Reflections
on the Pilgrimage
Peace Pilgrim
When I first started out, my tunic read PEACE PILGRIM on the
front and Walking Coast to Coast for Peace on the
back. Through the years the message on the back changed from
Walking 10,000 Miles for World Disarmament to Walking
25,000 Miles for Peace and ending with the present message of 25,000
Miles On Foot for Peace. This walking has taken me
several times into the forty-eight states and into Mexico and into
all ten Canadian provinces.
I finished counting miles of walking in Washington, D.C. in the
fall of 1964. I said to myself, "25,000 miles is enough
to count." It kept me tied to the main highways where
mileage are recorded on road maps. They're not good places
to meet people. They're just good places to count
miles. Now I'm free to walk where people are. Also,
mileages are not given for my favorite places to walk:
beaches, forest paths and mountain trails.
Some things don't seem so difficult, like going without
food. I seldom miss more than three to four meals in a row
and I never even think about food until it is offered. The
most I have gone without food is three days, and then mother
nature provided my food--apples that had fallen from a tree.
I once fasted as a prayer discipline for 45 days, so I know how
long one can go without food! My problem is not how to get
enough to eat, it's how to graciously avoid getting too
much. Everyone wants to overfeed me!
Going without sleep would be harder, although I can miss one
night's sleep and I don't mind. Every once in awhile I miss
a night's sleep, but not for some time now. The last time
was September of 1977 when I was in a truck stop. I had
intended to sleep a little but it was such a busy truck stop that
I spent all night talking to truck drivers. The first thing
after I went in, a truck driver who'd seen me on television wanted
to buy me some food. I sat in a corner booth. Then
truck drivers started to arrive, and it was just one wave of truck
drivers after another that were standing there and asking me
questions, and so forth. I actually talked to them all night
and I never did get to do any sleeping. After a while
somebody offered me breakfast and I ate that and left.
Another time, a truck driver pulled his truck to the side of
the road and said, "I heard you say over television something
about that endless energy and I just wanted to tell you I had it
one time. I was marooned in a town by a flood. I got
so bored that I finally offered to help and I got interested in
getting people out. I worked without eating, I worked
without sleeping, and I wasn't tired. . . But I don't have it any
more." I said, "Well, what are you working for
now?" "Money," he said. I said,
"That should be quite incidental. You have the endless
energy only when you are working for the good of the whole--you
have to stop working for your little selfish interests."
That's the secret of it. In this world you are given as
you give!
I usually average twenty-five miles a day walking, depending
upon how many people stop to talk to me along the way. I
have gone up to fifty miles in one day to keep an appointment or
because there was no shelter available.
On very cold nights I walk through the night to keep
warm. When the days are very warm I do a lot of walking at
night to avoid the heat. I have walked when the nights were
filled with the scent of honeysuckle, the sight of fireflies and
the sound of whippoorwills.
Once a six-foot fellow, confident he could out walk me, walked
with me for 33 miles. When he gave up, his feet were
blistered and his muscles ached. He was walking on his own
strength; I wasn't! I was walking on that endless energy
that comes from inner peace.
Another time a woman asked me if she could accompany me on the
pilgrimage. She told me she wanted to get away from
"that husband" of hers. Maybe she did have a
calling, but her motive was not the highest. Another lady
who wished to accompany me for a day could barely walk by
afternoon. I sent her home by bus!
I have never experienced any danger on my walks. One time
a couple of drunks did follow me in a car, but when I moved off
the road they left. Only once has anyone ever thrown
something at me: a man in a speeding truck threw a fistful
of crumpled dollar bills. I simply gave them to the next
church where I spoke.
A college student once asked me if I had ever been
mugged. "Mugged?" I answered, "You would have
to be a crazy person to mug me--I haven't a penny to my
name!"
There was a time when I was walking out of town at sunset and a
well-to-do couple in a big house called me over. They had
read about my pilgrimage and felt it was their Christian duty to
warn me that ahead on the way lay a very wicked place called
"South of the Border." They just wanted to warn me
not to go near that place. They did not offer food or
shelter, however, so I walked on for several hours.
It was a very dark night with a heavy cloud cover and all of a
sudden it started to rain. Big drops were coming down, and I
was carrying a lot of unanswered mail. I looked for a place
where there might be a shelter and nearby I saw a combination gas
station, restaurant and motel. I ducked under the roof over
the gas pumps and started to put the unanswered mail into the
front of my tunic so it wouldn't get wet. The man from the
gas station came running out and said, "Don't stand out there
in the rain--come into the restaurant." The man in the
restaurant said, "Oh, we read all about you, and we would
like to offer you a dinner or anything you want." By
that time I realized where I was. I was in "South of
the Border."
The man from the motel was sitting across the table from me and
he gave me a room for the night. They also gave me breakfast
the next morning.
There may have been gambling in the back room; something was
going on there. But they treated me in a much more Christian
fashion than those who warned me against them. It just
demonstrates my point that there is good in everybody.
I have received hospitality in the most unusual places.
These have included a conference table in the Florence, Arizona,
city hall and the seat of a fire engine in Tombstone,
Arizona. Once I was inadvertently locked for thirteen hours
in an icy gas station restroom. My accommodations were quiet
and private, although somewhat chilly!
I sleep equally well in a soft bed or on the grass beside the
road. If I am given food and shelter, fine. If not,
I'm just as happy. Many times I am given shelter by total
strangers. When hospitality is not available there are
always bus depots, railroad stations and all night truck stops.
I remember being offered a queen size bed at a fashionable
motel one evening and the next evening space on the concrete floor
of a twenty-four hour gasoline station. I slept equally well
on both. Several times a friendly sheriff would unlock the
door of an unoccupied jail cell.
When no shelter is available to me, I sleep in the fields or by
the side of the road with God to guard me.
Bridges always offered protection from the elements, as well as
dilapidated barns and empty basements of abandoned homes.
Culverts and large pipes often served as lodging. But one of
my favorite places to sleep is a large haystack piled in an
accessible field on a clear night. The stars are my blanket.
Cemeteries are also wonderful places to sleep for the
night. They are quiet, the grass is always neatly trimmed,
and nobody ever bothers you there. No, there is no intrusion
upon the departed spirits. I wish them peace; they
understand. But a picnic table at a nearby road stop, a
gathering of pine needles in a nearby brush, or the cushion of a
blossoming wheat field would serve as well.
One morning, when I was sleeping in a Kansas wheat field, I was
awakened to a very loud noise. I looked up only to see this
huge reaper bearing down on me. I immediately rolled over
several times to get out of the way of its swirling blades.
I feel a complete protection on my pilgrimage. God is my
shield. There are no accidents in the Divine Plan nor does
God leave us unattended. No one walks so safely as those who
walk humbly and harmlessly with great love and great faith.
I remember a time of the year when it got very cold at
night. It went below freezing, but then it warmed up a
little in the daytime, so the days were fairly pleasant. It
was in the fall, and there were dry leaves on the ground. I
was in the middle of the woods and there wasn't a town for miles
around. It was sunset and it was a Sunday. Someone had
read a thick Sunday newspaper and tossed it beside the road--like
they shouldn't, but they do. I picked it up and walked off
the road and found a thick evergreen tree. Underneath it was
a little depression where some leaves had blown. I pushed a
lot of leaves into that depression. Then I put some paper
down and placed the rest of the paper over me. When I woke
in the morning there was a thick white frost over everything, but
the evergreen tree had kept it off of me, and I was snug and warm
in my nest of leaves and paper. That's just a tip in case
you get caught out some night.
Most people interested in vacations are those who are doing
things they are not called to do, which they want to get away from
for awhile. I couldn't imagine feeling the need of a
vacation from my pilgrimage. How good it is to travel south
in the fall of the year, experiencing the tranquil beauty of the
harvest time--but staying ahead of the frost; experiencing the
brilliant beauty of the autumn leaves--but traveling on before
they are swept from the trees. How good it is to travel
north with the spring, and to enjoy the spring flowers for several
months instead of several weeks. I have had both these
wonderful experiences in the middle of the country.
During a 1,000 mile walk through New England (which began in
Greenwich, Connecticut and ended in Burlington, Vermont), I
zigzagged a lot to walk through not only the large towns but also
the smaller towns to which I had been invited. I started
among the apple blossoms--I walked among them when they were pink
buds, and when their falling petals were as white as falling
snow. I ended among the ripened apples, which supplied me
with some tasty meals. In between I feasted on luscious wild
strawberries and blackberries and blueberries.
Throughout the country I saw much superhighway construction,
and I noticed that these super-roads tended to run in the valleys,
tunneling through the mountains and sometimes under the
rivers. I'm glad that on my pilgrimage I usually followed
the old roads that climbed the mountains. What wonderful
vistas there were to reward those who attained the summit:
sometimes views of towns or roads where I had walked or would
walk, sometimes views of valleys covered with fields and
orchards. I know that this is an age of efficiency and that
superhighways are much more efficient, but I hope there will
always be some scenic roads, too. Some roads that climb the
mountains.
People sometimes ask me how I spend holidays--especially
Christmas. I have spent many of them walking. Many
people go for a drive on a holiday, so it is a good time to
contact people. I remember one Christmas Eve when I slept
out under the stars. One planet was so bright that just a
little imagination could transform it into the star of
Bethlehem. The next day, at a temperature of 80 degrees, I
walked into New Orleans to find poinsettias blooming abundantly
for Christmas--and to find some fine, new friends.
I spent one Christmas in Fort Worth, Texas, where the towers
and the tall buildings were outlined with colored lights,
presenting an unforgettable picture as I walked into the
city. That day I was given the welcome present of enough
time to catch up with my mail.
People sometimes ask me if I do not feel lonely on
holidays. How can I feel lonely when I live in the constant
awareness of God's presence? I love and I enjoy being with
people, but when I am alone I enjoy being alone with God.
Most of the time in the early years I was offered food and
hospitality by people I did not even know. I accept
everything as an offering sent from the hand of God. I am
equally thankful for the stale bread I received at a migrant
worker's home as the sumptuous meal presented to me by a lady
friend in the main dining room at the Waldorf Astoria Hotel.
You know, after you have fully surrendered your life to God's
will--if it is your calling to go out on faith--you will discover
that even the food and shelter you need come to you very
easily. Everything, even material things are given.
And some amazing things are given that still surprise even me.
I first got to Alaska and Hawaii through a wonderful gift from
a wonderful friend. Then some of my friends asked me to
consider leading tours there, so I led one to Alaska the summer of
1979 and one to Hawaii the summer of 1980. I arranged the
tours to be an educational and inspirational experience for all
who participate. We lived simply and traveled light.
I was not idle while in our two newest states. Besides
showing my friends around, I did a lot of speaking to groups and
over the air. Some of those friends wanted to get an idea of
what my pilgrimage life is like, and I think they did. It
was a joy to share these inspiring places with them.
I'll tell you another thing that happened: I was figuring
out my schedule for North and South Dakota and I knew that in
North Dakota I would have to interrupt my schedule to lead the
tour in Hawaii. I knew it would be at Bismarck and I knew
also that it would take me about a week to hitchhike back from Los
Angeles, and I thought, "Oh, a week out of the North Dakota
schedule and a week out of the South Dakota schedule. I
could really use those two weeks in North and South
Dakota." About the time I was thinking these thoughts,
someone wrote and offered me air fare to and from Bismarck.
It seemed almost like a miracle that it came. And of course
this was something that I needed. I do not take anything I
do not need, but I did need the time in North and South
Dakota. This was a wonderful gift, which I accepted, and for
which I shall be eternally grateful.
So even the material things are provided.
I explained to a reporter one time that I just talk to people
and after a time they ask me if I want to eat. He pointed
out that he had talked to people for months, even years, and they
hadn't offered him so much as a sandwich. I told him,
"But you're not a peace pilgrim!"
Once a sixteen-year-old Mexican boy, who had heard me on the
radio, raced out as I passed his home and excitedly extended an
invitation to stay for the evening. His family lived in a
poor itinerant sharecropper's cabin, but I can remember being
treated as their honored guest. After a dinner of tortillas
and beans, the family rolled up their only rug and placed it as a
blanket upon their only bed. In the morning, before I
departed, they fed me another loving meal of tortillas and beans.
While passing through Memphis, I scampered upon a wooden porch
of a one-room house to escape a violent thunderstorm. A
black family graciously offered hospitality for the evening.
Their warmth was matched by the wood-burning stove that heated
their humble home. They shared their meager food of
cornbread and water for dinner and breakfast. We all slept
on a bare, well-scrubbed floor. I will never forget the
genuineness of their hospitality.
One bitter cold morning a college student in Oklahoma gave me
the gloves from his hands and threw his scarf around my
neck. That night when the temperature had dropped below
zero, an Indian couple offered me shelter.
I was once warned not to go to Georgia--and especially not into
Albany, Georgia, where fourteen peace walkers were in jail.
But I cannot say I found anyone to be really unfriendly. In
fact, hospitality was better than average.
The people of minority groups I met took it for granted that I
wouldn't discriminate. When they read Peace Pilgrim on my tunic,
they seemed to trust me. They didn't hesitate to stop and
talk. I spoke in a number of minority churches and several
of the ministers read my message to their congregations.
Of course, I love everyone I meet. How could I fail
to? Within everyone is the spark of God. I am not
concerned with racial or ethnic background or the color of one's
skin; all people look to me like shining lights! I see in
all creatures the reflection of God. All people are my
kinfolk--people to me are beautiful!
We people of the world need to find ways to get to know one
another--for then we will recognize that our likenesses are so
much greater than our differences, however great our differences
may seem. Every cell, every human being, is of equal
importance and has work to do in this world.
|
