SERMONS 

Walking

When I was in high school, and old enough to drive, you bet I did. For most of that time I lived less than a half mile from my school. But I drove. Every day. It would have been embarrassing to walk. I’m not sure why. In fact, it was not until I spent a few months in an urban center during college that I discovered walking. I actually got places that way. Who knew that was possible?

I’d like to shrug off all that driving as an embarrassment of youth. Truth is, though, I still catch myself driving around too long to get a close parking place on a sunny day. Or standing still on an escalator, a down escalator. Or a moving sidewalk, of all things. Come on, admit it—you’ve done it too.

The world seems to conspire to keep us from walking. Actually, in Macon, Georgia, where John and I lived before coming here, in some parts of town it really was impossible to walk anywhere. There were few sidewalks or even shoulders. The message was clear.

And this when the Surgeon General and the CDC are begging us to walk. I think sometimes they defeat themselves, though, by setting the bar so high. Ten thousand steps a day? That’s a lot of walking. In a city like Nashville, without much public transportation, I would guess most of us take many fewer steps than that. Most of us would really have to work at it to get that many steps into a day. (I am talking specifically about walking this morning—but I hope much this translates into other kinds of movement for folks who are physically unable to walk.)

Despite what we know about the importance of getting moving, we hear that most of us aren’t moving enough. Here’s the introduction to an article that came from an entire section devoted to walking in the Washington Post earlier this year.

If a pill could significantly lower the risk of heart attack, diabetes, stroke, osteoporosis and breast and colon cancer while reducing weight, cholesterol levels, constipation, depression and impotence and also increase muscle mass, flatten the belly and reshape the thighs even as it reduced the risk of age-related dementia ... —and had no negative side effects—there would be panic in the streets. The American economy would tip into chaos. The military would have to be called in to secure supplies of the medication.

There’s no such pill—but these are the proven effects of walking. None of us would dispute the evidence concerning the health benefits of walking. But you don’t need me to tell you that in a sermon. Of course physical health is not unrelated to spiritual health. Yet, these are not the benefits of walking I want to discuss this morning. I want to add to this larger discussion by exploring the religious significance of walking. And we can do this from the point of view of just about any religious tradition you care to mention.

Sometimes on Friday evenings, for example, I see the orthodox Jews walking to synagogue for services. For them, using cars is prohibited on the Sabbath. The Sabbath is a time for simplifying. For letting go of things that might get in the way of meeting God. For connecting with each other and with Life. Which pretty much sums up the religious significance of walking.

Within Christianity some participate in “road to Emmaus” programs which involve personal exploration and discovery, as the disciples are said to have experienced in meeting Jesus after his resurrection. There is a revival among Christians, as well, of the practice of walking the labyrinth. A labyrinth is a special geometric design with one entrance and one exit. Very different from a maze, a labyrinth pulls a person in and around and through its path. When I have walked a labyrinth I have felt an energy beyond my own drawing me around. The movement seems to be both in me and beyond me. It is fascinating the way walking a labyrinth reflectively brings a sense of peace and connection.

Native peoples also walk. As we’ve already learned (from the choir’s piece), in Australia the aborigines creation story involves walking and singing to help with the completion of creation. From that the tradition of a sacred walk, or walkabout, is also derived. In Native American traditions, there is the vision quest—often a ritual walk and test of survival associated with coming of age.

In Buddhism circumambulating the stupas is an act which achieves spiritual merit for believers. The stupas are shrines to Buddha or to high lammas, often containing relics or other sacred objects. Believers walk clockwise around the stupas in honor of the great teachers.

Contemporary Buddhist teacher Thich Nhat Hanh advocates walking meditation. I have walked with him and each time was moved and a little shaken by the power of walking with intention. In some ways it works better for me than the traditional sitting meditation. I get fidgety. Walking meditation helps me focus my mind and relax my body. Nhat Hanh says we should imagine our feet are kissing the earth. (If we can’t actually put our feet on the ground because of physical ability, I believe he would invite us to find some way to feel the earth beneath us.) In walking meditation, with each deliberate and careful step, we can feel our real connection with the earth. And in turn with all Life. It’s a powerful practice.

Muslim pilgrims also walk with intention. In Iraq, you have probably heard, many Shiites have been prohibited by the oppressive regime of Saddam Hussein from taking the very sacred six-day pilgrimage from Najaf to Karbala. Recently they have been able to resume this practice. Sadly, last week many faithful Shiites walked to Najaf, not for the pilgrimage to Karbala, but to honor their fallen leader, Ayatollah Al-Hakim, who was killed by a car-bomb. It may have looked a little odd to us, in this country, for tens of thousands of people to walk to such a thing. The walking, though, is a very important part of the process. The walking is a comfort, a way to find God, even (or perhaps especially) in the midst of suffering.

Walking to Mecca, taking the pilgrimage hajj is one of the Pillars of Islam. Each follower of Islam who is able is expected to take this walk at least once in his or her life. There are a great many rituals associated with hajj. Before going, Muslims are required to redress wrongs, pay their debts, take care of obligations, and prepare themselves to live without transgression for the duration of the pilgrimage. The walkers wear special clothes, white, seamless garments to signify their intention to be pure and their equality in the eyes of God. (There’s a beautiful portion of Malcolm X’s autobiography which describes the impact of the pilgrimage on his own understanding of the equality of all people.) The hajj includes walking, standing, running, and circumambulating. All with prayerful intention. All to bring them into community with other followers and with their God. In Mecca, the city of destination, there is a focus which reminds them of the stories of their faith and the object of their submission.

While I was thinking of all these faithful ways of walking, I realized I had forgotten one that is closer to home. Our own Mark McMahan recently returned from four and a half months walking the Appalachian Trail. After his description of the preparations, the rationale, the community and culture, and the effects of his journey—I saw that it is no less a pilgrimage of faith than these others. A quintessentially American pilgrimage. When I asked him to tell me about it the first thing he said was that he cherished the rhythm and routine of the walking. He also spoke of the challenge—emotional and physical—of his 1400 miles of walking. That’s a lot of walking. And it doesn’t account for the changes in altitude. Or the rain and snow. Or the fact that he had to carry what he needed.

Mark said that pretty early in a day he would get his rhythm. He acknowledged that this often happened only after he would resist the temptation not to begin. Then he would reach a meditative state with his walking. In that place things became simple. He realized what he needed and what he didn’t. What he could do and what he couldn’t do. And his pace allowed him an intimate experience of the world around him.

What Mark did was extreme. (That’s a technical term these days.) Few of us will ever push ourselves in that way. I still think, though, that we can learn something from his experience that translates into our less physically demanding walking.

What I heard in what Mark shared, and what I learn about walking with intention from other traditions seems to be mostly about connection. First of all, in walking, there is a connection with what is transcendent, with Life, with the pulse of the universe. I heard this in Mark’s reflections on the rhythm of his walking. Walking can be a moving in harmony with other Living things, with Life. We can also perceive this connection in the Aborigine creation myth and the way the early ones walked and sang as they participated in creating the world by naming. The practice of walking to a center like Mecca, or around a center, like a stupa, is also an acknowledgement of a connection with God.

Likewise walking offers a connection with nature. Oops. Look at this, I’ve gotten near the end of this sermon and haven’t even mentioned our own hero, Henry David Thoreau! Thoreau speaks of walking with intention. He liked to do it for four hours a day. (He was ahead of his time with the extreme stuff.) Leaving behind the engagements of the world, he would saunter westward or southwesterly. It was the direction of the wilderness. In the wild he found shrines aplenty to circumambulate. The shrines for Thoreau were always found in nature. He connected with that natural world on his walks and found in that connection his peace. I know that many of you walk at Radnor Lake or some other protected place in this city. For many of us this intimate experience of the natural world helps us remember who we are.

There’s also an interesting connection in walking with time. At best a walk helps us stay present in the moment—recognizing that this step I am talking is what my life is right now. These trees, or this road, is where I am right now. Within the moment there is also a connection with the past and the future. With those who walked before us. And with some vision of where the path leads us. The walking places us in time. Helping us arrive, not by the movement of our feet, but by the settling down of our spirits into this beautiful present moment.

These are just three kinds of connection—there are more, I’m sure. They are connections we can make with many different spiritual practices. Walking is an especially good practice, though, because it provides spiritual benefits, health benefits, and social benefits. It can force us to slow down for at least a little part of our day. It can be a way to conserve the resources of the earth and build the resources of our bodies. Ten thousand steps are not required to feel the spiritual benefits. Just one at a time.

Walking can be a discipline or a practice or a joy that connects us with the rhythm of Life, with the power of creation. Walking we can experience our part of the force of Life that many call God. Second, walking can be a discipline or a practice or a joy that connects us with the rest of nature. If we take walks over time, we watch the changing season, the way plants grow and change and die, the way animals themselves migrate, whether near or far, for their survival. In these experiences we see our place in the natural cycle of Life. And thirdly, walking can be a discipline or a practice or a joy that connects us with the moment. If we remember that each step is what my life is, then we settle into our place in time. We arrive.