Are You a Spiritual Tourist or Pilgrim?

Stand at the crossroads and look;
ask for the ancient paths,
ask where the good way is, and walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls
(Jeremiah 6:16.)

Tourists become disappointed when the scenery doesn't look like it did in the brochure.

A message I heard on a radio broadcast called Come Up Higher has had a deep impact on me. The question was asked: "Are we tourists or pilgrims on this earth?" Think about it. The obvious and correct answer is that, as Christians, we are pilgrims. But if we examine the profile of both types of travelers, I wonder which one would our lives actually line up with. My dictionary defines a pilgrim as "one who embarks on a quest for something conceived of as sacred." Under tourist it says, "One who travels for pleasure."

Pilgrims are on a mission; they are going somewhere, no matter what the cost. This journey is their destiny in life, their reason for being. Their energy and attention is focused on the truth that they are going somewhere, not anywhere, but somewhere in particular.

Tourists, on the other hand, have the luxury of choice. If they had planned to go one way and the weather turns bad or the currency rate changes, they can change their minds and go somewhere else, somewhere more pleasing to them or their circumstances. Much of their time is taken up seeing the sights, being in all of the right places at the right time. It is a self-driven, self-directed endeavour.

It is so easy today to live as spiritual tourists, reading the right books, going to the right conferences and dropping by the church occasionally. We can choose to live with great conviction -- until the weather changes and it doesn't feel as good anymore. So then we cancel part of our trip and rest a while. If we view ourselves as tourists, we will become discouraged when things don't go the way we had hoped, when the scenery is not as spectacular as the brochure promised. A tourist venture is largely a selfish thing, to make us happy.

A pilgrim does not have that luxury. We do not have that luxury. As pilgrims our expectations are different. We are going somewhere because we have been called there and no other place will do.

We don't expect it to always be safe or comfortable, but it is not about us or what makes us happy. A tourist has a fistful of postcards and Kodak moments, but a pilgrim has a heart full of faith and love and commitment to a higher calling.

O God, our help in ages past,
Our hope for years to come,
Be thou our guide while life shall last, And our eternal home.
~Isaac Watts

Yours faithfully,
Pastor Samuel K King-Kabu.
Pastor@st-ansgars-montreal.ca

Biking with Roger (part 4)

I left the monastery at Lac Bouchette at 05:00 in the morning, just as the sun was coming up over the mountains. I wanted to get an early start on the section of highway I felt would be my greatest challenge: 100km of two-laned highway through the mountains and wilderness to distant La Tuque, on the Saint-Maurice River. In planning the trip, I had long studied satellite photos and topographical maps, trying to determine if I could make such a long distance. The maps had shown promise. Lac-Saint-Jean was already much higher in elevation than La Tuque, and by the time I had reached Lac Bouchette, I was even higher still. It appeared from the maps that after a dozen more kilometres of relatively flat road would be a small rise, to the crest of the divide, followed then by downhill road all the way into La Tuque. Would it really be that way? I was very apprehensive.

After a quick breakfast at the truck stop, I set out. At that early hour, the only ones on the road were myself and the big transport trucks. I would learn how to share the road with them. There were no paved shoulders, just gravel. I could hear the trucks approaching from behind when they were still a long way back. I would put myself in the position of the truck driver and would look at the road ahead. Could they pass me? If the way was clear, the trucks would pass me with a wide margin. If there was a blind curve, the crest of a hill, or oncoming traffic, they could not pass me. Nor could they reasonably stop. If I were to stay on the road, they would certainly try to pass, at high speed, in the same lane as I, and with inches to spare. In such cases, I would head off the road onto the gravel shoulder and come to a stop as I heard them approach closer. As it turned out, I would have to do this only about once an hour. There was little traffic on the highway.

Within a couple of hours, soon after passing a sign warning motorists that the next gas was sixty or more kilometres away, I had reached the crest. I knew when I had passed the crest because the creeks and streams all began running in the same direction as I. The highway presented a few long slopes, but nothing I could not handle by climbing very slowly. At first the road twisted and turned its way around one forest-bound lake after another. Besides the highway and the lakes, trees were the only scenery.

There came a point, just before noon, when the highway began a long, serious drop. For almost half an hour I flew down the road, just lightly touching the pedals while my bike was in its hardest gear. I'm sure I was going at least 30 km/hr. When I stopped at the bottom for lunch, I was surrounded by the high walls of a gorge and the 'creek' beside me had grown into a river, La Bostonnais.

I followed the canyon and the river on into La Tuque, passing a couple of picturesque covered bridges along the way. Once I reached the town of La Bostonnais, civilization returned to the roadside and I began to pass houses and businesses. I reached La Tuque at around 16:00, still early enough to ride around town for some sightseeing. I located the narrow, steel bridge hidden behind the paper mill, from which I could look upriver upon the vast reservoir of the Saint-Maurice River. I passed the dam, but there was no way I could get a good view of it. Below the dam, cliffs dropped a hundred feet or more down into a massive gorge. Nestled along the edge of the cliff was a quaint, old English neighbourhood, complete with an Anglican Church, lost in a sea of francophones.

As evening came on, settled into my B&B, I then headed out on foot to explore downtown and to find some supper. I found the nightlife scene in the small town to be pretty lively.

I was content with my day's cycling and felt a great relief that I had crossed the wilderness. The next day I would be free to enjoy the ride down the picturesque canyon of the Saint-Maurice River. One small niggling doubt entered my head. Whereas La Tuque had been 100km from my starting point, my next destination, Grand-Mere, was shown on the mileage signs as being 125km away. It would be a longer ride! I was not worried, since I would be going downhill along the river.

It would not turn out that way. The next day, I did not get an early start. I stayed and enjoyed coffee and conversation at the B&B until well after 08:00. The road down the canyon of the Saint-Maurice was indeed beautiful, but it was not downhill! Though the river may flow downward, the road kept climbing up and down. Then there was the wind! It seemed to be focused up the narrow gorge. At times, I would be descending a hill and yet still have to pedal hard just to make headway. Then there was the rain! After a few sunny breaks in the morning, the clouds and the mist closed in. I would not end up reaching Grand-Mere until 19:30 that evening, after a long, grueling day of cycling.

When I reached the small town across from Saint-Jean-des-Piles around 18:00, I phoned ahead to advise the B&B that I would not be coming in for at least another hour and a half. I must have sounded tired for, to my surprise, a few miles down the road a van pulled me over. It was the B&B owner, who had driven out to bring me in. I thanked him very much, but declined. I'd ridden thus far, I might as well complete the ride. I slept well that night!

(The story will be continued in subsequent editions of the Messenger. Accounts of earlier bike rides can be found at http://rogerkenner.ca/Bike/Bike.html)

Roger Kenner

Web Page prepared by:
Roger Kenner & Jette Blair.
Content-New Topics Last Updated: 2006/02/22
St. Ansgar's Lutheran Church - Montreal