United Parish in Brookline Finds Life in the Desert;
Teen pilgrimage leads to flashes of God's light
 By Rev. Suzanne Woolston Bossert, Associate Pastor
Editor's Note:
When many young members of The United Parish in Brookline started their pilgrimage to a parched southwest town devoid of modern conveniences and active life, they didn't realize how lush their experiences would be. Fifteen United Parish teenagers and three adult leaders traveled to Arizona and reached out to and were welcomed by a remote collection of families on the Navajo Reservation in an area on the Little Colorado River in the Painted Desert.
These people are among the most "unreached" folks of Navajo Nation -- a declining population -- living in poverty, without electricity, running water, or plumbing, but offering plenty of solidarity and friendship.
The Brookline team lived for three days without showering, slept for two nights on the floor of a tiny wooden Navajo church out in the middle of nowhere, in scorching August Arizona heat, with no fans, air conditioning, toilets or running water. In fact, they slept on mats the thickness of a credit card, with mice running over their feet. But they found it to be an awesome experience. They learned how to cook meals in the Navajo style, worked on small building projects, played soccer with the Navajo children, and laughed together.
Associate Pastor, Rev. Suzanne Woolston Bossert, reflected on the group's journey that filled them with soaring memories and a new understanding of the many ways God moves in our midst -- and how God's voice was speaking to them not only in their outreach activities, but in the silent moments in between.
The Pilgrimage
Sitting in a lodge in Sedona, Arizona, on the first night of our summer pilgrimage, I looked around at the group of dedicated members. We were gathered in a circle for our first evening reflection session.
Four years ago, these teens were the inaugural Rite 13 class, the first group of youth to move through the Journey to Adulthood curriculum in its entirety. After years of wrestling with Biblical scriptures, debating ethical conundrums, praying and meditating in a variety of styles, engaging in team building exercises, attending social activities, worship services, and Confirmation classes -- after countless hours of supportive adults pouring their hearts into planning or fundraising (over $23,000!), there we were, on pilgrimage, waiting for God to show up.
I remember feeling a little nervous pressure, like I'd just sold out a venue but the headliner band hadn't yet pulled into the parking lot. All cell phones, computers, friends, busy schedules were finally gone; all the distractions of culture stripped away. There we sat. God wanted to be found by us, I was certain of that; yet, could we control the timing? Would God acquiesce to our pilgrimage efforts and schedule? What I desperately wanted for these kids was a pure adrenaline rush of the ethereal Spirit, a real 'in-breaking,' the kind I have felt before.
I spoke to the youth about my musings. I mentioned Peter Mattiessen's award winning memoir, "The Snow Leopard," which details Mattiessen's quest to find the elusive, almost mythical creature high in the Himalayas. It became a spiritual pilgrimage for Mattiessen; he traveled a great distance to chase the mysterious. The book describes how easy it is to miss the white leopard against the endless snowdrifts -- the exotic blending invisibly with the mundane. Mattieseen writes that he had to first believe the creature existed (based on hearing other people's stories and accounts), then he had to put himself into the realm where the leopard lived and moved, and he had to drop down into long periods of stillness and quiet in order for the great animal to show itself.
Using Mattiessen's quest as a metaphor, I wondered aloud that night in Sedona: wasn't our task to quiet ourselves to listen for the silent roar, and to still ourselves so that we might glimpse even the slightest of movements against the snow? Instead of being impatient when God doesn't parachute down (upon our cue) in Technicolor, burning bush style, why don't we just focus on ourselves. What are we doing? Are we hunkering down, practicing the art of listening and really, really looking?
As the Psalmist says, the heavens are telling the story of the presence of the one we yearn for -- but do we have ears to hear and eyes to see? It's about "practice" -- just as for a soccer player or a pianist.
So, we practiced in the desert. We practiced what it feels like to look for the Divine snow leopard. One simple thing we instituted was journaling. We set intentional, contemplative questions for the youth to consider. And instead of meditating in a stuffy, plain room, we took our practice on the road (this Arizona Pilgrimage we logged almost 1000 miles in our team vans). So, on the very first day we set intentional spiritual questions, and invited the teens to bring along their journals in the vehicles.
And then we dropped the bomb: there would be no music and no talking as we drove to our destination.
One teen told me later: "Forced meditation in the car? I couldn't believe it. No way is this going to work!" So she abandoned the question posed, and just sat back. Time passed. In the utter quiet in the van, there was only the sound of the wheels on the pavement. The teen listened to the hum of silence, then picked up her pen, and began writing poetry -- actually, lyrics to a song that flowed out from her heart towards heaven.
Another teen: "When I heard that we were being forced to meditate in the car, and not talk to our friends, I thought to myself, 'Oh brother, how ridiculous!' So I just put my head back and tried to sleep. But the view outside my window was so spectacular, I stared out. When the rock cliffs of Sedona appeared, I was overcome. I thought, "That is really amazing." Bang, another flash of the snow leopard.
This is a profound lesson of pilgrimage, in stopping the clocks, stepping out of time, allowing the stillness and the unknowing, and stopping your everyday life to embrace the 'alienness' of being with people you hardly know, and searching for a God you wish you knew better. We saw many fresh tracks which led us in directions both expected and unexpected. It is the gift of pilgrimage.
It can be your gift as well. You don't need to fly to the Southwest desert to see the flash of the exotic, mysterious, invisible, maddening, obvious God. The heavens are telling the story, the firmament reads like a daily newspaper. Despite how busy we all are, we too are invited to stop, look, listen.
Like shooting stars or a catfish jumping, the world is alive with flashes of God.
Rev. Suzanne Woolston Bossert can be reached at The United Parish in Brookline office at 617-738-8742 or revsuzanne@verizon.net.
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