Erickson - Holy Rover

And I find myself wondering: how did an Iowa farmers daughter get here?

The short answer is that I fell in love with pilgrimages, the sacred journeys that can begin in any corner of the world and eventually lead to Jerusalem, or Lourdes, or Machu Picchu, or to a boat docked on the bank of the Nile.

The long answer is this book.

My passion for pilgrimage springs from a fascination with religion in all its many weird and wonderful permutations. What makes some people handle snakes and others fast for Lent? How do Mormons get young people to devote two years of their lives to knocking on the doors of strangers? Whats it like to go to Mecca? Why do Orthodox churches have those slightly scary looking icons? Do Trappist monks ever burst out laughing in the middle of the Great Silence? Do many people really believe that pieces of the True Cross exist? Why do people crawl on their knees to the Shrine of Our Lady of Guadalupe in Mexico City? What do nuns wear under their habits and Buddhist monks under their robes? All of it, the big and little questions, intrigue me.

In my search for the holy, Ive wandered down many paths. Ive been a Lutheran, a Wiccan, a Unitarian Universalist, a Buddhist, an Episcopalian, and an admirer of Native American traditions. Ive been spiritual-but-not-religious and religious-but-not-spiritual. I can read tarot cards and balance chakras. My spirit animal is a bear, which is a great relief because for years I thought it was a raccoon, an animal that while perfectly fine lacks a certain gravitas.

After many years of spiritual wandering, Im now a committed Christian, but one who frequently flirts with other religious traditions. I like to think Im in an open marriage with Jesuswere both free to spend time with other faiths, but at the end of the day we always come home to each other.

Through it all, the spiritual practice thats most shaped me is pilgrimage. My journeys have given me essential keys to understanding what was happening in my inner life. Theyve challenged my assumptions, forced me to confront my fears and prejudices, and deepened my faith. Among other changes, they eventually led me to become a writer specializing in spiritual travels and to ordination as a deacon in the Episcopal Church.

This book describes not a single pilgrimage, such as a six-month trip along the Pacific Crest Trail or the Camino de Santiago, but instead a dozen shorter ones. I think my experiences mirror those of many travelers today, people who dont have time for an extended retreat or journey, but who still feel a yearning for something more than the ordinary routines of work and family and the pleasures of a week at Disneyland. I hope in reading about my pilgrimages, youll be inspired to make your own, whether youre Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist, Hindu, or someone who kinda-sorta thinks there might be something more to ordinary reality than is immediately obvious.

A warning: once you set out on trips to holy places, if youre paying attention at all, your life will change.

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This may appear to be a trivial detail, but its actually a key part of my story: I grew up on a dairy farm. This meant that we never traveled, because cows need to be milked twice a day.

My family never went anywhere for other reasons as well, including the fact that my parents didnt have much money, and they werent the sort of people whod have traveled even if they did have it. To them it was mystifying that anyone would want to leave home for pleasure. Think of the multiple ways things could go wrong, including restaurants where we didnt know what to order and food that could upset our stomachs. More serious dangers lurked, too. Early in their marriage my parents took a trip to the Wisconsin Dells, where my dad was stung by a bee on his face. Thats just the sort of thing that could happen again if we ventured very far afield.

And the roads! My hometown of Decorah (population 8,000) was busy enough, but traveling involved driving on highways with more than two lanes. I remember how scared I was riding in the back seat of our car on my first trip to Minneapolis, where my sister had recently moved. My mother drove down an entry ramp onto the interstate and then stopped, waiting until all three lanes were completely clear before venturing out. I was startled to see people cursing at our car, because Id never witnessed such rudeness in my quiet, well-mannered town.