With the weather taking a turn for the worse, we nixed a sojourn in Canada and headed south. Today found me touring Plymouth, MA. The landing site for the early colonists, combined with a gloomy, wet day that spurred my introspection, got me thinking about pilgrims.
As John and I wandered down Water Street to view the Mayflower II, a replica of the original that sailed from Plymouth, England to Plymouth, MA in 1957,
I was focused on the pilgrims I first learned about in grammar school. I thought about the play I wrote in 5th grade which my teacher graciously allowed the class to perform before the Thanksgiving break. For decades, these black-clad, austerely righteous folk who feasted with the Native Americans were the only pilgrims I ever contemplated.
Then, a trip to Jerusalem while on business in Israel in the late 90s caused me to think a bit about religious pilgrimages.
When I married a man who loves to wander the globe and I began to journey with him, I viewed pilgrims in a different light. I saw myself as one.
Today, it occurred to me that we are all pilgrims — wanderers looking for that which makes us feel safest and surest in a universe that deems us as insignificant as a grain of sand. Life is a pilgrimage for that which we hold sacred. Some seek the control found in wealth and power Others chase celebrity. And still others, like me, are on a spiritual quest for contentment, a “peace that surpasses understanding.”
What does “pilgrim” mean to you?