Written by Bill Bryson, one of the best known travel writers, that book captures insights into our country from the point of view of someone seeing it for the first time. Bryson is a travel enthusiast. He gets excited by the shampoo left in hotel rooms; he delights in loafing along unfamiliar streets, pausing to contemplate a new vista or venturing into the homely looking restaurant. He admits that he feels a childlike wonder of unknown languages and unusual food. Bryson describes himself as someone who could spend his entire life arriving in a new city each evening. 'There is something about the momentum of travel', he says, 'that makes you want to keep moving, to never stop'.
We might not share his enthusiasm for travelling. For some of us, travel might be the mundane to-ing and fro-ing of our daily lives, shuttling between the people and places we're involved with. For others of us, we might think more naturally of taking a break or visiting a place on holiday - perhaps craving the stability and refreshment of a change of scene rather than the anxiety, tedium and time taken by the actual 'travelling'. The question, 'are we nearly there yet?' isn't only heard on the lips of small children. Our ability to travel is often constrained by lack of money, concern about our carbon foot print, commitments that demand our time or concerns about our own health.
Nevertheless, all of us find ourselves caught up in the human business of leaving and journeying; finding resting points and destinations. In this season of Advent, we are acutely aware of the momentum of travelling through a season, of looking forward to something with eager anticipation. We're aware of the pressures too: of expectations within families and the strains on our budgets; the shopping, catering, singing, cleaning, decorating. Our waiting is a journey. Perhaps we sigh, 'are we nearly there yet?'
What does it mean to 'travel faithfully' this Advent and beyond? Walking up the hill, I spotted a sign in a bank offering a product: For Christmas, for new year, for life ahead. That's true of the good news we carry and share on our journey too.Travelling faithfully; travelling full of faith. What might it mean for us to see ourselves as a pilgrim people? Perhaps there's something we can learn from aids to physical travel that help us keep our attention fixed on God and God's Kingdom, whilst also helping us pay attention to what's going on around us.
Map reading, we're told, is a dying skill. Satnavs and google maps have taken over. As a child, I remember being fascinated by Ordinance Survey maps and the road atlas kept in my dad's van. There was a sense of space and scale; familiar place names and sprawling cities. The contours and symbols were fascinating and I had to learn how do decode them. Thanks to GCSE geography and time as RAF cadet, I learnt how use a compass; how to map what I was seeing on paper onto the world.
Paying attention to the detail of what we see. Interpreting what's going on around us. Picking up on the hopes, challenges and expectations of our culture. Noticing what's going on in people's lives. Responding with practical support, friendship, a prayer. We read the signs of the times - and we act as translators of Gods love. We have to be bi-lingual. Making sense and making connections.
We're travellers. With a map and compass at our disposal - things passed on to us as our inheritance of faith; treasures old and new. We have our scriptures: biblical texts which tell of the ways in which God communicates his love to us. From the goodness of creation and the gift of creaturely freedom to the heart of the commandments of love; from the prophetic challenge to remember justice and mercy to the psalmist's lament and hope. We have the Gospels' witness to Jesus Christ - the one who is God with us, revealing the breadth and depth of God's love at a wedding in Cana and to a woman at a well; in teaching, healing, suffering, dying and rising the Word made flesh speaks God's love. We hear of the outpouring of a daring and creative Spirit kindling in us the fire of that same love; fruit of joy, kindness, generosity...
And all that is distilled, expressed, recalled: in creeds and hymns, art and music, prayers and silences, sermons and service, in books and gestures, in bread and wine. In us. The body of Christ.
Bodies need to be fed and cared for; bodies move and interact. If in baptism, we are called by name into this fragile and beautiful body, it is in the Eucharist that we gather to be nourished. At the Eucharist we are gathered up, drawn into communion with God and one another in touch and taste; and we are sent out. Dismissed, dispersed into the world. We walk as pilgrims; as a body.
This map and compass of word and sacrament, along with all our rucksack of inspiration, wisdom and witness of previous generations are not only honest about God. Our map and compass, also reveal to us the complexity of our humanity. Our stories are woven into God's story along with that of Eve and David, Ruth and Jonah, Peter and Mary, Lydia and Stephen. There's an honesty about how we get caught up in power; how our desires get misdirected. There are moments of confusion, betrayal and utter generosity; times of strength, wisdom and energy. And everything in between.
Our map is full of contours and colour; places we won't visit, some where we abide for a while; others we might wish to flee from. Our map multi-layered. It is both this worldly - actual people and places; real experiences and emotions. It is also a map of God's Kingdom. A Kingdom that breaks into this world; a Kingdom we seek and wait for with patience and longing.
Laying our compass on this keeps us faithful. It helps us keep our attention fixed on 'north', on the love of God. It's the assurance that we need as we travel, taking unexpected detours or discern the 'what next'. We're never abandoned: keeping our eyes fixed on Christ, with the Spirit to guide, prompt and sustain, we walk in God's ways. Rather than ditching the satnav completely, there is a sense in which we are travelling faithfully by aligning all that we are with God's will. There's trust, purpose and conviction; seeking yo live well. Yet proper attention to God means our faithful travelling is connected to where we are. We are more than a series of autonomous pulsing blue dots set buzzing along the A3 or stuck on the one way system, eyes fixed on a screen.
Our horizon is bigger: God's love and the hope that all things will be drawn together. Our horizon is more intimate: the person next to you, the lunch we'll share, what happens when we leave this place.
Our travelling faithful might be an arduous journey; it might be exhilarating. Our faithfulness might mean we travel light; paying attention perhaps to the intensity of now.
This Advent, as always, we travel faithfully with those we remember as we light candles on our wreath.
We remember Abraham and Sarah: who responded to God's call as stepped out into the unknown. May we be granted their strength as we hold onto God's promises in our leave taking, in arduous journeying or when the destination is uncertain.
We remember the prophets: who challenged people to return to God's ways, restoring a vision of loving-kindness and justice as exile and at times of complacency. May we have the courage to speak words of hope with both passion and compassion to those who're displaced and seeking refuge; to the comfortable and powerful.
We remember John the Baptist: was called into the expanse of the wilderness and the confines of the prison as he pointed others to Christ. May we also prepare the way for others by living lives that are distinctive 'sign posts' for God love.
We remember Mary: who responded to God's call with trust, joy and humility, who left her home, sheltered in a stable and sought refugee in a foreign land. May we too be God-bearers in our homes and communities, and continue to ponder the mystery of God's love.
As we travel faithfully, we pay deep attention to the contours of our world and the cries of the people around us; we pay deep attention to the love of God and his will for us. With our map and compass, we are rooted in prayer and reshaped in Christ-like relationships; may we become ambassadors of reconciliation. In the power of the Spirit, let us witness to the love of God made manifest in the crying of the Christ-Child
That is good news for our generation.
© Julie Gittoes 2015
