God Of The Uncharted Ways - A Virtual Pilgrimage 1/10

Welcome to the Edge of the World! Our Hebridean Virtual Pilgrimage begins today on a wild, imagined shore of the Scottish Isles. We’ve answered the ancient call to journey, preparing our hearts for an adventure of faith, trust, and encounter with God in the spirit of the Celtic saints, particularly drawing inspiration from St. Brendan the Navigator.
Put on your headphones, press play, and go for a lovely walk in the Hebridean Islands - or, you could also, just listen in your favourite armchair!

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Free sound effect and music from Pixabay

Transcript

Hello,

And welcome to God of the Uncharted Ways.

I'm Darlene Hull,

And I'm delighted to be your guide as we begin our sacred pilgrimage through the wild beauty of the isles and the uncharted ways of the soul.

This journey is more than a simple walk.

It's an opportunity to step away from the noise,

To quiet your heart,

And to listen for the loving voice of God in new ways.

Each day we'll begin with a walking meditation to center ourselves in God's presence.

After that,

I'll guide you through a teaching segment,

Followed by an experiential spiritual challenge and reflection questions to help you take today's theme into your daily life.

At the halfway point of our time together,

You'll hear a gentle chime.

This will be your cue to turn around if you're not walking in a loop.

So take a deep breath,

Let the rhythm of your steps settle your spirit,

And let's begin.

We stand at the very edge of the known world on a wild Hebridean shore.

Feel in your imagination the cool,

Damp kiss of the North Atlantic wind as it sweeps across the Mejer grasses and sculpts the ancient dunes.

Before you,

The vast,

Restless ocean stretches,

A canvas of steely gray,

Deep teal,

And flashing silver under a sky that is a drama of shifting clouds and sudden,

Breathtaking shafts of light.

This is a place where heaven and earth meet with a startling intimacy,

Where the raw power and intricate beauty of God's creation are utterly undeniable.

The air itself tastes of salt,

Of distance,

Of ancient stories carried out on the wind.

Listen closely.

Beneath the roar of the waves and the cry of the gulls,

Can you hear a deeper call?

An echo of millennia of seeking,

Of journeys begun on shores just like this one?

Today,

We answer that call.

Our pilgrimage begins here,

On this threshold between the familiar and the utterly unknown.

As we explore the call to the isles and prepare the pilgrim heart,

Drawing inspiration from the great seafaring saint,

Brendan the Navigator,

Our coracle awaits.

As you begin your walk today,

Let your very first steps be a conscious entry into this sacred,

Imagined space.

We are leaving the ordinary behind,

Just for this time.

Feel the Hebridean shore.

With your first steps,

Imagine the sensation of the Hebridean shore beneath your feet.

Is it firm,

Damp sand giving way slightly?

Is it the yielding crunch of a shingle beach,

With its myriad of smooth,

Sea-tumbled stones in countless shades of grey,

Pink,

And green?

Picture it vividly.

Imagine the cold,

Clear Atlantic water swirling around your ankles if you dare to step close to the surf.

Feel its invigorating chill,

A reminder of the wild purity of this space.

Take a deep,

Conscious breath.

Imagine you're drawing in that keen Hebridean wind.

Fresh.

Untainted.

Carrying the scent of salt,

Seaweed,

And distant rain.

Feel it fill your lungs,

Clearing away the staleness of routine,

Awakening your senses.

As you exhale,

Let go of the immediate concerns of your day.

Let your breath carry away your to-do lists,

Your anxieties,

Your preoccupations.

With each out-breath,

Create more space within for this sacred journey.

Picture the vast arc of the beach,

Perhaps curving towards distant,

Mist-shrouded cliffs.

See the intricate patterns left by the receding tide on the sand.

The resilient marram grass bending in the wind.

The wheeling seabirds above.

Notice the colors.

The deep blues and greens of the sea.

The ochres and browns of the rocks.

The subtle hues of the shells at your feet.

Focus on the symphony of the Hebridean shore.

The rhythmic crash and sigh of the waves,

Each one unique.

The sharp,

Wild cries of the gulls and oyster catchers.

The constant searching voice of the wind.

Listen deeply,

As if the landscape itself is speaking.

Feel the wind on your face and hands.

The imagined coolness of the air.

The effort of your own body as you walk.

Feel your connection to this ancient,

Elemental place.

Continue this immersive walking for the next several minutes.

Let this Hebridean shoreline become more real in your mind's eye than your actual surroundings.

This is an act of sacred imagination.

A way of preparing your pilgrim heart.

Here on this threshold,

As we contemplate the journey ahead,

Let this poem,

Fear Beach,

By Alicia Holden,

Guide our hearts into a place of honest reflection.

Fear Beach.

It's my little cove of comfort.

The waves are too strong to push beyond.

My boat,

Too small.

Back to the sand I drift after every failed attempt.

Adrenaline pumping until I securely step onto the familiar sand.

Trapped with no unknowns.

Comfortable on familiar terrain.

But the waves sparkle,

Enticing me with their mystery and freedom.

I wonder what's on the other side of the endless water.

I eye my tiny boat.

I open my mouth and I ask.

The winds pick up,

Pushing against the incoming tide.

My boat begins its rebellious route once again.

I hop in.

No more oars or striving.

Just the wind and me.

And finally,

We crest the last wave before it crashes behind me.

The sail has been set.

With the wind behind me,

Out of the familiarity of fear and into the unknown of full life.

No more oars or striving.

Just the wind and me.

What a powerful image of surrender.

This is the very essence of the Pilgrim's Call.

A call that resonated deeply in the hearts of the early Celtic Christians.

They had a unique spiritual practice.

A form of radical devotion known as pilgrimage for the love of Christ.

This wasn't a journey to a famous shrine to gain a blessing,

As we might think of pilgrimage today.

For many of these Celtic saints,

It was the act of leaving itself that was the offering.

It was a spiritual discipline of profound entrustment to God's guidance.

Often undertaken without a clear destination.

Believing that the journey itself,

The act of leaving the familiar for the love of God,

Was the holiest of offerings.

And few embodied this spirit more powerfully than St.

Brendan,

The Navigator.

Born in Ireland in the late 5th century,

Brendan was a monk and a founder of monasteries.

But his soul was filled with a holy wanderlust.

A deep desire to find the land of promise of the saints.

An isle of perfect communion with God that he believed lay somewhere in the vast,

Uncharted Atlantic.

This wasn't a whim.

It was a divine restlessness.

A sacred longing planted deep in his soul by God.

The stories of his voyage,

Written down centuries later,

Tell of a man who took this call with the utmost seriousness.

He didn't just jump in a boat.

First,

He prayed and fasted for 40 days,

Seeking clarity and strength.

He sought the counsel of other holy men and women.

His preparation was as much of the heart and spirit as it was of the hands.

Then,

With a company of fellow monks who shared his vision,

He built a large boat in the traditional Irish way.

A round wooden frame covered with tanned leather hides,

Sealed with tallow to make it waterproof.

They loaded it with provisions for their journey.

And then,

In an act of staggering faith,

They set sail from the coast of Ireland out into the open ocean.

Brendan's story is foundational to the Celtic Church.

It captures the essence of their faith,

A robust trust in God's providence.

A deep belief that creation itself is a book filled with God's wonders and terrors,

And a courageous willingness to venture into the unknown,

Both literally and spiritually.

He and his monks were not sailing away from storms,

But often directly into them,

Trusting the One who is Lord of the wind and the waves.

Their small boat was not an escape pod from the world.

It was a vessel of transformation,

A floating monastery where they kept their rhythm of prayer and praise.

Even as the waves crashed around them.

The poem speaks of being comfortable on familiar terrain.

What shores in our own lives offer that same deceptive comfort?

Perhaps it's a shore of comfortable habits that have become spiritually stagnant.

A shore of old fears or limiting beliefs that keep us tethered.

A shore of self-reliance where we haven't made space for God's surprising grace.

Or even a shore of past successes that we are afraid to move beyond.

The call to pilgrimage,

Even this virtual one,

Is an invitation to look honestly at those shores and to consider what it might mean to push out,

Even a little,

Into deeper waters with God.

As you continue your walk,

Consider what provisions you bring to this pilgrimage.

Not just the imagined bread and water,

But the inner provisions.

Your hopes.

Your questions.

Your longings.

Your willingness to be open.

Your desire for deeper connection with God.

These are the true sustenances for the journey ahead.

And now,

As our walk for today draws toward its symbolic act of departure,

We return,

In our imagination,

To our own little coracle on this wild Hebridean shore.

The wind seems to urge us forward.

The tide is turning.

Pulling gently at the small boat,

Inviting us to release it to the greater movement of the sea.

The moment of decision,

Of commitment,

Is upon us.

Take one last look,

In your mind's eye,

At the land you're leaving behind.

All that is known.

All that is comfortable.

All that you are choosing to entrust to God for this sacred time.

Now,

Turn your gaze resolutely to the sea.

To the aisles of mystery and encounter that lie shrouded in mist and promise.

This is the direction of faith.

With a courage born of a deep inner stirring,

And with prayer in your heart,

Imagine stepping into the coracle.

Feel its surprising lightness.

Its slight rocking motion beneath you.

Settle yourself among the simple provisions.

There are no oars to grasp.

No tiller to steal.

Your hands are open.

Ready to receive.

Ready to trust.

With a deep prayerful breath,

Push the coracle away from the familiar shore.

Feel that profound moment of release.

That utter surrender to the sea.

To the spirit.

You are afloat.

Held by the water.

Moved by currents unseen.

Guided by a wisdom infinitely greater than your own.

The journey has truly begun.

The Hebridean pilgrimage is underway.

Trust the journey.

Trust the guide.

As you drift,

Held in this sacred space between the known and the unknown,

Let this simple ancient hymn be the anchor of your heart.

A breath rising from the depths of Celtic trust.

Alone with none but Thee,

My God,

I journey on my way.

What need I fear when Thou art near,

O King of night and day?

More safe am I within Thy hand than if a host did round me stand.

Amen.

Once you're home and settled,

Here are some journaling questions you might like to work with.

Alicia Holden's poem invites us to let go the shore,

The place you've stood before.

What specific shore in your own life?

A habit?

A comfort zone?

A fear?

Did you feel particularly called to acknowledge or let go of today as you embarked on this pilgrimage?

St.

Brendan set out into the unknown,

Trusting God to guide him through storms and uncertainty.

What is one area of your life right now where you need to cultivate a greater measure of that adventurous trust?

The poem ends with the promise,

There is so much more.

What more from God might you be hoping for on this pilgrimage?

What does the unknown of full life look like to you right now?

Tomorrow our pilgrimage takes us inland.

We will leave the shifting sands of the shore and walk toward the ancient standing stones.

Silent sentinels that have watched for millennia.

There we will reflect on God's faithfulness through deep time and our own sacred place in his vast unfolding story.

And that brings our time to a close.

May you go in peace,

Held in the grace of the God who calls you out upon the waters.

I look forward to welcoming you back here again tomorrow.

In the meantime,

Rest in his presence.

Go with God and be blessed.