I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Elizabeth Millar’s reflection Walking, Pentecost, and Wild Wind.
Click. My boarding pass has been automatically added to my digital wallet. It’s a modern miracle that being strapped into a huge gangly metal contraption for 5 and a half hours will magically transport me from my home on this little island in Canada to “the Isle of Saints and Scholars”. Tomorrow morning, I will wake up in the city of Dublin, take a train to the western side of a different island, and begin to walk the Dingle Way.
Walking.
Such an ordinary thing. I do this almost every day, without thinking. One foot in front of the other. Arms swinging in a regular rhythm. Step, step, step. In a way, there is nothing complicated about this. Although this ordinary act takes me extraordinary places and accomplishes incredible feats for me, I confess that I rarely think twice about it.
I often do not even notice the human act of walking.
But for four days next week, this may be all I’m thinking about as I walk the southwestern corner of Ireland.
A few weeks ago, I watched a video about walking the Dingle Way. It featured a young man in his 20’s. He looked strong and athletic but yet he was huffing and puffing as he stood on top of a very large hill/small mountain and talked about the last day’s route. The elevation gain. The strenuous nature of the walk in general but that leg in particular. I shuddered. If he struggled, what can I expect from this dear middle aged, menopausal body of mine? I felt a stab of fear and promptly closed my computer.
I am grateful for the ability to walk. Just last week, I helped lead a small group of pilgrims on Pilgrimage PEI: The Way of St. John. It’s a 100 km walk from our small town to the north shore of Prince Edward Island, mostly made up flat old rail trails. (Notice the almost non-existent elevation gain.) We began our pilgrimage on the day of Pentecost. The rain fell and the wind blew most of the week. Malcolm Guite’s words from his poem “Pentecost” ran through my head, “Today we feel the wind beneath our wings.” We certainly did. We felt the wind in our faces and we heard our rain ponchos slapping and flailing as we walked like a line of ducklings along the path and against the invisible force that we could not ignore.
I realized that when I think about Pentecost, I tend to think of a gentle breeze and warm candlelight. Last week’s walking made me question that and I began to wonder about gales, squalls, and tempests in terms of the Spirit. I wondered if I had created a more domestic picture of God in my mind that was simply comfortable. I like the idea of the wind gently blowing my hair back. To feel the wind brush softly against my skin is soothing. Sometimes even a bit refreshing. But as I walked last week, a gust of wind would blow back my rain hood or a powerful blast of air would shower me with rain and I would think, “This is not a cozy experience! This is not hygge!”
What if this is also an accurate picture of the Spirit? What if the Spirit is more unpredictable and more powerful than I imagine?
Maybe this is exactly what I need as I nervously anticipate walking the Dingle Way.
As I look around our weary world and the chaos that seems to continue without consequences, I want a God who can do something. I want more than comfort. I want things to change and for oppressive structures to be turned upside down. Like Mary says in her Magnificat from the nativity narrative, I want the mighty to be cast down from their thrones and for the lowly to be lifted up. I want a God who has the power to make things right.
Maybe this is why the early Celtic Christians were drawn to the wild goose as their favourite image for the Spirit.
I wonder if walking helps me understand how this happens. Do I continue moving forward in the ways of love and joy and peace, confident that the Spirit is wild and powerful enough to create and re-create? Do I faithfully press on, one step at a time, trusting that God is more than a gentle breeze? I wonder if my task is to walk with persistent hope— and trust that the Spirit will blow. Maybe this is what Isaiah was referring to when he talked about waiting upon the Lord and then flying like eagles.
As I walk the Dingle Way in a few days, I’m going to remember Pentecost and the wild wind I experienced on Prince Edward Island and I will pray beyond what I usually pray. As I climb hills, I’m going to intentionally stretch my faith as I pray for family, friends and maybe even the whole world and try to believe more impossible things than usual.
I’m going to put one foot in front of the other and imagine the Spirit as a powerful gale rather than a gentle breeze.
Residing on Prince Edward Island (Canada), Elizabeth Millar is a spiritual director and pilgrimage leader. Her doctoral work on sacred storytelling and everyday spirituality reminds her that stories about ordinary life can indeed be testimonies to the Divine Love of God.
