U.S. Surgeon General Vivek Murthy published about the Epidemic of Loneliness, he emphasized the vitality of community connections and genuine, mutual care. I’ll add that when we acknowledge each other, we begin to give validity and respect to those in our midst. This is a way to broach an antidote to desolation. Students and colleagues tell me about how dauntingly difficult it has become to make friends. We all agree about how ironic this sounds, in light of abundant connectivity. Invariably we talk about how social media has redefined “friendship” into something virtual and unsustainable- especially without initiative and conscientiousness. “I’ve seen you here before,” a weathered bus stop standee said to me, followed by “You want some food?” She offered me something from her bag. I thanked her and politely declined, mentioning that I had groceries at home. “You should come to Thursday suppah,” she said, “it’s really good.” “I might just do that,” I replied. I used to serve similar suppers, at a crosstown East End ministry called The Root Cellar. Poverty takes multiple forms, including lack of provisions and shortages of human acknowledgment. Our needs for accompaniment are paralleled by that of mutual recognition. What happens when we are “strangers in town” (or even in our own town whose population abruptly shuffles)? How important is it to be recognized and known?

On a lighter side, I’ve taken to trading wisecracks with one of the grumpiest bus drivers, the fellow some of us call Lurch. I think he does pretty well to keep even-keeled, considering all he tolerates. Well, one morning, as Lurch’s bus approached the stop at which I was awaiting, I witnessed some strikingly reckless driving that included an illegal U-turn right in front of his crowded bus. Boarding and scanning my pass, I said to the grimacing Lurch, “Wow, I saw that red Rav-4,” to which he replied, “Yeah, you can’t make up this kinda stuff.” By sheer participation, we accompany those in our midst. Even Lurch. Among my closest friends is a social worker who is also a pastoral minister. I spoke with him recently about how I’ve especially noticed the value of accompanying others, even in subtle ways, both for others and myself. John understood what I was describing, calling what we can do “the ministry of presence.”


saints

Out of necessity, my recent 2½ years of daily commuting have been on public transit. That helps explain my numerous comments about the liminality of waiting under the elements and having to spend a lot of time doing that. For the previous 17 years, I had a few minutes’ walk to work- until downtown life became an impossible luxury. During my twice-daily waits and rides, there have been opportunities to be made, so that I can redeem the time. Choosing away from the ubiquitous phone-fiddling most everyone else does (“lead me not into temptation, but deliver me from evil”), I always have books with me that serve as companions. Being an unhurried reader that takes notes, requisite index cards are typically handy. My satchel is also provisioned with a prayer booklet for reflective pauses. These sources carry forth into my workday pauses, known in my journals as coffee canticles and bus-stop novenas. Long-known as scribbling and nibbling journaling and lunch breaks go together, one as everyday as the other.

My studies and spiritual practice have run juxtaposed lines for many years. Parallel to sacramental sources in ecclesiastical institutions are the wellsprings of inspiring troves found in libraries. Escrivá referred to his spiritual reading as building up a store of fuel. “It is from there,” he wrote, “that my memory spontaneously draws material which fills my prayer with life.” As it frequently happens with favorite authors, I discovered Escrivá’s work through footnotes printed in books. Most of my beloved authors and works have met my path via written references and by spoken recommendations. The incomparable and indispensable Cloud of Unknowing was first introduced to me by a bookstore owner. A late colleague and friend taught me an observation I’ve shared numerous times: The saints are always teaching us. I’ve long tended to latch onto brilliant thinkers of yore by starting with quotes and compelling portions of books, then their biographies, and finally their own works. An example is San Juan de la Cruz, who became profoundly dear to me. I read all the biographies of him that I could find, leading to contextual readings about his contemporaries in Spain and France, after which I revisited his poetry- and then, feeling prepared enough, The Ascent of Mount Carmel. Studying that great work, over a period of months, I created my own annotated index; it was as though I was navigating the mountain, too. After traveling with it, I had to rebind my copy of the book. His work and his life are inextricable and informative. There are many other saints, not necessarily canonized, and no less significantly- teaching me. Erasmus, Ruysbroeck, Kempis, Pascal, Merton, Tozer, Brother Roger of Taizé- naming just a few- ever accompany me. Faithful companions and their words make for a better provisioned voyage, always teaching me. Another saintly and Quaker companion, fellow Mainer Rufus Matthew Jones, teaches us through his enduring books to not limit our vision to proprietary denominational thinking, and rather to transcend societal fractiousness. From his applied wealth of learning and insight, Jones’ books The Luminous Trail, and Studies in Mystical Religion present vignettes of saints in his characteristic unvarnished eloquence. His descriptions of Saint Francis of Assisi stand alongside the similar reverent biography written by Saint Bonaventure. The latter’s life and works have been integral to my current focus of studies. These teaching saints accompany, and they always mention their accompanying portions of holy writ.


mentors and guides

Dovetailing the ancients are the guiding mentors I’ve personally known. As old friends and cherished teachers, I look to them all as beacons in the night. Earlier this week, after an especially arduous day, while waiting for an elusive outbound Number 9A, I noticed myself straining my eyes as far as possible for that rolling and heated transport. It was a brutal 7 degrees below zero, windchilled and pitch-dark. In that coarse half-hour, everything but a 9A passed by. Having memorized the Divine Mercy Chaplet, I focused on that, also adding to my intentions all those that are without homes. When it finally arrived, stepping up and in from the mound of rock ice, I told the driver he was a God-send. He liked that. Then I sat and thawed a bit, before descending for the last part of my pedestrian journey in the deep freeze, the Chaplet returning to me again. Sources and refuge often intertwine.

We strain into the distance for lighted trails, for game-changers leading to better days and paradigms. There are surely many others; in the search for accompaniment, we can each be accompaniment for one another, adding meaning to our shared continua. Perhaps ponder what and who accompanies you through your days. Who follows whom? What and where are the places and contexts of refuge? Amidst the overwhelm of contemporary culture, there remain lifegiving ideas and gestures to memorize.

Seeking the solidity of consolation, in the absence of accessible places of intellectual and spiritual nourishment, I’ve been seeing how many turn to libraries. People thirst for respectful and nonsectarian acknowledgment. And most may not even realize this. There isn’t a week during which I don’t hear, “You’re about the last familiar face I can find.” Who doesn’t want the assurance of familiar faces? Our vulnerabilities hinge upon mutual recognition, which is essentially validation. Whether patrons, or associates, or even donors, there is a common search for witnesses to our lives- for substantiating observers. “Do you remember that?” “Did you know so-and-so?” “Why don’t pictures of such-and-such exist anywhere?” We can only find what has been preserved, and what can be found is what can be preserved. Basic as that sounds, this must be expressed in the gentlest of ways. Interactions reveal food for thought- whether among students, casual visitors, patrons, or colleagues. An occasional researcher totes a large, antiquated computer“tower” with him, which he hefts in a canvas bag. It’s his memory- containing an untold amount of his work; I don’t dare to judge. And then there’s cultural memory. The almost-universal fascination with microfilm is remarkable. Most workers dislike it; I find it very interesting. I call the miles upon miles of filmed newspaper pages history in real-time. Often the queries boil down to people simply wanting to see a time they knew. Reminders. They love telling me about the advertisements they find, along with the long-ago prices. Personal references are often all that any of us can see, in our limited visibility- as with the lights of a homeward bus.

forging ahead

“I am still following, still forging ahead, still walking,
still on the road, still extending myself; I haven’t yet arrived.
So if you, too, are walking, if you are extending yourself,
if you are thinking about the things that are to come,
forget what’s past, don’t look back at it...
You ask, ‘What does walking mean? I’ll tell you very briefly;
it means forging ahead, in case you should possibly not understand.”

~ Saint Augustine, Sermon 169.

As the new year began, five years into what has come to be known at the covid era, I was able to make two very long-awaited monastic pilgrimages. Part of my respite time scarcity corresponds with the nearly two years of quarantining, as well as closures to the public of retreat lodgings. All measures taken for the causes of safety and stabilization. In addition, since February 2020, at my workplace I’ve been a department of one, having to adapt into being an especially productive jack-of-all-trades. True to the adage, all work indeed means no play. No complaints. I get everything done, well and fast- and I’ve been gratefully employed the whole way. Forging ahead remains paramount. Over the years, banking up enormous quantities of largely unusable earned hours caused me to squelch hopes for those vital spiritual and artistic retreats that have provided nourishment throughout my adult life. It’s a trial of absorption and adaptation. Absorbing the constraints, while adapting to the tenable. A Saturday once a month at the Boston Athenaeum, combined with an interspersed holy hour at local sanctuaries, help to patch me along.

Several weeks ago, I had the time and space to fulfill a thwarted sojourn from a year ago. Last Christmas, I exhaustedly stole away to Mount Saint Mary’s Abbey only to arrive during the approach of weather so severe it forced all retreatants to evacuate. I’d been only a day as guest in their wonderful community, and they encouraged me to come back. And recently I did just that. My return to Wrentham Massachusetts was in clear weather, and the only storm was a manageable half-a-foot which added photogenic spice to the already peaceful landscape. With a spacious room complete with study table and a soft bed, my only real effort was to try slowing down to a restful pace. Disentangling from the compounded intensity of constant toil, housing crises, and vigilant caregiving, is no simple matter. Rest has to materialize in bits and pieces. Having a few days in beautiful environs with healthful helpings of contemplative silence and soothing sung liturgies made for a salubrious step in the right direction. Bringing both writing and reading material for the sojourn, reflectively studying philosophy seemed to be my natural course, in rotation with community prayers- and journaling. I had just taught my class before taking to the road, and was eager to complete reading material that needed undivided attention. Through experience I’ve learned that spiritual development mustn’t be forced, unstructured time is something to cherish, and thus both aspects counteract contemporary culture. As I had written in the previous essay, Pope Francis’ fortuitous theme for 2025 as a year to be undaunted pilgrims of hope immediately drew my attention. My nineteen years of published essays attest to how this theme superimposes with my own path. Indeed, it was all in mind during this recent pilgrimage, as well as during November’s sojourn to Weston Priory.

As I’ve noticed how my trail’s ingredients are constructed from my own steps combined with unwitting patterns of grace, I’ve also grown to recognize time as increments of significance. And the increments can be as long as seasons, years, and eras. I’ve held this perspective for a long time- dating back to measuring life in summers, grade school levels, semesters, jobs, and projects. Single-day holidays always seemed too short, and mostly about their buildups. Chronicling time with journal-writing provides a natural setting for marking various anniversaries- and of course describing their importance. For example, the Labor Day weekend during which I moved to Maine became known as Arrival Weekend (and I've numbered them since). Others are the closing weeks of my different graduation years- still commemorated. I’ve always much preferred Advent more than a stand-alone Christmas Day, and I grew to love the Lenten season. The latter provides plenty of time to inhabit, explore, and reflect upon during a forty-day period. Pilgrimage is as much about the coverage of physical distance as about spans of time. I regard my lunch-break novenas as spiritual journeys. Journaling provides personal space for incremental reflections. Among many things I learned during years of experience in the Taizé monastery and on the road with some of the Brothers, is to view all of life as a pilgrimage of trust on earth. On one occasion, after a week of supporting a large gathering as a liturgical musician (playing classical guitar), Frère Emile thanked me- hands on my shoulders- wished me peaceful travels, and said, “Now go make your life a pilgrimage of trust on earth.” Those unforgettable words have never, ever left me. That represents the grand view of a lifetime. The briefer and equally vital stages, such as several weeks ago in Wrentham, are to recalibrate and hold course.

Lest we romanticize pilgrimage, appropriating the stuff of novels and misty imagery, pilgrimage might occasionally be quite majestic, alas it’s more often than not pedestrian and gritty. Pilgrimage waits in traffic, rides lurching and odoriferous buses, and holds doors for strangers. It’s carefully shoveling snow. Pilgrimage is also noticing the queues of walking feet ahead, patiently pacing en route to the sacraments; it’s noticing my own. Commuting on public transit requires a lot of waiting and standing. There are also opportunities to read and to reflect; that’s surely more interesting than phone-fiddling. While taking in the sub-zero raw scenery at a bus stop, manipulating book pages with gloved fingers, I thought of how the dilapidated roads and sidewalks are not pristine or groomed, but they are all sunlit during the day. The voyage is not new, though it can be renewed. The dry docks of my start are far out of view, there is no better choice than to forge ahead.

Looking forward and staying the course are infinitely more appealing than giving up the ship. Stagnation is reversal. Maintaining awareness of the imperative to continue is enough of a challenge, particularly amidst setbacks, but what to do when the grinding trail threatens a loss of critical savour? Maintaining the furrow, because it’s what I know and it solves the immediate, fills my days. But is this progress? Not knowing how close at hand fulfillment might be, tests the fibers of hope. The saints of old are always teaching us and none of them ask us to drop the torch. It’s consistently about looking ahead, even if it means discarding all that is past- especially when it takes the form of a millstone. Perhaps beating the winter is no more effective than to check off the chores as they are accomplished. But there are no plans to cease walking forward. Yet another aspect exemplified in pilgrimage life is to affirmatively aspire when hoping looks absurdly irrational. Pope Francis recently said, “faith is a road to be traveled, without ever losing the goal.” Forging ahead, one next-right-thing at a time, is all this pilgrim of trust can do, for now.