About Pilgrims and Pilgrimages

Why a pilgrimage on foot?

Pilgrimage for the Unborn Child

Ballarat to Bendigo
(Christus Rex)

A pilgrimage of a different kind

Pilgrims and Pilgrimages

Pilgrimages are as old as the Church. From the earliest Christian times people were already making the journey to the Holy Land to see places associated with Our Lord. Later, locations associated with saints also attracted pilgrims. The more famous the saint, the further were the distances that pilgrims came to venerate his or her relics.

The Middle Ages was the great age of pilgrimage. There were countless locations attracting countless visitors desiring to pray and do penance in the places associated with saints. Some of these places took on international importance and drew pilgrims from great distances. Rome, of course, was chief among them, followed by famous shrines like Santiago de Compostella in Spain.

During the great age of pilgrimage the highways and byways of Christendom were arteries connecting all the famous shrines. The roads of Medieval Europe were chock-full of colourful travellers: pilgrims, preachers, knights errant seeking good deeds to do, tradesmen and travelling craftsmen, folk going to market, wandering musicians called troubadours, men coming and going on crusades, plus assorted adventurers. Medieval books are often decorated with picturesque 'miniatures' of this colourful crowd.

Today, pilgrimages are still very popular. But pilgrims will fly or drive their chosen shrine. Long gone are the wayside inns full of jolly pilgrims, singing troubadours and knights errant. Today's pilgrim will join a highly structured package tour and stay in a plain modern hotel. But the desire is still the same: to leave the normal routine of daily life for a while and go away to be with God, immersing oneself in the supernatural atmosphere of a holy place.

Pilgrimages are like a microcosm of our lives. Our journey from birth to death to eternity is paralleled by the pilgrim's journey to the holy place. The aches and pains, the soreness and fatigue experienced along the way make the arrival all the more rewarding. In a similar way, the sufferings and ups and downs of life will make our eternal happiness all the greater. Pilgrimages are also a kind of retreat. As we journey along the road we also journey into our own souls seeking deeper insight into life's meaning and eternal truths. Pilgrimages are an occasion to spend a few days or weeks dwelling on the higher - more important - things of life and renewing our spiritual energies.

In spite of all the comfort and convenience of pilgrimage in the jet age, there is today a growing interest in old-style pilgrimage on foot. Santiago de Compostella is once again a highly popular international travel destination. Many visitors once again make the journey on foot, staff in hand, following the ancient Pilgrim's Way across northern Spain in the tradition of the Middle Ages. Several exclusive travel agencies now cater to foot-pilgrims to Santiago. There is also the Paris to Chartres pilgrimage. In Australia, the annual three-day pilgrimage walk from Ballarat to Bendigo is growing in popularity.

Modern man, in the midst of all his comforts and conveniences, in the midst of such a frenetic and fast-paced lifestyle, has as deep yearning for the epic foot-pilgrimages of the days of yore.

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Why a pilgrimage on foot?
A pilgrimage on foot is not easy. But, there are values that one can learn from such a pious tradition. Watch this presentation on a pilgrimage done by students of the American TFP's St. Louis de Montfort Academy, based in Pennsylvania, United States.
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Pilgrimage for the Unborn Child 2007 - Goulburn to Canberra
By Paul Folley

I have been on pilgrimages before; but this one was different. It was a pilgrimage of reparation for the sin of abortion and to obtain graces for our country for it to cease completely. I was told that for several years running people have been walking a route from Goulburn to Canberra, a three-day pilgrimage, over country roads, totalling about 80 kilometres. Not a hard walk, but enough to be good penance. I signed up!

This year two people did it: my friend Michael Baker and I. Thanks to the unobliging Goulburn Council a permit was not issued to enable a large number of people to participate. This matter is being worked on, so please God the day will come when all those who would like to do the annual Pilgrimage for the Unborn Child will be able to.

A good start
Michael and I begin early on Thursday 31 May, rising and breakfasting at 5:30 am, followed by an hour's drive to 7:00 am Mass in Goulburn. We cannot start without paying respects to an ancient custom: the blessing of the pilgrims as they set out. Fr Stephen Byrnes is only too happy to give it. Father Byrnes is the local military vicar and will soon be in Iraq. Knowing how much chaplains are needed there, he is eager to go but agrees it will be hard. We promise to pray for him and leave.

Today's destination will be Tarago, 37 k down the road. The morning is frigid as we reach Goulburn Catholic Cathedral. To start officially the pilgrimage we both lay our hands on the main doors. This simple little ceremony will be repeated at the other end when we arrive at Canberra Cathedral. Then we are off.

The rising sun does little to soften the sharp nip in the air. But we are excited with the kind of excitement one feels when setting out on an adventure. We hardly notice our slight shivering. After a while of walking we will warm up anyway.

Soon we are into beautiful countryside as ridges and valleys stretch out before us. For the next two days – until we reach Canberra – we will be constantly treated to lovely scenery.

It is not long before we have settled down into a rhythm. We are now able to turn our thoughts to more lofty things and soon we are deep into conversation. It is curious how on a long walk like this the patterns of behaviour of normal existence seem to drop away and another behaviour pattern takes over.

Thinking, conversing and praying all seem easier. Gradually one enters into another world where the pace of existence is more in tune with the needs of a human being. We might as well be on another planet to the people whizzing past in cars. I can't help feeling some pity for them, in those glorified tin cans, trapped in a frenetic fast-paced world from which I have mercifully been released for a few days.

There is a great sense of freedom when one is travelling in a small group – a group of two in our case. When we feel like having lunch we simply find the next available grassy bank and plonk down. I have made the mistake of thinking we'd pass places where I could buy something. But no, we are really out in the wilderness. Not that I mind being in the wilderness; it is just that now I have a problem to solve, namely, hunger.

But I need not have worried. Michael has had the foresight to bring a bit of extra food and generously shares it with me. Munching on Michael's bread and cheese I am entertained by his demonstration of his ingenious home-made spirit burner producing two cups of boiling water in a couple of minutes.

On the open road
I always find being out on the open road an exhilarating thing. This road in particular has a very open feel in the flatlands south of Goulburn. In mid-afternoon we enter a tiny village with the ponderous name of Lake Bathurst. We spot a cemetery roadside and without hesitation choose it for afternoon tea-break. We repeat our custom of reciting at each cemetery the De Profundis, the Church's prayer for the dead. It's a good deal for both the living and the dead: we get a rest; they get a prayer.

While leaving the village with the ponderous name, the sight of a teashop results in an immediate temptation to go in. But we suppress it quickly by authoritatively advising each other that any delay now will mean arriving in Tarago after dark. Stoically quickening our pace we leave Lake Bathurst behind.

The ale at the Loaded Dog Inn at Tarago tastes like the nectar of the Gods at the end of a day on the road. Their dinner is equally delicious. And this is another advantage of a journey of this sort. All the simple things of life take on new meaning. The good meal, the hot shower and comfy bed taken for granted in normal life become delightful pleasures to be savoured. It's all a matter of a different perspective, I suppose.

High country, high spirits
Day two. After breakfast we say to good-bye to Mark and Nicole, owners of the Loaded Dog. Passing the local church we pay respects to the Blessed Sacrament.

Now we start climbing into the hills below Tarago. The going is harder than yesterday thanks to the road, which rises for several hours before we clear the top. And yesterday's kilometres have taken their toll, leaving us somewhat stiff and sore. As they saying goes, watch out for the second day!

Being amongst the hills the views are shorter today. But the magnificence of the surrounding trees more than makes up for it. Mountain Lorries (aka Crimson Rosells) wheel amongst the bushes on either side, flashes of red against the greenery. A spot of delicate orange-red on the ground catches our eye. We investigate, and see a freshly killed flame robin. Its colours are astonishing. Maybe a car hit it. We amuse ourselves keeping track of the variety of objects that have been thrown from passing vehicles. Every imaginable artefact known to man seems to be represented.

Passing cars often hoot their horns. From time to time the bellow of a truck adds variety. Some are clearly giving encouragement. Others seem to be hostile. After a while you can tell the difference between a friendly toot and an annoyed bong. Trying to discern whether friend or foe becomes another source of entertainment. It is obvious we are not ordinary hikers as the statue of the Infant of Prague that we carry gives us away, as do the rosary beads swinging from our hands much of the time.

I note the number of little crosses and mini shrines commemorating those killed along the way. What tragedies this road, for us the route of an enjoyable walk, has witnessed. Little inscriptions recount the people who love and miss so-and-so. We decide to say a De Profunids at these spots as well.

"RIP Shane Alan Surman, 1978-1999
The story of life is quicker
Than the wink of an eye.
The story of love is
Hello and goodbye
Until we meet again.
Sadly missed and loved,
Dad, Mum, Tenville, T. Arne"

We are close to Bungendore now, the destination of today's march. We'll be there in an hour at this pace, but fatigue causes us to throw ourselves on a grassy patch for a rest. We lie there for a while lightly dozing and listening to the hiss of the wind in the tall grass. Michael springs up. A smiling face is approaching from a stopped car. It is John O'Shea, a Christian Brother who will lodge us tonight. He has kindly come out to greet us.

Later when we arrive bone weary at Brother John's place there is a welcoming hot cuppa waiting for us. Over dinner Brother John recounts the affairs of the local Church. There are four parishes associated with Bungendore. Formerly each one had a priest. Today there is one priest for all four as the congregations have dwindled. Brother takes care of St Mary's, the picturesque little parish church next to his house. I ask where the people went. To the cities, he replies.

The dinner and a hot shower seem to bring me back to life. Brother John kindly leaves his lovely little church open for us into the evening so we are able spend time there with Our Lord. Watching the red vigil lamp flickering in the silent darkness I think of all that has happened here over the years: the Masses said, the sinners restored to peace in the confessional, the graces received. Blessed Mary McKillop prayed here during her visit many years ago. In moments like this the Real Presence is especially palpable. Passing back to the house I pause to admire a full moon peeking serenely through the clouds and bathing the tranquil night with its ghostly light.

Journey's end
Day three is our last day and Brother John drives us past a treacherous stretch of road to today's starting point. Brother could not have been kinder to us, and it is with regret we say good-bye. We pick up a cycle trail and head towards the goal the pilgrimage, Canberra Cathedral.

It is one of those lovely autumn mornings common in Canberra. Yellow and red leaves drift from trees and float in the golden sunshine. The rustling carpet of fallen foliage at our feet tells us autumn is well underway. Today the blueness of the sky seems particularly intense. We chance on a clearing in a pinewood where logs have been arranged around for many people to sit on, but we are utterly alone. We have our last morning tea of the pilgrimage while enjoying the scent of the pines in the balmy autumn air.

"To the beeches of Neldoreth I came in the Autumn.
Ah! the gold and the red and the sighing of leaves in the Autumn in Taur-na-neldor!
It was more than my desire.
To the pine-trees upon the highland of Dorthonion I climbed in the Winter.
Ah! the wind and the whiteness and the black branches of Winter upon Orod-na-Thôn!
My voice went up and sang in the sky."
[from Treebeard's song, The Lord of the Rings]

Before we know it we are at the Cathedral. The end of the pilgrimage is a moment of both sadness that it is over and of joy at having achieved something worthwhile. We pray our pilgrimage prayers, joined by a friend on my mobile phone.

And we linger there for a while, savouring the last blessings of the magnificent three days of the 2007 Pilgrimage for the Unborn Child.

See the photo essay

Christus Rex Pilgrimage
Ballarat - Bendigo, Victoria State, Australia
By Francesca Wills

With their medieval-styled banners unfurling in the breeze, the weary but joyful pilgrims make their way towards the magnificent Sacred Heart Cathedral of Bendigo, singing the triumphant hymn, 'Gloria Laus'. They have been walking for three days through picturesque Victorian countryside since beginning their journey at St Patrick's Cathedral, Ballarat. Soon they will walk through the doors of the Cathedral, feeling exhausted and dusty, to be transformed and uplifted by a glorious Solemn Mass accompanied by the Sacred Music of the Church - Gregorian Chant and sacred polyphony!

The Christus Rex Pilgrimage has been an annual event in Australia since 1991 and is modeled on the medieval Paris to Chartres Pilgrimage in France which, today, attracts about 15,000 pilgrims - mainly young traditional Catholics from all regions of France and beyond.

The Christus Rex Pilgrimage is held on the traditional feast of Christ the King. The pilgrims come from all parts of Australia, united in their love of a Liturgy full of history and solemnity and their desire to give public honour to Christ the King.

Since the early days of the Church, Catholics have been encouraged to go on pilgrimage as a form of penance or to seek spiritual favours.

Why not join us, this year, on the road to Bendigo as we walk behind the Rampant Lion - our medieval banner of Christ the King!

The XVIIth Christus Rex Pilgrimage takes place on 26-28 October 2007. Why not sign up!

Click here to download the brochure about the pilgrimage (PDF, 102Kb. To save the file in your computer, right click the link and choose 'Save Target As...').

Visit also: www.crex.org

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A pilgrimage within a gaze
By Plinio Correa de Oliveira

I do not know a countenance equal to this one. Moved by a deep-rooted habit of observing everything, I contemplate it so that I may better understand it. As I fix my eyes upon that countenance, I suddenly realise I am entering it.

Yes, a unique expressiveness radiates from the face and especially from the eyes. Absorbed by the atmosphere her expressiveness creates, I feel invited to enter deep into her gaze.

And what a gaze! I know no other so calm, frank, pure and welcoming. In none other can one enter with such ease. No other holds such unfathomable depths and grand horizons. The more one enters this gaze, the more one is attracted toward an indescribable interior and sublime summit.

What summit? A state of soul I would be tempted to describe as full of paradoxes, if the word ‘paradox' were not so misused today as to make me seem disrespectful.

St Thomas Aquinas says that perfection is the result of a balance of harmonious opposites. He was not speaking of the precarious balance between flagrant contradictions so common in our contemporary world. No, this is a supreme harmony of all forms of good.

In the depth of this gaze, I see arise a peak where all perfections meet. It is a peak where a crystalline, categorical and irresistible rule excludes every form of evil, however slight or small.

One could spend a whole lifetime within this gaze without ever reaching the summit of its peak. Within that gaze one does not walk, but flies. One is not a tourist but a pilgrim. And although the pilgrim can never reach the height of that sacred mountain, the sum of all created perfection, he sees it with ever increasing clarity the more he flies toward her.

While on this pilgrimage of the soul, the pilgrim flies toward a gaze that does not merely embrace but penetrates him. Closing his eyes, he perceives a light in the depths of his being.

The gaze is the focal point of her countenance. It is an impressive countenance! The insensitive might consider it inexpressive. To a skilled observer, it is greater than history because it touches eternity. It is greater than the universe because it reflects the infinite.

The forehead appears to hold thoughts that, beginning with a crib and ending with a cross, take in all of human events.

The lines of the entire face and nose possess a charm "more beautiful than beauty". As a poet once wrote, these are silent lips that nevertheless say everything at every moment. They appear to praise God in the uniqueness of every creature, beseeching God to have pity on every pain and misery as if she has suffered each one of them. These lips have an eloquence which reduces the orations of the great Cicero to mere babbling. What can be said of the skin, other that it is snow white? This description says both everything and nothing. To describe it, one would need to imagine a snowiness that profoundly reflects with infinite discretion, all the shades of the rainbow, which would in turn inspire the soul who contemplates it with all the wonders of purity.

Yes, I went on pilgrimage within this gaze. Yet I unexpectedly feel that her gaze also went on pilgrimage inside me. Hers was a merciful pilgrimage, not from splendour to splendour, but from need to need, from misery to misery. If only I open myself to her, she will offer me a remedy for my shortcomings, help against every obstacle and hope for every affliction.

This statue is a wooden statue without any special artistic value. And yet, one only has to fix one's eyes on this statue to see that, without moving or the least physical transformation, it becomes brilliant with all these splendours. I do not know how this happens. However, if the reader wishes, let him look and see...

I insist. If you believe in the description that I have made, I invite you in turn to make this magnificent pilgrimage within the gaze of the Virgin. If you do not believe, look and see. I could not offer a better invitation...

I pray to her for you. I pray for the Holy Church troubled and tormented as never before.

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