A little while back I wrote a blog post called “Five Approaches to Interspirituality.” In this post, I compare interspiritual practice to having a relationship with more than one country (such as the USA and England). People can have different ways of relating to more than one country, and I pose five such “ways,” comparing spirituality to being a tourist, an immigrant, an ambassador, and so forth.
At the end of that post, I pose this question:
Certainly there are other ways to engage with a faith tradition different from your own. Do you have any ideas as to what that would look like?
This week, a reader took me up on that query, and sent me this reply (edited slightly for clarity):
In your blog post entitled “Five Approaches to Interspirituality” you pose at the end a question that’s been percolating in my mind for days.
My answer at this moment in time is – Pilgrim – being curious as I enter a different landscape noting
what I see – coloursscapes
what I hear – soundscapes
what I feel – texture+touch
taking from the ambassador model consciously retaining what I know, moving into, and embracing what is unknown until it becomes what it is to be.
So now we have a sixth model of interspirituality: the Pilgrim. While in some ways I think this is similar to my idea of “tourist” interspirituality (where someone occasionally dips into a faith tradition other than their own, for example a Christian who likes to read books by the Dalai Lama), I love this idea that visiting the “country” of another faith is a kind of sensory immersion. So it’s more than just a reading a book; it’s actually going there, but with a spirit of seeking spiritual renewal, new insights, and allows “the unknown” to become at least more known.
Pilgrimage is such an important spiritual practice, for so many of the world’s great faith traditions. Christians have been making pilgrimages to the Holy Land for centuries, and for many Catholics, a journey to Rome, Lourdes or Fatima can be a once-in-a-lifetime spiritual event. It’s not just a Christian practice, either: a pilgrimage to Mecca is one of the central spiritual practices of Islam. And for the U.S. baby boomer generation, traveling to India or Japan in search of eastern spirituality was practically a generational rite of passage.
Here in Atlanta there is a group called Interfaith Community Initiatives that runs a program called “World Pilgrims” which involves gathering people from different faith traditions and traveling to sacred sites of one or more such faiths, going as a group to reflect together not only on the diversity of faiths in our world, but also the beauty of our common humanity. Although I myself have never been on one of their pilgrimages, I know several people who have and they report having profoundly meaningful journeys.
So if you are the kind of person who enjoys reading about faiths other than your own, consider taking the next step. Go visit a mosque, or synagogue, or zendo (and if you’re not a Christian, check out a basilica or a cathedral). Try making a retreat at a retreat center that is operated by a faith tradition other than your own. Attend an iftar dinner or visit a gurdwara. Even if your primary reason for traveling is business or vacation, see if you can add in a day or two for pilgrimage purposes. I’ve never been to Japan (it’s on my bucket list), and I guarantee you that visiting shinto shrines will be on the agenda when I do. Many lands have hosted more than one religious tradition over the ages, so check out both current and historical sacred sites when you visit a country.
Be a pilgrim, and one that explores beyond the boundaries of religion: and when you do, follow the advice of the reader who said: “embrace what is unknown, until it becomes what is to be.”
Friends, I am thrilled to announce that my good friends at Zeitgeist Atlanta are hosting a Pilgrimage in Ireland, September 20-27, 2023 — and they have asked me to be the spiritual guide for this pilgrimage!
This will be a very special week, as we will be keeping the size of the group very small: this will not be some big corporate “tour” — it will be a sacred pilgrimage, visiting several holy sites in Ireland along with time for daily meditation and reflection!
Zeitgeist is hosting an organizational meeting on Zoom, August 4, 2022 at 7:30 PM Eastern time! If you are interested in participating in the pilgrimage in 2023, please attend this Zoom call! There’s no charge for this Zoom call, and we’ll include a meditation and a bit of reflection on why Celtic spirituality is so universally appealing and more relevant than ever, even today.
I led my first pilgrimage in Ireland way back in 2003 — happy to celebrate the 20th anniversary of that trip by returning to the Isle of Saints and Scholars! Will you be in my next group picture from Ireland? Hope so!!!
I wrote the following article in 2002, when I was exploring Celtic paganism. I found it recently while looking for something in my archives and I thought it was worth sharing. It’s a reflection on my first trip to Ireland, when I was doing research for The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Celtic Wisdom. I wrote from the perspective of a student of pagan and Goddess-centered spirituality. I hope you enjoy it. If you wonder how a Christian like me once identified as a pagan (or how someone exploring Celtic paganism might become devoted to contemplative Christianity), please read “You Wrote Books About Paganism?!?”
James Joyce Statue, Dublin
A Spiritual Pilgrimage to Ireland
As Christians look to the Holy Land or Muslims revere Mecca, those of us who walk a Druidic or Celtic spiritual path regard Ireland, or Eire, as the spiritual home of our tradition. When the opportunity arose for me to spend 18 days in the Emerald Isle this summer doing research for a new book, it seemed like far more than a mere business trip. This would be a pilgrimage, a journey of personal and spiritual discovery.
Over eighteen days, I did indeed discover many things. I saw breathtaking coastlines, lush emerald-green farmland, and inspiring prehistoric monuments. I spoke with ordinary people, neopagans and Christians, college professors and retired farmers, friendly pub owners and aging hippies. The trip was also beset with plenty of problems. I had difficulties with my connecting flights in London, both coming and going. When I finally arrived in Dublin, my luggage was delayed—for 36 hours. And I even had a minor health crisis: a painful hemorrhoid that required a reassuring visit to an Irish doctor (“don’t worry, young man, you’ll be fine. Just drink an extra pint of Guinness every night”). Yes, even when we pursue a precious spiritual experience, the ordinary hassles of life still happen!
The Giant’s Causeway
The Singing Presence
Since this was my first visit to Ireland, my itinerary naturally included several must-see destinations: Dublin, with remarkable cultural treasures like the Book of Kells or the Armagh Chalice… the Hill of Tara, ancient seat of the Irish high kings from the days of myth and legend… Newgrange, the impressive stone age passage-tomb immortalized in Irish mythology… The Cliffs of Moher, majestic 700-foot walls of rock eternally buffeted by the power of the Atlantic… The Burren, an eerie limestone-covered landscape that looks like it could have been originally part of the Moon… The Giant’s Causeway, another awe-inspiring rock formation jutting out into the northern branch of the Irish channel, said to have been built by the mythic hero Finn McCool as an ancient bridge to Scotland.
Each of these sites conveyed its own sense of magic and mystery, especially thanks to a resonance I felt again and again, a lovely and indescribable sense of presence, as if the land herself were conscious, alive, and watching me. I came to regard this omnipresent, buzzing energy of the land as a “singing presence,” as if the Goddess herself expressed self-awareness through the terrain, singing a celestial melody into the minds of those willing to listen. More than one person had warned me that the energies of the land were different in Eire than in North America; but I had not been prepared for how unmistakeably and profoundly beautiful my experience of the Goddess’ presence would be.
The Stone of Destiny at the Hill of Tara
The Blessings of Bridget
The Pagan Celts worshipped a Goddess of healing and fire called Brighid, and when Christianity came to Ireland, devotion to Brighid didn’t die out, but was transformed. Either an early Christian woman took the name of the Goddess as her own, or else the Christian community transformed the memory of the Goddess into a more acceptable “saint.” Either way, today Bridget/Brighid represents a powerful uniting of the Christian religion and the ancient Pagan wisdom of Ireland. Whether Goddess or saint, Bridget is a role model for both men and women, as a powerful figure who exhibited compassion toward the poor, love for the earth, and leadership in her community.
St. Brigid’s Cathedral, Kildare
The home of this Goddess/Saint is Kildare, a lovely town southwest of Dublin. Up until the 16th century, Bridget’s nuns tended an eternal flame in her honor—a clear survival of ancient Pagan practices. In recent years, a Roman Catholic order of Brighidine nuns relit the sacred flame, and it burns today in the nun’s home in Kildare, standing for a sacred spirituality that transcends religious differences and calls people to a life of unity and balance. As a pilgrim, I found the cathedral, medieval tower, formal gardens, and several Holy Wells in Kildare to be powerful symbols of this important icon of the Divine Feminine.
Brigid’s Well, near Kildare
The Lady at the Well
One of the chief delights I discovered throughout Ireland was the Holy Well tradition. Hundreds of wells, springs, and other water sources are revered in Eire as places of healing, prayer, and meditation. Often the water of these wells is said to have powerful tonic and curative properties, and practices such as leaving offerings at the wells may date back to pagan times. My pilgrimage took me to the most famous wells, (like Tobernault near Sligo or St. Bridget’s Well in Liscannor, near the Cliffs of Moher), as well as a few little-known but still special sites.
St. Patrick’s Well, Clonmel
One of the most profound experiences I had was in the small village of Clonmel, at a well dedicated to Saint Patrick. At this site, I experienced a brief but dramatic vision of a lovely woman, with raven black hair, dressed in white. According to Celtic myth, every sacred well has a feminine spirit who serves as the guardian of the well. I spoke to the spirit, asking if she was the guardian; she engaged in a dynamic inner conversation with me, admonishing me not to just be a “spiritual tourist” visiting sacred sites like a boy scout collects merit badges, but to approach the powerful places of natural holiness with a due spirit of contemplation and reverence, so that I might form a true relationship with the energies of the place. So much for my pride! This encounter left me energized by a clear sense that the singing presence I had been experiencing was no mere figment of my imagination, but truly a profound doorway into the wisdom of the land.
St. Colman’s Well, near Gort, Co. Galway
Meetings with Remarkable Celts
I met several wonderful and amazing people, some by prior arrangement, others just by a chance encounter. I asked each person to give me their insights into what truly makes up the great tradition of Celtic wisdom.
In Kildare, I met Sr. Mary, one of the Brigidine Sisters who tend the current flame of Bridget’s fire. She described the Celtic tradition in terms of balance and unity, and mentioned that the real purpose of Bridget’s flame is to inspire the burning of a sacred fire within each soul.
The Turoe Stone
In County Cork, I met a colorful pagan couple, Bev and Del, who live on thirteen acres of gorgeous land in an environmentally-friendly home; they shared insights into the Celtic tradition that stem from a long-standing involvement in the Wiccan tradition. They shared their gentle spirituality based not on joining the right group or collecting the right initiations, but simply honoring the spirits of the land and embodying the Celtic virtue of hospitality.
In County Galway, I met Tom Hannon, an 81-year-old retired farmer and gifted storyteller. As I followed doctor’s orders and sipped a Guinness, he regaled me with tales of the fairies and the old gods and goddesses. From him I learned that the fairies are neither good nor evil, but tend to treat different humans pretty much as they deserve.
Emain Macha
On the Aran Islands, where Irish is still spoken and traditional Gaelic culture yet survives, I met Dara Molloy, a “priest of the Celtic tradition” who blends a profound earth-centered spirituality with an activist’s commitment to sustainable living, organic farming, and preservation of traditional ways. Dara taught me that the most important aspect of Celtic wisdom lies not in how much knowledge we gain, but in how we use that knowledge to truly live in harmony with the planet and our communities.
And finally, in Northern Ireland I met the folklorist Bob Curran, who built on the stories of Tom Hannon and gave me more to think about in regard to the fairies. From Bob I learned that a legend or a folktale can carry as much wisdom as a learned book or a theological treatise.
Knowth Passage Tomb, near Newgrange
Honoring the Ancestors
Many of the sacred sites I encountered were related to death. Newgrange is an ancient tomb; so are many other famous sites, like Knowth, Dowth, and Carrowmore. The stone circles at Beaghmore in Northern Ireland are accompanied by ancient burial mounds called cairns. Of course, sacred sites associated with Christianity (like Kildare) often incorporate cemetaries. Why is death such a profound part of Irish spirituality? Probably because it is a profound part of all spirituality, although we Americans do a better job than most at ignoring our own mortality. But seeing the link between spirituality and death is important, for true spirituality includes honoring one’s ancestors, those whose DNA we now carry. From Newgrange to the famine graveyards to a modern cemetary near a holy well, my trip was filled with a silent reverence for those who had gone before.
Poulnabrone Dolmen, in the Burren
Spiritual Lessons
All too soon, my time in Eire was up and I headed back to Atlanta. One of the most important parts of any spiritual adventure, whether an actual pilgrimage or an inner meditative journey, is reflecting on the lessons we learned over the course of the trip. Here are just a few of the nuggets of wisdom Ireland graciously shared with me:
1. Spirituality begins with the land.The spiritual life involves more than just books, or meditation, or rituals. It’s not about joining a group, learning myths, or completing a study program. It’s about our body and soul, which we inherited from our ancestors and from the land that feeds us, the air that nurtures us, and the water that quences our thirts. As human beings, we don’t relate to nature, we are part of nature.
2. The heart of wisdom lies in the telling of a story.Each of the remarkable people I had the honor to speak with was a born storyteller. Sure, that’s an Irish stereotype, but everyone has their own unique story to tell, their own unique experience of being alive on the earth at this time. When we tell our stories, we reveal our soul to others. What can be more spiritual–or wise– than this?
Brownshill Dolman
3. It doesn’t matter what label you wear.Christian or pagan, Wiccan or Druid, none-of-the above or some combination thereof… I met people of varying religious affiliations during my visit, but found repeatedly that the spirit of hospitality, reverence for the land, and devotion to the Divine crossed all boundaries and lines. Given the troubles of northern Ireland (as well as the troubles of the Middle East or of September 11, 2001), Ireland’s message is clear: we need less religious dogma and more spiritual openness, no matter what our personal identity might be.
4. Trust the process.My little visit with the Irish doctor was one of the sweetest and funniest moments of my trip. It wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t had a health problem. And thanks to a delayed piece of luggage, I bought very few knickknack souvenirs, but instead spent my money on useful, practical clothes! When we simply trust in the process, even the negative parts of our lives can lead to blessings.
5. If what you’re seeking you find not within yourself (or your own land), you won’t find it anywhere else, either. Sure, visiting Ireland was fun. But every time I encountered the singing presence of the land, she sang the same message: “Don’t just love Eire. Go home to Georgia and love the land there. She, after all, is your land. Sing to the land of Georgia, and she will sing back to you.” If you want to be a nature mystic, seek the magic of nature in your own back yard. That’s the true Celtic way.
Beaghmore Stone Circle
This article originally appeared in the August 2002 issue of Aquarius. All photos by Carl McColman excerpt for the featured photo of Poulabrone Dolmen, by K. Mitch Hodge on Unsplash.
The book celebrates the spirituality of pilgrimage by identifying eight essential practices that can inform and illuminate the journeys and adventures that mark our lives. It grew out of the author’s (and her husband’s) own pilgrimage, when they relocated from the United States to Europe a few years back. If you’d like to learn more about the book, read my review on Patheos (or better yet, order a copy). Here, meanwhile, is the interview.
Can you briefly share with the readers the story of the book? Was it directly a result of your own move/pilgrimage, or what other factors may have contributed to its gestation?
Yes, it has really been the fruit of several years of embarking on what my husband and I call ancestral pilgrimages, to lands which shaped the imagination of our ancestors: Austria, England, Germany, Ireland, and Latvia. Our decision in 2012 to make a move overseas and go on a midlife adventure broke open my own deepened appreciation of pilgrimage as a metaphor for daily life. I think even further back, my own diagnosis with an autoimmune illness in my twenties, and then later mother’s sudden death in 2003 which left me bereft for a long time also contributed to my desire to see these experiences as part of something archetypal.
Now that the book is done, do you have any additional practices aside from the eight that you wish you had included? Which of the eight practices is the most powerful or meaningful for you, and why?
The practice I continue to find the most potent is the practice of being uncomfortable. Living in a foreign culture, new dimensions keep being revealed. Even in Ireland where English is spoken, we keep discovering new phrases. The heart of much of my teaching has become about cultivating this ability to stay present in the midst of strangeness and discomfort in service of widening our own capacity for responding to life’s anxieties from a place of more centeredness and compassion.
There is perhaps another whole book of practices which could also support the pilgrimage journey such as the need for silence and community. I made the intentional choice of not trying to be comprehensive or create a set of stages or steps, but rather invitations into embodied ways to live into the grace of pilgrimage with more awareness.
How do you see the relationship between pilgrimage and spiritual direction or accompaniment? For those of our readers who have a ministry of spiritual companionship, how can your book provide them with a resource for their directees?
Pilgrimage can be a very powerful metaphor for when our lives become challenging and we are thrust into difficult circumstances. Often these are the moments when someone will first seek out spiritual direction. I know in my own journey, having someone there to witness the challenges and graces was essential, and who could reflect back to me the places for growth and where I was being too hard on myself. I think the book can offer some different lenses with which to understand where on the journey the directee could be encouraged to deepen. It can be consoling when you have let go of everything familiar to know that thresholds are considered sacred moments and that moving into unknowing is an essential part of the journey toward spiritual ripening. The book offers ways to frame aspects of the journey and to see that the pilgrim is not alone in their experience.
I really appreciated your willingness to acknowledge and honor the reality that not all “pilgrimages” are voluntary or joyously embraced. How do you make sense of the relationship between suffering and being on the move? What words of hope or encouragement would you want to share with someone who is in a painful place in relationship to their journey: being evicted, or accompanying someone dying, or a pilgrimage through incarceration?
These moments that break us open and move us deeper into the radical vulnerability of being human have the opportunity for so much grace. Pilgrimage opens the possibility that we can welcome in the difficult feelings as intimately tied to our own spiritual growth. In churches we often try to move people too quickly to a place of optimism and hope. They need time to descend into the strangeness and discomfort, but to feel accompanied and accepted in that place. Sometimes this might be a part of a dark night journey, where all certainties have been stripped away. Christian tradition tells us that when this journey is made consciously and we stop trying to avoid the painful feelings, we are broken open into a deeper maturity and wisdom.
The Soul of a Pilgrim
I love the discussion of visio divina and the invitation to enter into contemplative photography as a spiritual practice of seeing. But some people may feel insecure or self-conscious when invited to create art. What would you say to the pilgrim who encounters anxiety or fear when invited to gaze contemplatively? What is the key to letting go of our inner roadblocks?
My approach to the arts is through a process-centered perspective, so instead of creating something beautiful for display, I encourage others to enter into the creative process as a form of meditation, prayer, and expression of what is happening within. In this way the act of creating is about the journey of discovery, rather than trying to create some predetermined image in our minds. We aren’t setting out to make something beautiful, which takes the pressure off. And what is created from this approach is often deeply beautiful because it becomes an expression of an inner truth.
I also encourage people to just have some fun with it. We can take our spiritual practice too seriously at times and want to achieve some kind of perfection with it. What if we just went out to create for the pure joy and experience of it the way we did when we were children?
Here’s a question born specifically of the Benedictine tradition. There’s a tension between pilgrimage which is such a universal human spiritual practice, and stability, which as you know is a core Benedictine value. How do you understand the relationship between pilgrimage and stability? How can we enter into that tension in our lives?
This is a fabulous question and really gets at the heart of why I love both the Benedictine and Celtic monastic traditions so much, because they each invite me to hold a part of this tension. For the Benedictines, stability is foundational as a way of not running away when things become difficult. For the Celtic monks, peregrinatio was a very unique kind of pilgrimage where a monk would step into a boat without oar or rudder and let the current and wind carry them to the “place of their resurrection.” It was about yielding to the Spirit and releasing control.
At the heart of this tension is our intention and what our motivation is behind either the stability or the pilgrimage. Stability can become an excuse to never take any risks, we can become too wedded to the structure and start to glorify it. Pilgrimage can become a way to run away and find more appealing prospects. Of course the desert monks cautioned that we bring ourselves wherever we go, so running away never works in the long haul.
I believe this is the kind of tension and dance that requires a really solid relationship with a soul friend or spiritual director who can help us see through our patterns. Any practice can become a way of detachment or numbing from real engagement with life. We have to be willing to keep examining and asking the questions.
What was it like collaborating with your husband? He contributes his Biblical reflection in each chapter. Can you share a little bit about the process? The inspiration to work together in this way? Will we see more collaborative work between the two of you in the future?
The journey my husband and I have made over the last three years of growing into our working relationship has been its own kind of pilgrimage within our larger journey. When we made the big move overseas, he had quit his job teaching high school and took about a year of sabbatical time to ponder his own next steps. It was during this time that we slowly started to explore how he might bring his gifts and passions to the work I was already doing with the Abbey. It has been an interesting dance as he discovers his role in the community and as I welcome in more voices. I have a book coming out on spring 2016 on the mystics, and he again has a biblical reflection in each chapter tied to the theme. He has also been offering reflections for some of our online courses, so I think it is safe to say that his role at the Abbey will continue to develop and grow.
