let me explain...
I teach history here in Atlanta. Near the start of my European History course, as we discuss the medieval world, and the medieval church, a discussion of pilgrimage inevitably ensues. My students find the idea almost unfathomable. It’s become a foreign concept in our instantly gratified society. We’ve forgotten how to embark on a prolonged search for an elusive Truth. We’ve forgotten that it even matters. The closest we come to pilgrimage is journeying to the local Borders bookstore to empty our pockets on the latest empty self-help craze.
India, on the other hand, is a land of pilgrims. I’ve been trapped on the Ganges at sunset, in a crowd of a quarter of a million pressing bodies hungry for a sight of the supernatural. I heard the priests promise a richer experience for those who gave money. It wasn’t enough to leave fields and empty savings to make the journey. I could feel, maybe even smell, their desperation. When the sun sank, priests re-emerged from the temples, bearing flaming chandeliers, waving the fire in sweeping circles. “Light,” I thought, “they’ve all come looking for light.”
My great-grandfather Ezra also went looking. He left his home in Ohio for the California orange groves and vineyards, seeking extravagant wealth. His quest transformed in Illinois, where he experienced God calling him to Tibet. He left the U.S. in 1913, with his wife, Elizabeth. They didn’t make it into Tibet until, briefly, in 1930, during a time of Hindu pilgrimage to Mt. Kailash. Most of their 40 years in India were spent high in the mountains, planted at an earlier point on this same route.
Last summer in India, my parents and I made a pilgrimage of our own, back to Almora, in the Kumaon region of the Himalayas. In their childhood, this was the town where the road came to an end. Getting home for both my parents required following the river another few days on foot—90 miles, in my mother’s case.
The road up to Almora wound along the same, sparkling mountain river. I kept thinking of the millions of pilgrims who come this way, searching for healing, or forgiveness, or a longer life, or an heir…They all come looking. And what struck me was that Ezra—and my grandparents and parents before me—went to India as pilgrims in reverse. They trekked the same paths, however they weren’t looking for light. They went joyfully, precisely because they had found Light, in the person of Christ.
Or perhaps, Christ had found them, claimed them, as he has me and you. This is why I’m eager to leave Atlanta and journey back to India. I, too, am a pilgrim in reverse.
I won’t be walking 90 miles to reach an out-of-the-way station. Instead, I’ll be teaching history and religion at Woodstock, an international boarding school in the foothills of the Himalayas. Incidentally, it’s the same school I attended. I’ve accepted a two-year contract with the school, but I suspect this might be a much longer commitment.
I’ve been re-reading Ezra’s account of his call to Tibet, and have been humbled and encouraged by his faith. He says, “God called us to Tibet long ago. He said, ‘Get ready, and when you are ready; then the doors will open.’ The door is now opening….why should we doubt or be over-concerned?” I’ve been encouraged already to see the door to India opening for me. My prayer is that you, too, will be encouraged to see the body of Christ coming together to further extend His kingdom.
Your fellow pilgrim,
Amy
