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Last winter, I took part in a group studying Catherine Doherty’s book, Strannik (pilgrim). Alma Coffman, who led the group, decided to make a walking pilgrimage from the Canadian Martyrs’* Shrine in Midland to Our Lady of Combermere at Madonna House—a distance of 250 km (156 miles).
Catherine saw pilgrimage as an unburdening of ourselves of all that keeps us from God.
This is also the Franciscan way of seeing it, a way which I had studied when I was in training to become a secular Franciscan.
We who are on the path to God must clear the way of all desires, attractions, and temptations that would lead us from the path or delay us in arriving at our destination—oneness with God.
On completion of the study, after praying for discernment, I decided to make the pilgrimage with Alma. Leaving the comforts and distractions of home would be a beginning.
Our pilgrimage, hopefully, would be a time of intense focus on what would bring us closer to God. We would forget ourselves and offer our prayers and discomforts for others.
Each of us would bring many prayer requests. And to all whom we would meet along the way, we would try to show the face of God.
I knew that the best way to do this was to realize our own unimportance. St. Frances regularly called himself a worm, and as it turned out, I would be forced to humiliate myself even before we began walking.
Alma had spent many hours preparing for the pilgrimage. She chose the route, (not an obvious one, as we would be taking the back roads) and contacted people who agreed to put us up for the night.
There was one particularly long, lonely stretch where there were few churches and no prospective hosts that we knew to put us up. Alma asked me to make some inquiries into finding us places to stay there.
I was to ask for supper and overnight accommodations, breakfast the next morning, a packed lunch, a drive to the place we had stopped walking the night before, and the transportation of our bags to the next host’s home! In some cases that could amount to driving 40 km (25 miles).
I thought that it was too much to ask of anyone, especially strangers, and for two days I agonized over this task.
I finally realized that I had to become humble enough to beg. Wasn’t I a Franciscan? And wasn’t St. Francis a great beggar?
When I finally presented myself as a beggar, the response was immediate and positive. “No, that is not too much to ask!”
That’s when I realized that many people want to be asked to help, especially where God is involved. This would be evident throughout the pilgrimage.
On September 30th, with my husband Chris at the wheel, we picked up Alma and drove to Midland. The scenery was magnificent. The autumn sunlight was turning the leaves to fire, and the sun glistened on the lakes and rivers along the road.
Then suddenly I became aware of the passage of time. How many kilometers had we already gone? How could I ever walk all this distance? I was forgetting that God might have something to do with enabling me to do it.
We finally arrived at our first hosts’ home. I was surprised to meet an old friend who joined us in the hearty meal provided.
We later attended evening Mass at Canadian Martyrs’ Shrine with our hosts. After Mass, we venerated the Martyrs’ relics and began a novena to them. This gave us a focus and a strong sense of purpose.
The next day, the feast of the Little Flower, we went to morning Mass, continued the Novena to the Martyrs’, and began our pilgrimage by walking to the site of capture of some of them.
It wasn’t long before the stretching ligaments in my feet started to hurt. By the time we reached the site of the martyrdom, I was reminding myself that my increasing pain was nothing compared to the suffering of the martyrs.
Our host walked with us and as we rested, we all shared intimate thoughts and life experiences quite freely and completely without judgment. We prayed together for each other and for all the situations we had been discussing. This was the first of many such sharings throughout the pilgrimage.
Along with the Novena to the Canadian Martyrs, we prayed two or three rosaries a day, the Angelus, the Divine Mercy Chaplet, prayers for priests, for marriages, prayers to the saint of the day, the Novena of Surrender to Jesus and many Hail Marys as people came to mind.
The Novena of Surrender to Jesus became very important to us. We began each day with the attitude of this prayer: Dear Jesus, I surrender myself entirely to You. Take care of everything.
Our days were peaceful, and we had so many joyful experiences. People were friendly and supportive, and we were always given what we needed.
Slowly we let go, realizing that our schedule was not important. Many of our hosts wanted us to meet their friends, visit their churches, see local sites, and spend time sharing their joys and sorrows. Some even learned to pray the Breviary with us.
With our hosts, we saw a canoe-builder’s shop, dogs, cats, chickens, trampolines and running races (these latter by happy, bright-eyed children.)
After the third day, walking became easier. We kept up a fair pace and sang hymns.
Both Alma and I were thoroughly joyful. We were walking through beautiful wooded areas and were cared for by kind hosts. And whenever we needed a resting place, we found one.
At one point, we needed an indoor toilet. Alma spotted a building which looked like a resort office. The sign on the door said: Closed. Alma ignored it and knocked.
To our surprise, a young man opened the door and invited us in. He told us that he and his family were just moving in and that they would be opening for business in the spring.
I detected a Polish accent and I wished him a happy feast of St. Faustina. He was surprised that I knew it, and when he discovered that we had come from Combermere, he was anxious to tell us of his love for Madonna House.
We left with souvenirs, drinks, snacks and the promise of free lodgings should we ever pass that way again.
As children, both Alma and I had been very close to nature, and both of us had been especially interested in flora. As we walked along, when we weren’t praying or singing, we took turns calling out the names of the plants which grew along the ditches. I felt like Adam naming all of God’s creatures.
I usually wore a brilliant yellow plastic poncho while Alma’s was blue. They covered our large fanny packs so we looked like beasts of burden. My tau cross and Alma’s Madonna House cross were always visible as were our rosaries swinging from our walking sticks.
We were never met with indifference, and we were given many thumbs up and honks from passing cars.
One drizzly day, we were welcomed into a little country café where we could eat our lunches. The waitress plied us with questions and told us about some of her experiences.
On one unusual day, we couldn’t find a suitable spot to eat our lunch. We walked on well past lunchtime and then came upon a wonderful sight. Through some trees we saw a little white table with a chair and a tree stump. A table for two in the forest!
But as we approached, we quickly saw that things were not as they seemed. Many alcohol bottles and beer cans were strewn across the area, and rotting food and personal belongings lined a fire pit.
A partly-built house stood awry and a pile of planed lumber was warping under the elements.
A large expensive-looking saw had been left to rust, and four small and teen-sized bicycles were thrown up against some trees and were half-buried in fallen leaves. Everything seemed to indicate a sudden departure.
Alma and I thought there must have been a broken dream, and we prayed for those involved in this situation.
When I look back upon my pilgrimage experience, I can’t say that I am much closer to the purity necessary to greet my Maker, but I have gained an insight, which I hope will spur me on in that direction.
It was evident to me by looking at the waste that filled the roadside ditches—particularly the alcohol bottles—that many people are hungering and thirsting for God.
As further evidence of this, people wanted us to know about an aunt who prayed a lot or about their love for Madonna House. They told us about many other things which gave them even a tenuous connection with God and his people.
Throughout this pilgrimage, I got the feeling that people wanted what they thought we had. People are hungry for God without knowing it.
This showed me that it’s up to those of us who know God to show him to them.
*the Jesuit missionaries who were massacred by the Iroquois in the mid-sixteen hundreds
