Several years ago, my daughter Molly moved back to Pennsylvania after living in California for a number of years. She had a small silver Hyundai Elantra and after packing it with all of her things, there was room for one passenger so I flew across the country to accompany her on the long drive.
Wanting to see a few sights as we traveled from California to Pennsylvania, we made it to the Grand Canyon at sunset on the first day of our drive. Our visit to the Grand Canyon was both short and spectacular. We got back into the car to travel a few hours to the hotel we planned to stay in that night. Google maps was our only navigation system. It was very dark as we followed a winding two lane road, got lost once, drove across a border between time zones, and eventually made it to our hotel later than we planned. The front desk of the hotel was closed but a man in the parking lot told us we could register at the gas station across the street. This strange way of registering for our hotel room in the dark of night after a disorienting drive made us both feel a bit alarmed about our choice of hotel. We had no choice but to stay there and when we got to our room, we found that it was spacious and clean. Exhausted, we both slept well.
The next morning, I wanted to call my husband John. Molly was still sleeping so I thought I would go out on the little deck that we had been told each of the rooms had. Without opening the curtains, I made my way through the sliding glass door, stepped out on the deck and was completely overwhelmed by the majestic beauty of the landscape before me. Our hotel was right on the edge of the Grand Canyon and I had no idea! Our dark windy drive the night before had been a drive around the edge of the Canyon and we were on the other side of it. I think I will always remember that moment of overwhelming beauty, a beauty made more spectacular because I was completely unprepared to receive it. It was totally unexpected. I was a sojourner, staying temporarily in a place I knew nothing about. I had arrived in darkness, tired, disoriented, and a bit distrustful, but through that vulnerability received a gift of beauty that moved me in ways I could not have expected.
I thought of that moment recently, when a line in Psalm 39 grabbed my attention. The psalmist prays,
I sojourn with you like a passing stranger, a guest like all my ancestors.
Psalm 39:13
The whole psalm speaks painfully of the transitory nature of our lives, points to our frailty, and yet, when I allow this one line to accompany me through my days, I find great hope in it. The hope I find from it comes because the line inspires a shift in my inner focus, a shift from being in charge to receiving, a shift from striving to understand and know, to accepting all that is unknown, a shift from seeking assurance in all that I control, to recognizing how little control I have and finding in that lack of control an openness to the beautiful gift of so many wonderful, impermanent moments given to me each day. The line reminds me to let go of expectations that keep me from seeing mystery. It awakens me to the passing nature of my life and reminds me that all of life is gift.
Jesuit priest Jon Sobrino has lived most of his adult life in El Salvador serving people who suffer from both great poverty and violent political turmoil. Sobrino experienced this violence first-hand when six Jesuit priests of his community, the community cook, and her daughter were murdered while he was in Thailand. In an interview, Sobrino was asked to discuss his thoughts about living and working in an environment in which life is not taken for granted, in an environment when the threat of death is forcefully felt. Sobrino said that amid such a volatile environment, he has found his home, a home he never questions or seeks to change. In the midst of poverty and violence, Sobrino has discovered a deep inner stability and when asked the key to his inner stability, Sobrino says,
I have allowed myself to be welcomed by God.
Jon Sobrino
We are all sojourners passing through life. Sometimes the transitory nature of our lives, and an awareness of our frailty presses in upon us and is forcefully felt. At times these moments are painful and cause us to suffer, but sometimes these moments can be liberating. In quiet, peaceful times, we can remind ourselves that we are sojourning with God as guests. We can welcome a shift in our inner focus that allows us to stop trying so hard to secure ourselves and instead receive the wonder of our lives as gift. We might allow ourselves to be welcomed by God.
