Travel Tips for the Adventurous

At various moments, key moments of insight, it has been made entirely too clear to me that we Garrys as a family are not a pioneering lot. We are not the sort of people who survived the mountain pass or foraged for food in the wilderness. Nor are we the ones who endured the famine, held off the marauders. No. Had we been the folks heading west into the frontier, we would have died on the way. Not everyone reaches the end of the trail

I distinctly remember conveying this information to our youngest who in a moment of delusion decided to study geology in college. Geology. Rocks, I said, rocks. We are not people who actually know things about rocks. We are the sort who write poems about rocks. A friend of mine made this point to me each time he ventured into my office. Perusing my library he would find the most obscure title and say, "you read this? The whole thing?" When I would confirm having read the book, he would scoff and say, "incredible."

              I never took the designation "incredible" as a compliment.  He was suggesting by tone and facial expression a disdain, a contempt.  By inference he was prodding me to apply my time, energy to more practical matters, more applicable insights than discourses on medieval pilgrim routes.  My response to him was always the same, "I am happier than you are."  To such a declaration he would shrug his shoulders and nod his head and with a sigh of resignation return the arcane book to the shelf filled with other such books.

              As a young father I would at times forget the limit of my hardiness, the lack of survival skills, and lead my eldest children into the wilds of the Olympic National Forest.  We three would venture in for four, sometimes five days.  On this trek we carried less and less in our backpacks after each subsequent trip.  We came to realize how little you actually need for the trail and how pleasant it was to carry less weight. 

              On these fifty-mile hikes we took small stoves, a water filtration system, tent, sleeping bag, ground pad, a few changes of clothes, food, and a first aid kit.  We were prepared.  And we were able to go and return again and again exploring all the trailheads save one.  Yet, no matter the prior success, nor the preparation, my wife never warmed to this delusion, this folly.  She never lost sight of my domestic limitations. We are not a pioneering lot.  I was taking her children into the wild for days and all the while possessing more confidence than sense, more enthusiasm than skill.

              I always caught her concern in the last moment before we three piled into the car.  Just before we drove off she would ask, "do you have a map?"  Sometimes she would phrase the question as a critique, "you remembered your map, right?"  This was a fair question even when barbed as quite often I would say, "I was just about to grab it."  Although she never spoke it out loud there was a telepathic communication of "incredible."

              And I get it.  Or I got it.  Life is hard enough, dangerous enough, filled with pitfalls and pathogens and pariahs.  Why make it harder?  Why take such risks in such remote places so far beyond rescue or aid? And why you of all people?  While able to navigate ancient Hebrew and the biblical geography of Palestine 4000 years ago, yet entirely unable to remember a map of the trail that will lead to a safe return, why would you consider such folly? 

              I heard the answer on Christmas Day.  On a zoom with all our children and their respective spouses, our eldest brought up those treks, the danger, the folly and said, in effect, they changed his life, created a way for him. A critic may suggest a concern about apples and trees, or that repeated folly does not yield wisdom.  This is fair.  Yet, a kinder interpretation is this: there is a place, a vision, a sense of wholeness you can find along the way, in the wild, where you have left your life behind for just a moment and you know with an abiding peace how beautiful life is, how good, how true.  You taste and see such satisfaction is here and now. The kingdom of God is here on earth as it is in heaven for just a moment.

              Ralph Waldo Emerson called this moment the "wayside sacrament."  The wayside sacrament is the confluence of physical beauty and metaphysical beauty. This is the power of spring grass where the winds make rivulets like running rabbits, this is the force calming the soul in the sound of water from the gentle rain on leaves to the thunderous cataract of waterfalls filled with snow melt.  And my favorite, the rare purple sunset where the light seems to sing.  This is the physical beauty illuminating the soul, the metaphysical.

              To Emerson's credit he devoted most of his writings to the metaphysical side of things.  The book of nature has already been written.  What he offered was the call to head outside our mundane and explore the wilds within. He provided the eyes to see how truth illumines the soul, and most importantly, how we can find life if we lose it, leave aside the definitions given to us and make our own.  For me his voice is a constant reminder of how freedom is often found by breaking the chains we forged for our self.  We have the key to unlock the cell.

              The irony of Ralph Waldo Emerson, the New England transcendentalist who lived in Concord just before the Civil War, the irony of his life and work is that he was deemed a heretic while offering the closest of expressions, the clearest images of what Jesus bid his disciples to do. Jesus said go tell people they can be free from fear if they trust humility; life can be whole and true if you have the courage to risk losing it.  Jesus told his disciples the kingdom of God was here and now.

              And so did Emerson.  His faith was in the kingdom of God here and now, in our life, in our time, within our grasp.  He told those who would hear, you have the power and authority, you can bring the good news, you can find freedom to live unto beauty.  What is sacred is what we find along the way, on the wayside.

              Our reading today from Luke says the same.  It does if we pay attention to a simple truth in our pericope.  Jesus bids the twelve to proclaim the good news.  He bid them to share his gospel.  Although it will seem heretical to some, the good news Jesus shared with the people, the good news he bid his disciples to share was not about him.  Jesus doesn't talk about himself a lot, nothing like the Apostle Paul.  The good news of Paul is about Jesus, how he is the Son of God, how his death satisfies an angry god, how we are free because of what Jesus did.  There is nothing we can do. Jesus saves us.

              This is not the good news of Jesus.

              What he called the twelve to proclaim was not about himself or his death or his blood or his atoning sacrifice.  In the teachings of Jesus there is a simple focus, a simple truth, a dare, as it were, you can be free, you can break out of the mundane and the disappointment and the desperation of self-loathing. What is more, you can do this; you can find this freedom. You have the power.

              It is easy to miss this simple truth in the calls for austerity and dependence.  Jesus doesn't make the mission of the twelve an easy path.  He presents them with a daunting challenge.  Take nothing with you on the journey.  No staff, no bag, nor bread, nor money, not even an extra tunic.  Stay where you are greeted, leave where you are not wanted.  Depend upon the kindness of strangers.  Each step is daunting, yet each direction is really the same.  The staff, the bag, the bread, money, clothes, independence: each is a sense of security, each is a moment of keeping fear at bay.  He is calling them to live beyond fear.

              To be strong, to have provisions, to have enough food, to have enough money, to be clothed in a way where we have no risk of embarrassment, to rely on no one.  This is a list of what we store and amass not a list of what we leave aside.  What Jesus calls his disciples to live without is what we work so hard to never lose. 

              Yet, the most important truth of our reading is something not spoken directly.  It's implied that the twelve went out and the twelve came back.  The mission was for a time, a brief time. It was a moment to see life, see your own life.  In this brief time, they could face their fears, see how much of life was lived in dread of not having enough, not being prepared. Mostly, to see how little we trust others.

              In this brief time the twelve could see they need not worry; they need not waste their time in fear.  A good life was not found in the staff, the bag, the bread, the money. A good life was found in freedom living beyond fear.  Having been set free by the good news, then the staff, the bag, the bread, the money they too were now free to be what they are.  To find their value, Jesus bid them to leave them aside.

              A fair critique of Jesus is this.  Life is hard.  Why make it harder?  Why leave aside comfort when so often comfort is taken from us?  To be a migrant, a refugee, a person without a home, no one should sign up for this.  War, famine, pestilence, greed and corruption take away what is good in life.  This is true suffering. People who despise or deride the immigrant and the asylum seeker abide in darkness.  Tragedy takes away the staff, the bag, the bread, the security.  To be forced to beg is not freedom.

              It could be that Jesus' call to the twelve to leave aside comforts for a time, to live as a beggar, it could be that such a call was romantic folly.  What is the point of taking nothing?  Why take such risks?  I meet this criticism a lot from people when they hear of leading groups to Africa or taking young people to Mexico or building homes for Habitat.  Why go so far?  Why help those people?  Why not hire skilled labor?  Why indeed. 

              I dare say if given the choice, you should not choose me as your wilderness guide.  I am not the sort who will find food in the forest.  My choice of mushroom would end badly.  If given a clean workspace with a stocked fridge and pantry, a sharp knife and high-end appliances, I can cook a fabulous meal for you.  If you need me to find the game in the woods and bring it to the home I built with only an ax, I am probably not your guy.

              Again, life is hard enough without the folly of leaving aside all comfort by choice.  What a terrible day to beg.  Who would ever choose such? We need not invite tragedy.  Tragedy makes its own way.

              Yet, how much of life do we live as if fear is our daily bread?  How much of life do we live trying to find security in money, or fail to see beauty because we rush through life? Hear the good news: the kingdom of God is at hand; you can live free from fear. Amen.