By Alyssa Bormes

“From Miletus he sent a message to Ephesus, asking the elders of the church to meet him. When they came to him, he [spoke with] them.” ~ Acts 20:17–18

My mother was always on pilgrimage! She traveled all over the world, including Ephesus, saw every church and apparition site. She loved to climb as well. My father said that many times he lost my mother, so he would look to the highest spot and then find her. She was at the top of the hill, the bell tower, the choir loft, the roof — if it was allowed, she was up the stairs. 

She also loved to “work” on pilgrimage, as in, she was tireless. “There is so much to see; I’ll rest when I get home,” which, by the way, she never did. She worked hard at home as well. 

Sometimes when I am on pilgrimage, I realize that I have become my mother. I wake early, since there’s a 7am Mass at a beautiful church. Then I spend myself in seeing everything.  I do linger at lunch and supper, which she did as well, but otherwise, I am on the go. She would also be observant of everything. Even the people around us were full of lessons. She taught me to make life a pilgrimage.

Making life a pilgrimage

The other day I was on an unexpected pilgrimage in my own city. I took a friend to a large hospital downtown for a procedure. I found a table near the hub of a convenience store, restrooms, a heart clinic, and a new construction area — it was busy! There were all the staff in their scrubs, people in hardhats, young and old, wheelchairs and walkers, crude t-shirts and attire that indicated a person’s faith. 

There were two men who really made an impression, both in wheelchairs, both probably in their late 70s with kind faces, both going to the heart clinic, both in blaze orange jumpsuits, both accompanied by two policemen each, and both in shackles. 

I had already been praying for my friend, for family members, for a few intentions for myself, and generally for the people around me, when my brothers in Christ with their kind eyes and their shackled hands and feet passed me. 

Their shackles…so many thoughts about their shackles.

I thought about their own dreams of their lives when they were young and guessed that it didn’t include shackles at a heart clinic when they were in their 70s. 

I prayed for their victims. What terrible things had they done to still be shackled today?

What shackles do I carry?

I thought of the spiritual shackles that I have, which I like to deny. At least those elderly men knew they were shackled. I prayed for my soul to be set free.

I looked at souls that passed me in hardhats, scrubs, odd t-shirts, and every sort of garb. What are the shackles in their lives? Will they allow freedom?

Back to the prisoners…what had happened in their lives to make their eyes soften? Had they allowed the Blood of Christ to free them? The orange of their jumpsuits made me think of the flame of the Holy Spirit. I prayed for them again, hoping their hearts would allow entry to Our Good Lord.

There, but for the grace of God, go I. This thought permeated my prayer. 

My mother came back to my prayers. Her last pilgrimage was during her last month of her life. By this time, my father had died, and she had remarried a widower, Jim. She no longer climbed to the highest points. She was in a wheelchair, and Jim pushed her. She loved to wear a colorful scarf — to me, there was something sort of Holy Spirit about it. 

During that last pilgrimage to Rome, she seemed utterly free spiritually. Then, two weeks after being in Rome, on May 20, 2015, she undertook her last pilgrimage to eternal life, where the last shackles of her weak body were finally broken. Godspeed, Mom. Thank you for teaching me to make every day a pilgrimage!

Prayer:

Come, Holy Spirit. Free me from my shackles. Let the Good Lord fill my heart!

Call to Action:

Go on pilgrimage — everyday — pray for those you meet. Be a conduit of breaking spiritual shackles!

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