When I lead a pilgrimage trip, as I did earlier this month with the congregation from the Unitarian church in Annapolis, MD, there is an arc to our spiritual journey. On our first day of walking, as we enter the liminal space of the pilgrim, I invite participants to pick up a small stone to carry with them. Mid-week, I invite them to lay the stone down as a representation of something they want to let go of on the trip. Then, I ask them not to rush to fill the space. Rather, I invite them to enjoy walking the rest of this road a little lighter, with more space in their hearts and spirits to receive the gifts and lessons that are theirs to carry homeward. Then, on our last evening together, we share those gifts and lessons.
Rev. John Crestwell, the senior minister of Annapolis church who was journeying with his congregation, shared his answer in song. He played Peter Meyer’s “Holy Now” for the group. The lyrics include:
This morning outside I stood
I saw a little red-winged bird
Shining like a burning bush
And singing like a scripture verse
It made me want to bow my head
I remember when church let out
How things have changed since then
Everything is holy now
It used to be a world half there
Heaven's second rate hand-me-down
But I walk it with a reverent air
'Cause everything is holy now
When I talk to people who have left behind the religious traditions of their childhood, there is often a sense of relief and freedom, but also often deep grief. There is a sense of loss for the miracles and visions of heaven that had once been a comfort. But one of the great gifts of our UU faith is how, over time, it can help us see the miracles that are all around us in this present moment. Our expansive theology, appreciation for curiosity, and reverence for the earth and all who inhabit it, help us to see how everything is holy. Unitarian ancestor Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote, “Heaven walks among us ordinarily muffled in such triple or tenfold disguises that the wisest are deceived and no one suspects the days to be gods.”
After that last pilgrim gathering, I took time by myself to walk around the Holy Island of Lindisfarne, listening to the Peter Meyer song. It felt magical. Everything I saw—the sparrows, seals, and roe deer, the sunset peaking through the rain clouds, the receding tide, the fellow pilgrims walking with reverence—felt imbued with the holy.
That feeling lasted as I made my way back to Edinburgh to fly home. I peaked inside an Episcopal church while I was there to see the stained glass, and felt myself moved by the children’s corner in the back of the sanctuary. The books and crafts and advertisement for midweek children’s worship told me on Sundays this was a place that welcomed families and that viewed people of all ages as sacred.
That is what I’m bringing home with me from my pilgrimage: a renewed vision of the holy all around me, not least of all, here at church. I am noticing the holy in the creative artistry of our stained class, the playfulness and precociousness of our children, the love and care in a homemade treat placed on the fellowship table on a Sunday morning, the care when a member of community is in need, the tender prayer requests, the eager Sunday morning announcements, and even the curiosity of tourists poking their heads through our front doors.
Our community is so full of ordinary miracles when we make space to notice them. That’s the spirit with which I’m approaching the end of this church year. I hope to see you Sunday for RE Sunday and our End of Year Picnic. What a blessing to be able to journey through this beautiful bewildering world together.
In faith,
Rev. Danielle