Four years ago my then boss sent me to chaperone 20 college-aged students on a nine-day pilgrimage to France. I was recently reminded of a Facebook post I wrote while on that trip that addresses the kind of exhaustion I think many of us can relate to right now and the kind of impact our collective actions can have on just one wayward soul.
I don’t often make it a point to write about my day job or my faith, but at this point in 2020 it’s clear y’all need Jesus.
As we round the last corner of one of the most difficult years in modern history, it is my sincere hope we can all make a point of showing our faith through our deeds. Moreover, I hope we can allow others to lean on us when they are weak and give ourselves permission to lean on others when we are not strong. Peace, friends. And godspeed.
Oct. 21, 2016
On the morning of the seventh day of our nine-day pilgrimage to France I had hit a wall. I found myself physically and emotionally drained and ready to make the long journey home. Void of sympathy for anyone other than myself and totally unappreciative of the beauty of the place we were visiting, I knew I was done. Just done.
The priest who was tasked with guiding us through the country was sick with the flu and unable to join us for several days of the trip. As a communications professional and a first-time traveler to France, I felt ill equipped to provide the guidance and pastoral care our students needed and overwhelmed by a country that, quite frankly, had not resonated with me on a personal level. With too many roadblocks to navigate, I decided I would no longer bother. There was no point. In my mind, this journey was all but over.
I lagged behind the first part of the day, fussing and willing it to end. I slept on the bus on the way to Ahuille, France and sulked into the church built on the site where our University’s founder had been baptized. Because our priest was unable to join us and therefore unable to celebrate Mass, a seminarian suggested each of us share a prayer, hymn, song, or reflection to make our time in the church as prayerful as possible.
When none of the students volunteered to go first I stood up and read from the book of James:
“What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if someone claims to have faith, but has no deeds? Can such faith save them? Suppose a brother or a sister is without clothes and daily food? If one of you says to them, ‘Go in peace; keep warm and well fed,’ but does nothing about their physical needs, what good is it? In the same way, faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead.
But someone will say, ‘You have faith; I have deeds.’ Show me your faith without deeds and I will show you my faith by my deeds.”
I love this passage. In fact, I keep a copy of it in my office above my computer. In my day-to-day life as a Campus Ministry communications specialist, I’m not as interruptible as I should be, so I like to look up and read it when someone comes in my office to chat. It reminds me to put down what I’m doing and make time for the people who need me.
Reading James aloud to my fellow pilgrims reminded me that I was not in fact living out my faith through my deeds that day. What I was doing, in fact, was quite the opposite.
After I read my passage I sat back down in the pew and thought about what I could do to make the day right. In that moment, it was to listen to the students; it was to give them my time.
One by one, each of the 20 students walked to the front of the church to share their prayers. They sang, they talked, they rapped, they read, they shared intimate stories, and they brought with them the Holy Spirit. It was palpable. So infectious, in fact, that three French parishioners who were in the church (who didn’t speak any English), asked if they could sing their own song to give thanks to Our Lady. They knew what we were doing not because of our presence in the church, but because of our deeds.
Since then, I’ve tried to imagine a time when I felt as full with the Holy Spirit as I did in that moment. I cannot. Not when my son was baptized. Not at any Mass. Not at the Grotto. Not in Dublin on Palm Sunday and not in Rome celebrating Easter Sunday Mass with Pope Francis. Not any time. Not anywhere.
Tears streamed down my face then just as they do now. It was then I understood the true purpose of a pilgrimage: to encounter God during our most difficult, uncomfortable, unfamiliar times. It’s to see him through the things that go wrong. It’s to feel him when we feel hopeless and alone. It’s to rely upon one another for support, courage and strength. It’s to be together in prayer, and to share what makes our inner love lights shine.
I saw God in myself that day and in our bold, brave, beautiful students, too. I understood what it means to let go and let the Holy Spirit carry you through, and I witnessed what it means to have and to SHOW faith.
I learned that God is with us when it’s ugly; when WE’RE ugly. He manifests himself inside us and inside those who give us strength. The students didn’t need me nearly as much as I needed them that day and God knew it. They broke down my wall and showed me their faith through their deeds. I’m forever grateful to them for their openness and their willingness to share themselves with me. The Holy Spirit was with us all that day just as he’s with us every day. And through him, we all became true pilgrims, and I became a better version of myself.
Title Track: “Jesus is Just Alright,” The Doobie Brothers. Listen here.
