Pentecost

Today is the birthday of the Church! Happy Feast of Pentecost! May the Holy Spirit of God reign over us and rain down upon us now and always. Pentecost always reminds me of the day in the Cathedral Church in Cologne when they sent young people up into the rafters to drop burning wicks from aloft. The hope was to imitate the "tongues, as of fire, which descended upon the Apostles" fifty days after the Resurrection of the Lord. You don't have to be a Risk Manager to see the potential hazards of dropping fire on people in church. Hopefully, your celebration of the Lord's Day was safer than that, but just as filled with God's great love as was the first Pentecost.

Last night, our first night at Tillicum State Park, offered a few visual hints about the Feast that was about to break upon us. Here are two samples:

The Vigil of the Feast of Pentecost

God is Good. All the Time.

Out of necessity, much of the first third of the Pilgrimage has been spent pretty close to Highway 101. Today was the first extended venture along the beach and it was a welcome change. The roar of the ocean is more constant than the roar of traffic, but it was a good and holy sort of roar. So far, 11 miles have been walked and we still have a few more to do. This is a blogging first: it is being written mid-journey. It just happened that an internet connection was available at the Baymart store near Bayshore (north of Waldport) . . . so we took advantage of it. The total distance today will be 13 miles, but we're presently waiting for a very heavy rain to stop. Wouldn't you know it, my sister Paula said on Saturday, "You mean it hasn't rained for the first 11 days of your walk?!" We both reached for wood to knock on, but the deed was done.

In order that we might finish walking today, return to Tillicum Park, and celebrate Mass, here is a photo collection from Sunday, Day 12:

Wild Irises

The Beginning of the Beach

at Lost Creek

Fishermen Near Seal Rock

(Fishing for Perch)

Seal Rock(s)

Buttercups at Driftwood Beach

Driftwood Beach State Park

Seals at Alsea Bay

Salve Regina

Day 11: Saturday

Today’s prayer was dedicated to the Carmelite Sisters at Carmel Maria Regina in Eugene. The Sisters there have been praying for me and supporting me for many years. In fact, they started praying for my priestly vocation before I even knew I had one. I recall that someone asked them to pray for me and the possibility that God would call me to priestly service. As I’ve told the Sisters, some days in parish life I’m deeply grateful to them for those prayers . . . and some days, in the midst of trials and hardship, I blame them for what they’ve gotten me involved in! It was a great honor to devote myself to praying for the Sisters and I had the added delight to do so wearing one of my favorite t-shirts. It has an image of St. Therese of Lisieux, the Little Flower, and the words “Start Acting Like a Child.” She is well-known for many things, but her “Little Way” of appreciating God’s glory and grace in the little things in life has always been special to me. She is the patron Saint of missionaries and I suppose I qualify in some respects along the path of this Pilgrimage.

Passing through Newport today, I was reminded that the last 100 miles have been a passage from farms and forests to frapuccino and fast traffic. All of it has been joyful and a revelation, in every sense of that word. I don’t resent city life (I’m moving to Portland soon!), but there is obviously a faster pace within city limits and an accompanying risk of less attentiveness to fellow human beings. Seven times today in Newport, a city which has signs as you enter and leave that say “Friendliest”, I was completely ignored after offering what I thought was a rather cheery “good morning” to people. So I just said “good morning” twice, once for me and once for them.

Yaquina Bay (Newport)

Yaquina Bay Bridge

Near the end of today’s 11 mile journey, at South Beach State Park, I met up with my sister Paula and her husband David. Paula and I shared the final 3.6 miles of walking. We used to go jogging together when we were in college and we’ve shared many walks over the years. Thanks to GPS, I knew that I was already 7.4 miles down the road for the day and it was humbling to have fresh legs right beside me and a rather quicker pace than I’m used to at the end of a day. She’s a good sport and, whenever she was many paces out in front, she would stop and admire the wild irises or the rhododendrons or the bluebonnets . . . just long enough for me to catch up. We will be camping for several days at Tillicum State Park, just south of Waldport. When we finished walking, we drove ahead another 14 miles to the campsite. (We’ll drive back to our Saturday stopping point and make it Sunday’s beginning point.) There are no showers here and, when we asked at another Park where we could find showers, we were told that there are some at South Beach -- now 17 miles away!

Entryway to South Beach State Park

Campsite at Tillicum State Park

Rhododendrons

At Paula’s suggestion, we’ll take the beach route Sunday. Please pray for very firm sand.
　

Grandma's Wisdom

A wise, older priest once told me that it is never a good idea to make people do math in the middle of a homily. He cautioned against doing what I’m about to do, but this is not a homily. There was a summer evening in 1973, when I was 12 years old. [Go ahead, do the math! If you answered “born in ‘61 and now 50 years old,” way to go!] It was the first summer that I was allowed to stay in North Dakota after our family vacationed there, near the town of Rugby. My older brother Michael and I were “hired hands” on the farm and it turned out to be a graced opportunity in that our Grandfather died the following winter. The farm was still a great experience after that, but obviously not the same. One evening, as the sun was setting, our Grandmother Elizabeth was out in the garden and she scurried back into the house. I recall that I was watching the Minnesota Twins on television and my Grandfather was snoring away on the couch. Grandma interrupted us both and told us to step outside. She had an urgency about her that was unusual. We did, indeed, go outside and she pointed out the brilliant sunset. She wouldn’t have used the word brilliant, but she wanted us to be there to take in the sight. My Grandpa asked what all the fuss was about, he would have used the word fuss, and she mentioned again the beautiful sunset. He said, “It’s just another sunset.” Then he returned into the house. When he was out of earshot, because she respected him too much to disagree in public, she turned to me and whispered, “He’s wrong.”

As one travels down the Oregon Coast, whether by foot or any other way, there are often brilliant vistas; so much so that one might be inclined to say, “It’s just another beach or outcropping of rocks or array of scenery.” And, of course, my Grandmother would properly whisper, “You’re wrong.” Today’s journey, all 11 miles, covered the area from Lincoln Beach (south of Lincoln City) to Moolack Beach (north of Newport). Right in the middle of this stretch is Otter Crest which, sadly, didn’t have an elevation marker at the top of the pass. It didn’t feel like the 752 feet north of Neskowin, but I wasn’t at sea level anymore either. As has been true over the first week or so now, it was a delightful climb and I was grateful for the walking stick (by the way, thanks for the early entries in the “name the stick” contest). Below are a few of the vistas to behold between Lincoln Beach and Newport.

Boiler Bay

Boiler Bay with Waterfall

Whale Cove

Beverly Beach

Otter Crest

One of the other “vistas” which stirred up a few memories today was found in Depoe Bay. Nearly 30 years ago, I visited Depoe Bay with some friends from the seminary. We arrived on a Friday evening and found out that a place called The Sea Hag offered a Friday Night Seafood Buffet. Well, we were tired of the usual offerings at the seminary cafeteria (I hear the name has been changed to “refectory” now, perhaps indicating that the food is better), so we were intrigued by the thought of a wide variety of any food, especially seafood. Five and a half hours later, we decided we’d better find where our lodgings were . . . or just plan to help open The Sea Hag for breakfast the next day. I don’t recall ever telling and hearing so many stories, laughing until I almost fell out of the booth, nor making so many trips to the buffet. About every hour or so, they would announce a whole new assortment of food, maybe the same type of seafood, but cooked a different way. Obviously, we repeatedly said, “Never had that before -- might as well try it!” [Editorial note: There may have been a few adult beverages shared that night, but let’s not let that steal the memory of growing friendships which, as I said, are now going on 30 years!]

The Scene of the Crime

The Sea Hag Restaurant

With those priest-friendships in mind, and I was thinking about them before arriving in Depoe Bay, I dedicated myself to praying for the priests of our Archdiocese today and for our seminarians, too. Our priests were on retreat this week at Mt. Angel Abbey and I missed having a chance to be with them in a direct and personal way; being with them in prayer, however, was fulfilling. May the good and holy St. John Vianney, patron of parish priests, be generous in helping us be good shepherds.

When stopping at a store today to get some water, at the beginning of the walk, the clerk asked if I was going “hiking” today. I wasn’t sure how much of the story she needed to hear, so I mentioned 300 miles and 1^st Way and the 11 miles that awaited me today. Her response was, “Alone? That must be lonely.” Well, at least she didn’t say, “That must be boring!” The fact is that there is a big difference between being alone and being lonely, at least in my experience. I have what I often describe as “an inner monk” inside of me who longs for silence and solitude. It would be difficult to be a parish priest if silence and solitude were all that I longed for, as you can imagine. Nonetheless, I nurture that introverted part of me and the retreat part of this Pilgrimage has been a generous blessing from God. There is a quote which has been credited to many people over the years, but I think it’s true that the novelist and poet Leon Bloy first said it: “Joy is the most infallible sign of the presence of God.” Even when the stresses and strains of parish life are evident and even when tired soles and aching shins are constant features on this journey, I am glad to testify that my days, these days, are filled with joy. If anyone were to tell me otherwise, I would say with at least a whisper, “You’re wrong!”

Rhodies at Lincoln Beach

My friend and helper for the first 10 days of the Pilgrimage, Paul Swadener, is going to take a break for a few days and return to Eugene. Please pray for his safe travel. Meanwhile, my sister Paula and her husband David are going to accompany me into next week. We will be camping together near Waldport, but maintaining the 10-15 miles a day as far as walking goes. We will be looking for internet access, but please be patient if the posts are fewer or shorter until I get to Florence by the end of next week. I’ll be telling you Eugene followers when I will be in Florence and Reedsport. Some of you have asked about those dates. For now, peace!

Should Read:

"Next 200 Miles!"

The Heart of the Oregon Coast

With a whole month to keep track of, it’s kind of hard to keep dates, places, and times straight. We were so sure that the Tillamook Valley and Nestucca Valley “short cut” had saved us a day . . . and then we realized that our working itinerary hadn’t given Lincoln City any attention. It frightened us at first, but Lincoln City is only five miles from top to bottom, not twelve, so there was only a small adjustment necessary. The answer to yesterday’s “tease” question, obviously, is no -- Lincoln City is not as spread out as Florence. Florence is, indeed, twelve miles long and will likely take a full day to pass through. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

The eleven mile journey today was really the first taste I’ve had of urban walking. Yes, I used to walk in the city every day with my dog Rembrandt, but not like today with crosswalk signs to obey and traffic to dodge. The air near Tillamook was memorable for its own unique reasons, but I am praying to forget the obvious amount of exhaust fumes through the five miles of downtown Lincoln City. It’s a charming town and is self-described as “The Heart of the Oregon Coast.” But it has four lanes of auto traffic, much of it idling at a standstill for periods that last as long as a red light. I initiated some of those red lights by pressing the crosswalk buttons, but I’ll only take partial blame for the exhaust odors. I take none of the blame for the driver that almost hit me as I was crossing a driveway into a coffee stand. If you are old enough, perhaps you remember the Odd Couple television series where the opening credits always showed Oscar Madison nearly getting hit by a taxi. He responded with mean gestures and harsh words. Well, that was me today, minus the mean gestures and the harsh words; I was praying the Rosary, as I have been at the start of each day. That’s a sure cure for those prone to mean gestures and/or harsh words! [If you aren't old enough to remember the Odd Couple, nod knowingly and allow me the ancient cultural reference.]

I haven’t mentioned all of the prayer intentions along the way. Some of them are personal and wouldn’t bear mentioning here; I hope you’ll allow me that. Nonetheless, each day has had a special ”theme” of prayer and today I devoted myself to praying for all teenagers. Our youth group at the Church of St. Mary in Eugene had (and has) a special place in my heart. Given that 1^st Way Life Center in Eugene sometimes ministers to very young women, I was especially attentive to their prayerful needs today, too. I also prayed for youth ministers, volunteers, core team members, all young people who have been led closer to Christ (especially through the Eucharist), and those still waiting for the Spirit of God to touch them in a meaningful way. If all that weren’t enough, I prayed for young people who are looking for a way out of gang life or any other things that keep them from being free. I wore a t-shirt today which says, “A job is the surest way to stop a bullet” and “Jobs Not Jails.” The shirt is from Homeboy Industries in L.A. Fr. Greg Boyle has established Homeboy in order to make and find jobs for gang members in order to get them out of that life. If you are prone to pray, please put in a word for Fr. Greg and the young people he is serving. St. John Bosco is the patron of young people and I think he stays pretty busy these days. Pray for us.

Yesterday, passing through the southern end of the Nestucca Valley and through Neskowin, I passed the 100 mile mark. I also climbed to 752 feet and felt a genuine sense of accomplishment when I reached the peak. I find that the uphill walking is actually the easiest to do because the walking stick can be used to propel me up the slope, so to speak. It is common that 5-6 hours of walking will net me an average of 2.5 miles per hour. Paul’s GPS unit, however, often reads 3.5 miles per hour or more when I’m going uphill. It may sound odd, but the flat stretches are boring by comparison. And the downhill stretches are good for a true pounding on my feet. What I mean by “boring” is not that there is an absence of God’s beauty all around me, but the arm, leg, and mind teamwork of the hilly and mountainous parts isn’t there in the same way.

The Pilgrim

The walking stick which I’m using is a beautiful piece of hand-carved Oregon Juniper. One of the Wednesday Bible Study small groups at St. Mary’s teamed up to give me the stick as a gift. Tim and Ana Cooper will be embarrassed by the attention, but they were the key people who arranged for the gift. I’ve never walked anywhere with a staff or a stick or a cane, but I cannot imagine walking without one after this first week of the Pilgrimage.. It is helpful in cushioning the impact of the downhill walking, it keeps me balanced on the flat portions, and (as I’ve said) it is something like a ski pole in making climbing relatively easy. The stick was made by Kevin and Tyler Strauslin in Eugene. People all along the way have commented that it is a beautiful piece of work. Some have asked what kind of wood it is and where they might find one. A teenager from Taft High School here in Lincoln City, evidently choosing not to eat cafeteria food and in search of lunch off campus,, said, “Dude, that’s the hottest walking stick on the coast!” That was fun to hear, partly because I was praying for teens all day and partly because it’s been a long time since someone called me “Dude!” Again, St. John Bosco, pray for us.

Contest: Help me name the stick!

(Send a comment and I'll choose the best name)

Tomorrow: ahead to Newport and then camping near Waldport.

St. Francis Moments

The second half of the promised double-header is made up of these moments along the way today that reminded me of that great lover of the beauty of God's creation, St. Francis of Assisi:

The High Point of the Day (literally)

A Doe Visible in the Distance

(and Her Fawn, Not So Visible)

The Fawn (a lot more visible!)

A Surprise Explosion of Daisies

Not to be Confused with the Bald Eagle

or the Great Blue Heron, but Beautiful

in the Eyes of God!

Coming up: the story behind the walking stick; how people are reacting to the Pilgrimage; and is it true that Lincoln City is 12 miles long?

Nestucca Valley Pt. 2

Well, the Coast has issues with internet technology sometimes, but I love it here and I'm enjoying all the scenery at a pace of 2-4 miles an hour. It is delightful to go so slowly and not be worried about racing to get to "the next place." It is apparent that a lot of the 4-wheel crowd is in a great hurry and it amuses me that they move so fast and see so little. The Nestucca Valley is similar to the area around Tillamook, cows included. I mentioned earlier that cheese and milk lovers ought to be grateful for those cows, then someone wrote to me to say ice cream lovers should be grateful as well! So, thanks be to God for cows.

Cheese, Milk, and Ice Cream in the Making

One of the graces of the journey from Tillamook to Beaver to Neskowin was the silence that marked a few stretches. In just a week of the walk, it seems that my attention to listening has been heightened. It's not only a matter of doing little talking, it's also being aware of the beauty of the natural sounds all around. Someone once told me that nature is not tongue-tied! Trickles of water coming down rocks on mountainsides, lambs scurrying in a field to remain close to their mom, tall grass waving in response to an afternoon breeze . . . all have led me to appreciate how vocal nature is, but how little its sounds are like "noise." I make no claims to be a poet, so I'll let a professional add this: "The thing to do with nature is to listen to it, and watch it, and look deep into its eyes in a sense, as though you were listening to and watching a friend, not just hearing the words or even just watching the gestures but trying to guess, or get a sense, or share the spirit underneath it . . . ." (Bob Lax)

Grassy island on Beaver Creek

Twin Lambs with their Mother

We are still working on getting a map posted here within the blog. This will help those who are geography-challenged to more easily follow the path of the Pilgrimage. In all sincerity, you don't have to be all that challenged to have a hard time locating the village of Beaver, nor the town of Neskowin for that matter. Until we get the map operable, you'll have to take my word that Cape Lookout Park and Pacific City provide an alternate route to Lincoln City. Those two places were on our original itinerary, but we chose to head more directly south out of Tillamook. The net effect is that we are now in Lincoln City a full day ahead of schedule. We also had what we're calling a "cushion day" for the whole of the trip (29 days of travel and 30 days in which to do it). Well, now we have two cushion days available for when we need some extra rest or, heaven forbid, if we need to recover from injury. By the way, thanks to friend and blog follower Ilona for suggesting that St. Anthony Mary Claret may be the patron Saint of shin-pain sufferers. He was known for trudging, always on foot, from parish to parish across the vast Catalonian territory to deliver his sermons. I agree with Ilona that, if he's not already, he should be the patron of those suffering leg pain! St. Anthony, pray for us.

The Nestucca Valley

I'm sorry. The wi-fi connection is off and on. Please return tomorrow (Wednesday) in the evening (PDT). Your support means the world to me and the web log has been fun so far. It's just too stressful to have the internet connection going off and on while trying to post today's events. Back tomorrow with a double-header! And don't quit praying.