A Pilgrim's Journey

“What good is it to me if Mary gave birth to the Son of God hundreds of years ago, if I do not give birth to the Son of God in my time and in my culture.We are all meant to be Mothers of God, for God is always needing to be born.” Meister Eckhardt

One of my earliest journeys was as a 9 year old when my family sailed in May 1965 on the SS United States from Pier 86 at the New York Harbor to Southhampton England for my father's tour of duty at RAF St Mawgan. "We" included my parents and my four brothers and sisters who were 7, 5, 3, and 1. Subsequently, in the fall of 1968, we returned to the US on the SS United States, after 3 ½ years immersed in British culture but never losing our love for our country.

On the return trip early on the last day at sea, I somehow made my way alone to the bow of the ship and watched as we pulled into the New York Harbor with the Statue of Liberty towering ahead. It was a foggy day and in my memory the Statue was rising out of the fog. I don't remember any other people nor do I remember there being any tenders which would surely have been guiding the ship in. I only remember being there in the fog and a stirring inside and a sense of pride.

I loved England, Cornwall, the moors, the weather, the people, the whole experience, but that day I knew I was Home and a quickening in my soul told me so. I felt proud to be an American, happy to be home, but completely unsure of what lay ahead.

The story went like this. We had seven people, 26 pieces of hand luggage and a large English labrador retriever named Madron when we disembarked. We were to pick up a Chevrolet station wagon near the dock, load up and drive to my Godfather's house in Vienna, Virginia. But a disturbance on the dock came first, such an upsetting conflict that I was stunned and confused. My 12 year old self stood paralyzed as my father yelled obscenities at a black beggar looking person when he tried to help us with our belongings. That moment has stayed with me all these years as the first time I realized the darkness that lay in my father's soul.

I shed tears last night over dinner as I reflected on our SS United States journeys because of the "sinking" of the ship yesterday in the waters off of Destin, Florida. Social media and the news have been full of pictures and stories of the heyday of the ship, so a former passenger couldn't help but be overwhelmed with memories. But my memory brought to mind those beginning days of my spiritual journey and the beginning of an understanding of God working in the world and in me. On the bow of that ship that early morning in the spring of 1968, God stirred in me, and in hindsight that was the beginning of God calling me to ministry...which of course I didn't realize then.

Today as I prepare for a retreat in which we will reflect on Mary as the God bearer and how we too bear God/Love into the world, I am reminded of that morning in the New York harbor and that poor man who was trying to help and how both of those experiences formed my call to be a God bearer in the world. One might say that was what began my pilgrimage...my journey in search of the Divine, with the Divine and to share the Divine.