Tourist or Pilgrim by Macrina Wiederkehr
I stand on the edge of myself and wonder,
Where is home?
Oh, where is the place
where beauty will last?
When will I be safe?
My tourist heart is wearing me out
I am so tired of seeking
for treasures that tarnish.
How much longer, Lord?
Oh, which way is home?
My luggage is heavy
It is weighing me down.
I am hungry for the holy ground of home.
Then suddenly, overpowering me
with the truth, a voice within me
gentles me, and says:
There is a power in you, a truth in you
that has not yet been tapped.
You are blinded
with a blindness that is deep
for you’ve not loved the pilgrim in you yet.
There is a road
that runs straight through your heart.
Walk on it.
To be a pilgrim means
to be on the move, slowly
to notice your luggage becoming lighter
to be seeking for treasures that do not rust
to be comfortable with your heart’s questions
to be moving toward the holy ground of home
with empty hands and bare feet.
And yet, you cannot reach that home
until you’ve loved the pilgrim in you
One must be comfortable
before one’s feet can touch the homeland.
Do you want to go home?
There’s a road that runs
straight through your heart.
Walk on it.
I recently came across this – of course, the day after I taught about pilgrimage in our Celtic spirituality class. Nevertheless, I’m stashing this good poem away.