The Challenge of Being a Pilgrim. Revisited.

I have taken groups of pilgrims to a few World Youth Days: as a peer leader back in Denver, and more recently as a youth/ya minister to Germany and Australia. At the end of the week I will be once more leading a group to Wolrd Youth Day in Spain. When I tell people I am going to Spain, they usually think something like: European vacation - yay! But it's not. Twice, this time included, it has meant completely giving up my 1-2 week Shore vacation, and any equivallent r&r experience because of the time and money WYD demands. But as I pack, I thought I would share some thoughts from six years ago, at WYD Cologne 2005, for your edification. Thanks for indulging me!

Pilgrimage is a dirty word. It means dripping sweat for an hour and a half on a train meant for 300 passengers and packed full with 450. It means walking through mud and straw after sleeping in a field with a million other people. It means using the same utensils day after day for tuna fish, oily pasta, peppers and veggies, and rinsing them off in the sink with tepid water. It also means being shoved so hard from behind that the air is knocked out of you, lining up for portable toilets you share with the other 40,000 people in your section, having the only sweatshirt you have be stepped on by muddied shoes, feeling the oil on your skin's surface and having no hot water at hand, holding the train railings with whitened knuckles to avoid being directly beneath another foreign armpit, having the water temperature cycle through hot and cold (only cold at night) while you try to wake up for the day, eating amidst weeds and dirt while sitting in a sports park field in the hot sun with one napkin a piece regardless of who spills what or how much oil is in the food, and picking countless ticks, spiders and ladybugs off your sleeping bag.

World Youth Day redefined the word crowd. Trains were packed, stadiums full, hotel lobbies and every last inch of green space overrun with pilgrims. Stereotypical Americans pushed their way by (even past other Americans), asked where the ranch dressing was, got lost going five stops on a tram. Other stereotypes emerged - sometimes cheerfully, in the songs and attire of other nations, sometimes brutally, in the relentless crushing crowd at the Horrem train station, where I watched six women pass out in a half hour's time from lack of air and the selfishness of the penned up crowd.

But amidst the suffering was a true grace that enlightened our way and led us to Christ in the simplicity of the Eucharist and in the whisperings of our hearts. I watched my kids strengthen and mature before my eyes. I watched as they loved each other enough to step aside, anticipate needs, carry each others backpacks and burdens. They never complained about the food. They were willing to walk out of their way with an armful of water bottles to fill them. They offered their attention and respect to all those in leadership, held on to one another in crowds, attempted a foreign language, and loved one another. What a joy to experience not only the gifts of travel and the exotic boundaries of multiculturalism, but a greater one still to unite in difficulty and emerge with greater love, more respect, deep compassion and truer faith.

S offered her passion for people of all nations and walks of life, and embraced the diversity with vigor. M kept watch over his travelling buddy and was always the first to volunteer for a mission. P used his talents for shining a little light into people's days - mostly by honoring the beauty of those around him- partly by sharing with us all his wonderment at the greater world. N overcame her fears and allowed herself to trust not only those leading her, but also grew in confidence of her own independence and abilities, especially on the subway system. It is no small task for a young woman who has never been on a train to survive the ins and outs of multiple transfers and track listings, but she conquored her fear with aplomb. T constantly reached beyond himself to offer up comfort for the good of others, to show us a true example of respect for the dignity of those around us. He never let a woman stand while he sat, gave up his water for a young woman who was near fainting, and at some point in the trip held every other teen on his six foot high shoulders without complaint. D dug deep and became another of our fearless leaders - willing to step up when asked and anticipate needs when not asked. I will be forever grateful to him for carrying my backpack along with his own not only for the 5 miles to the Marienfeld, but for the 5 miles back. And if it wasn't enough to have the light of these youth emerge and intensify, our male chaperone, drew them into their faith, challenged them to mature, embraced the fun and joy of life in the spirit, was a humble servant, a true brother, and -to me- pure gift.