Why Do You Go Away? 🎒
...so that you can come back, with new eyes and extra colors.
How do you summarize two weeks trekking from Amsterdam, Netherlands down to Lucerne, Switzerland, much of it in a river boat, with your husband, your priest (newly-appointed to your parish, the news dropping as you depart the Dutch port alongside him, as a matter of fact!), two of your kids, and sixty-plus new friends? ...You don’t. That's not a thing you summarize; that’s a thing you feebly attempt to highlight with snippets of a few stumbling sentences and a lot of visuals, trusting that those reading who couldn’t join us might gain a mere sliver of delight at what was.
I don’t know if this means anything, but Kyle and I both admit that, compared to other pilgrimages in years past, this one has left us considerably challenged in the be-all-present department since we’ve been back. I have found myself spacing out on the freeway, reliving a laid-back impromptu picnic along the shores of Lake Lucerne with a Pimm’s cup in hand. I’ll wake up thinking about a late-night conversation on the rooftop deck of the boat with the newlyweds, a lovely young man and woman who graced us with their delightful presence mere days after their Florida wedding.
Two days ago my sons will have gotten a bonafide, typed-on-paper letter in the actual mailbox from a fellow teenage pilgrim, full of good wishes and quickly-deployed reminiscings from a mere ten days ago. It’ll remind me of watching them all wade together into the chilly Swiss lake, daring the swans to come at them and their cups of gelato.
I’ll then watch my sons serve at the altar at our beloved home parish, surrounded by friends, and my mind will wander to watching them serve at the altar in the crypt of Notre Dame Cathedral in Strasbourg, or mere feet from the remains of St. Hildegard von Bingen, or in one of the many chapels at the behemoth Cologne Cathedral. …And I’ll be astonished that we were there at all.
I say it every year in my farewell speech to the group of pilgrims, and I hear the cliché-ness dribbling out of my mouth, but it remains true: the best part of every pilgrimage is the people. We come for the sights; we stay for the friendships. We wake up looking forward to walking through such-and-such village, but we climb into bed with a dumb smile on our face from watching the menfolk smoke their pipes up on the boat’s rooftop late into the night while they discuss purgatory.
Don’t worry, these same men also sing off-key karaoke and dance a mean conga line to Swiss polka.
The confluence of folks on these trips always feels like a coincidence (‘So many from Texas!’ ‘Wow, there’s a fair number of converts this year!’), but you know deep-down it never is. You know God is winking in delight at how he brings his children together, men and women (and children) who would otherwise never in a million years cross paths. Yet here we are, wandering through Germany or France together and looking forward to continuing that conversation about raising teenagers over dinner tonight.
As for Kyle and myself, one of our real joys is getting to know repeat pilgrims, some of who have now traveled with us on three-plus pilgrimages; it feels like a family reunion getting to hug them in a different spot on the globe every summer. On the second day, one of these folks said to us over dinner, “So, Oxenreiders — where are we going next summer?” And one of my highlights was near the end of our time together, in Switzerland, when I heard two of our repeat pilgrims-turned-friends hug goodbye to each other and say, “Well, see you next summer in [location of next summer's trip]!” I love that, for them, it’s assumed that for the time being, this is What We Do. They see it ‘meet and right’ to travel with us, and so do we. We are beyond honored.
If you weren’t able to make it this year, know that you were missed — and that there is a seat for you on two new pilgrimages I’m leading in 2026. I can’t wait to give you details soon on where and when those will be! If you’ve been on a pilgrimage with me before, watch in your inbox for a special note from me when I’m finally given the green light to officially invite you. ...For everyone reading this, I’ll be delighted to share the details with you here in The Commonplace soon after.
A pilgrimage is distinct from ‘just a trip’ in one unique way: it’s about going to a particular place to hear from God in a particular way. It was a gift this year to hold near those reasons from the pilgrims who chose to share them with me. I also often end our time together reminding participants that we often don’t know what God wants to tell us from our time together until after we’re back. This has indeed been the case for me this summer, and I can’t help but stand in awe at the wonder of it all... That God met me just where I was, in particular places like a café in Amsterdam on a rainy evening, so he could whisper things to me that I’d only understand once I sat back here in my usual seat at my neighborhood coffee shop where I am right now.
Places matter. They shape us more into who we are, telling us where we belong now and simultaneously from where we find our ultimate citizenry. Places whisper certain truths to us we’d otherwise never hear in our own backyards. It is indeed worth the effort to leave our armchairs and go on adventures, even for us Bilbo Bagginses.
“Why do you go away? So that you can come back. So that you can see the place you came from with new eyes and extra colors. Coming back to where you started is not the same as never leaving.” -Terry Pratchett
Just what my heart needed to read on my train commute this morning. I can't wait to join a pilgrimage one of these years!
Such a beautiful reflection! And the pictures are stunning, it looks like it was such an amazing trip!