400,000 PACES IN NEW BOOTS
Raymond Perrier SJ took his first vows as a Jesuit in September -
before that he had to go on pilgrimage. This is his tale.
Ignatius always called himself ‘the pilgrim’ and he felt that we should think of our lives in this world as an on-going journey towards God. For this reason, one of the ‘experiments’ of a Jesuit Noviciate is to have the practical experience of being a pilgrim - poor, unknown and vulnerable. In September, when I took my first vows, I committed to a life in which, wherever I am sent and whatever is asked of me, I believe that God will provide me with what I need. In July, I set off on pilgrimage so that I could put that pious hope to a very practical test. Over the course of four weeks, I walked 360 miles, across Austria and Bavaria. The remarkable thing was not just that I survived, and suffered not even a blister after 400,000 paces in my now well-worn boots, but that every step of the way I felt the hand of God
carrying me along.
My route from Vienna to Augsburg was one with a Jesuit history. In the 1580s Stanislaus Kostka, an 18-year old Polish aristocrat, decided he wanted to become a Jesuit novice. Afraid of his family’s disapproval, he changed into the clothing of a poor traveller and set off on foot from Vienna to Augsburg (near Munich) to find the Jesuit Provincial, Peter Canisius. In imitation of him (though twice his age) I set off alone, dressed as a lowly backpacker. Anyone who knows me could see how unlikely this was: I had never been hiking (my Timberland boots had rarely seen mud), I had never slept in a tent, and my holidays had been meticulously planned. But one of the marks of the noviciate is ‘agere contra’ - to act against one’s normal patterns.
I had a rucksack with tent, sleeping bag and a small cooking stove. Although this provided some amenities, it also meant that I was walking with 15 kilos (33lbs) on my back, which, as the summer heat set in and temperatures reached over 35 degrees, was not easy. I had some money with me (and ended up spending about 5 euros a day), but I was also expected to rely on strangers offering me food, or begging for it when needed. However, I didn’t want to be helped just because I was seen as a potential priest. So I never introduced myself as a Jesuit novice - I simply said I was a pilgrim looking for food or a place to spend the night.
Much of the route was on cycle tracks along the Danube valley and the landscape was glorious. One Sunday morning, when I had woken up without anything to eat in my bag, and no prospect of buying anything, a woman pulled up beside me in her car and without knowing anything about me, invited me to join her and her family for a picnic breakfast. She was just one of the angels who brought me ‘manna in the desert’ when I most needed it.
It was a strange experience, not knowing at the beginning of the day, where I would end up, or whether I would have a chance to wash or even a quiet place to pitch a tent. On several nights there were heavy storms and a shelter would just appear - a shop doorway, a youth club, a garden shed, a covered picnic table. On one occasion I knocked on the door of a house in the middle of nowhere; the owners invited me to sleep above their garage, and even gave me a mattress and some food.
There were also monasteries along the route - in some cases magnificent palaces on the top of hills. Dishevelled and sweaty I would climb up to the door and ask for accommodation, not knowing if this was even a working monastery, or if they would be prepared to help. And not one of the monasteries turned me away - instead they often gave me palatial rooms, fed me well, and even gave me food to see me on my way.
There were - of course difficult moments - the distance (on a few days more than 22 miles to cover), the heat, getting lost, the repetitive slog each day, not having someone to share the load. I was touched by the willingness of people to help when asked. But I was also disappointed by how many people - especially people coming out of church services - ignored me, or hurried past me so that they would not be called upon to help.
The second last day was spent at the site of the concentration camp in Dachau. Seeing such shocking examples of people’s cruelty and indifference, it was good to have also experienced so much of people’s goodness and generosity. It was also moving to reflect on the hatred inflicted there, not just on Jews, but also (amongst others) communists, Catholic priests and religious, homeless, prisoners of war, and gay men; how we continue to stigmatise and marginalise people of whom we don’t approve. I had now felt a little of what it was like to be poor and vulnerable.
My route from Vienna to Augsburg was one with a Jesuit history. In the 1580s Stanislaus Kostka, an 18-year old Polish aristocrat, decided he wanted to become a Jesuit novice. Afraid of his family’s disapproval, he changed into the clothing of a poor traveller and set off on foot from Vienna to Augsburg (near Munich) to find the Jesuit Provincial, Peter Canisius. In imitation of him (though twice his age) I set off alone, dressed as a lowly backpacker. Anyone who knows me could see how unlikely this was: I had never been hiking (my Timberland boots had rarely seen mud), I had never slept in a tent, and my holidays had been meticulously planned. But one of the marks of the noviciate is ‘agere contra’ - to act against one’s normal patterns.
I had a rucksack with tent, sleeping bag and a small cooking stove. Although this provided some amenities, it also meant that I was walking with 15 kilos (33lbs) on my back, which, as the summer heat set in and temperatures reached over 35 degrees, was not easy. I had some money with me (and ended up spending about 5 euros a day), but I was also expected to rely on strangers offering me food, or begging for it when needed. However, I didn’t want to be helped just because I was seen as a potential priest. So I never introduced myself as a Jesuit novice - I simply said I was a pilgrim looking for food or a place to spend the night.
Much of the route was on cycle tracks along the Danube valley and the landscape was glorious. One Sunday morning, when I had woken up without anything to eat in my bag, and no prospect of buying anything, a woman pulled up beside me in her car and without knowing anything about me, invited me to join her and her family for a picnic breakfast. She was just one of the angels who brought me ‘manna in the desert’ when I most needed it.
It was a strange experience, not knowing at the beginning of the day, where I would end up, or whether I would have a chance to wash or even a quiet place to pitch a tent. On several nights there were heavy storms and a shelter would just appear - a shop doorway, a youth club, a garden shed, a covered picnic table. On one occasion I knocked on the door of a house in the middle of nowhere; the owners invited me to sleep above their garage, and even gave me a mattress and some food.
There were also monasteries along the route - in some cases magnificent palaces on the top of hills. Dishevelled and sweaty I would climb up to the door and ask for accommodation, not knowing if this was even a working monastery, or if they would be prepared to help. And not one of the monasteries turned me away - instead they often gave me palatial rooms, fed me well, and even gave me food to see me on my way.
There were - of course difficult moments - the distance (on a few days more than 22 miles to cover), the heat, getting lost, the repetitive slog each day, not having someone to share the load. I was touched by the willingness of people to help when asked. But I was also disappointed by how many people - especially people coming out of church services - ignored me, or hurried past me so that they would not be called upon to help.
The second last day was spent at the site of the concentration camp in Dachau. Seeing such shocking examples of people’s cruelty and indifference, it was good to have also experienced so much of people’s goodness and generosity. It was also moving to reflect on the hatred inflicted there, not just on Jews, but also (amongst others) communists, Catholic priests and religious, homeless, prisoners of war, and gay men; how we continue to stigmatise and marginalise people of whom we don’t approve. I had now felt a little of what it was like to be poor and vulnerable.