Friday Miscellany (On Conscription)

The last thing I did before heading out on sabbatical was spend a few days at a Roman Catholic retreat centre in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. I was there for a retreat with a group of pastors from our denomination. The setting was idyllic, the hospitality warm, and the sessions meaningful. We were led by a Catholic spiritual director who invited us to consider our various journey, vocations, and lives through the lens of “pilgrimage.” My ears obviously perked up at that as I will be heading off on a very non-metaphorical pilgrimage in a few days (walking the Camino de Santiago, Portuguese Way). In one of the sessions, she used a phrase that has stuck with me: “Sometimes our pilgrimages are not chosen; sometimes we are conscripted.”

This struck me as profoundly true. We don’t choose every path that we walk in life. Sometimes circumstances beyond our control, or the actions of others, or even the unforeseen consequences of our best, well-intentioned choices land us on journeys that we could never have imagined, indeed would prefer to have avoided. On one level, this is a fairly banal observation. Life can be hard. The future is unknown. Ho hum. Thus has it ever been.

But the language of “pilgrimage” somehow seems to take the ordinary trials and tribulations of life into a different register. It points to the deep truth that the hard roads we are sometimes called to walk aren’t necessarily just unfortunate accidents or tragedies. Sometimes we are summoned to walk where we don’t want to go, for our own spiritual growth and maturation, and for the welfare of others. Perhaps God has ways to grow us that require conscription.

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Speaking of Roman Catholics, I’ve obviously been following the election of the new pope with interest. Pope Leo described his election as both a cross to bear and a blessing. I suspect many pastors were nodding along at this description, even if our vocations are of a radically different scope and scale. Who knows, perhaps Leo might also describe the task of leading the world’s largest church into an unknown future as being conscripted on a pilgrimage.

I was moved by some of Leo’s opening statements. Reflecting on “the need to joyfully spread Christianity in a world that often mocks it,” he said this:

You have called me to carry that cross and to be blessed with that mission, and I know I can rely on each and every one of you to walk with me as we continue as a church, as a community, as friends of Jesus, as believers, to announce the good news, to announce the Gospel.

Such a simple and beautiful way to describe the task of the church. The friends of Jesus announcing good news with joyful hearts. I pray that this disposition and this task will define Leo’s papacy, and indeed the task of the whole church around the world.

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Speaking of unknown futures and unchosen paths, in one session of the retreat, our spiritual director invited us to reflect on a passage from Isaiah 42:

I will lead the blind by ways they have not known,
along unfamiliar paths I will guide them;
I will turn the darkness into light before them
and make the rough places smooth.
These are the things I will do;
I will not forsake them.

I sometimes find myself at war with my grad school exegesis and hermeneutics classes that constantly exhorted us to pay attention to context. Historical context, cultural context, canonical context, etc., etc. These words were not addressed to you personally; they were written to specific people at a specific time and a specific place and for a specific purpose. Before you think about what (if anything) a passage of scripture might mean for you, you must ask what it meant to its original recipients. Yeah, ok. I get all that.

So, no, Isaiah 42:16 was not written to you or I personally. It was written to the people of Israel languishing in exile in a foreign land. But who among us hasn’t felt like they are groping and gasping down unfamiliar paths, being conscripted to walk blind on ways we have not known? Who among us hasn’t longed for a clear light to pierce through dark and heavy fog of the future?

The most powerful part of this passage are all the “I wills.” I will lead, I will guide, I will turn things around… God is the active agent here. And if we had any lingering doubts… These are the things I will do.

What a necessary hope. Whatever roads we are conscripted to walk, God walks with us, turning darkness to light, and never, ever forsaking.

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Back to my non-metaphorical pilgrimage. Happily, I have not been conscripted to walk from Portugal to northern Spain. Unless you count persistent suggestions as conscription. I am looking forward to this journey. There will probably be hard parts, sure, but I am anticipating a quite enjoyable time. I am looking forward to an unknown road, to space for prayer, reflection, conversation, self-discovery. And of course, I am expecting to encounter the God who leads the blind, the hopeful, the stumbling, the expectant down unfamiliar paths.