I do not expect anyone to emulate the pilgrim antics of Fulk Nerra, count of Anjou. When he visited Jerusalem back in 1039 he had his servants drag him through the city with a halter around his neck.
The Hungarian George Grissaphan is, likewise, an unreliable role model for the 21st century. After travelling all the way to Ireland in 1353, he spent five days enduring a ritual death, lying on a bier and covered with black cloth, while priests chanted requiem Masses.
What I do suggest, however, is that the penitential aspect of pilgrimage is as crucial as it has always been, even if we can safely jettison the more extravagant bygone deeds. We hear a lot these days about pilgrims wanting to get away from the hustle and bustle of modern life or longing to spend time with like-minded folk. We hear less and less about penance.
Pilgrimage is, of course, about more than confronting our sinfulness, but the penitential imperative ranks highly. Towards the end of the 15th century, the Milanese statesman Santo Brasca offered some advice that, while not always followed by Brasca himself, still holds appeal. The pilgrim should travel “solely with the intention of visiting, contemplating and adoring the most Holy Mysteries … and not with the intention of seeing the world, or from ambition, or to be able to say ‘I have been there’ or ‘I have seen that.’ ” Above all, the person who visited Jerusalem should do so “with great effusion of tears, in order that Jesus may graciously pardon his sins”.
Moderation in all things, of course, and Brasca did not expect anyone to indulge in excessive self-mortification. It was perfectly acceptable to secure tolerable accommodation en route to the Holy Land, “especially if given to suffering from the head on account of the movement of the sea”. Starving yourself to death would be silly, so the pilgrim could acquire “a supply of good Lombard cheese, and sausages, and other salt meat of any sort”. It was wise to pack “a good many shirts, so as to avoid the lice and other unclean things as much as possible” and “he should have with him a great deal of fruit syrup because that is what keeps a man alive in the great heat”.
There was still a sense, though, that the way would probably be dolorous and that this was no bad thing. Happily, there are still people who walk many pilgrim miles and realise that the sore feet are more than an inconvenience. They would perhaps concur with the counsel offered to Roman pilgrims in the mid-17th century: “We may be sometimes damaged, either at the beginning or in the middle length of the road and because of discomfort of the journey,” but “recall to you that with the steps of this … you make recompense for all the steps – that perhaps are innumerable and perhaps are not – of your life badly spent.”
At the same time, the concept of pilgrimage is at risk of being weakened, even cheapened. Sightseeing with a vaguely spiritual dimension now seems to qualify but, for the Christian, pilgrimage must be about more than this. Not that a trip to Lough Derg and its diet of oatcakes and black tea is the only option available. The famous imagery of Hebrews 11 can be helpful here. If you see yourself as a stranger and pilgrim on the earth, in pursuit of a better, heavenly country, then the sacred journey in the here and now can come in many forms. The anguish can just as easily be spiritual as physical, and you might not even have to cross the threshold of your home.
Gregory of Nyssa had various contentious things to say about pilgrimage, but he got one thing absolutely right: “If you keep your inner man full of wicked thoughts, even if you were on Golgotha, even if you were on the Mount of Olives, even if you stood on the memorial rock of the Resurrection, you will be as far away from receiving Christ into yourself.” Attitude of mind and admission of sin are everything and, as Jerome wrote to Paulinus of Nola long ago: “Nothing is lacking to your faith although you have not seen Jerusalem.”
That said, a trip there or to somewhere like the Shrine of Our Lady of Altötting is always an excellent idea, provided you go for the right reasons and, in the latter case, don’t spend too much time seeking out the famously excellent Bavarian beers.
If nothing else, the physical act of travelling to a holy place opens up the possibility of a highly unusual conversational gambit. “I’m going on pilgrimage,” your friend will tell you. Assuming your friend isn’t very old or terribly ill, thus deserving of every comfort, you’ll be able to offer the following reply: “Wonderful! … I hope you have a terrible time.”
Jonathan Wright is an honorary fellow in the department of theology and religion at Durham University
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