Ways of walking
Tracey Messenger reflects on how the way in which we walk can help inspire a recognition of God in all things.
1. Wandering
‘Not all those who wander are lost’ J R R Tolkien
‘Wandering’ has a bad reputation. The word derives from the Old English wandrian meaning to move about aimlessly, or without a settled course or purpose. When applied to the mind, wandering meant ‘Not directed by reason or fixed purposes, random, wanton’ (OED). So from the word’s origins, it had associations with both sinfulness and inefficiency!
In the Old Testament, being made to ‘wander’ is a punishment. Having murdered his brother Abel, Cain is condemned to become a ‘fugitive and a wanderer on the earth’ (Genesis 4.12). The people of Israel are liberated from Egypt but find themselves taking the less direct route to the Promised Land. Wandering in the wilderness without food or drink, they start to question God’s purpose for them. As a result, they are made to wander more (Numbers 32:13).
Much of modern life – in our workplaces, home life, leisure time and even spiritual life – is very goal-driven. We are motivated by targets and ‘to do’ lists. But what might happen if we took some time to ‘wander’ more, physically, mentally or spiritually? After all, creativity includes some degree of imagining and wandering before settling on a definite outcome. Wandering may lead to wondering.
I often set out on a walk with a route in mind then something causes me to wander and then to wonder. I might turn aside to look at a particular flower just coming into bloom, or to follow the path of a swallow swooping low over a field. I might come across a view I haven’t encountered before, seeing things from a different angle. In the Old Testament, Moses ‘turned aside’ from tending his flock to look more closely at a burning bush and found himself on holy ground (Exodus 3:3). Wandering can lead to a life-changing encounter with the living God.
Why not let yourself ‘wander’ a bit more this week – during a lunch break, or on a regular walk, or even in your imagination – and see what ‘wonders’ you encounter as a result?
2. The urge to conquer
A friend jokes that when she moved from west Wales to London, she couldn’t keep up with the speed at which people walked. As someone who once commuted daily to offices throughout the capital, I certainly took pride in being able to keep up with the brisk pace of my fellows.
Now living in west Wales myself, I appreciate the slower pace at which people move – literally and metaphorically. People are less hurried and frenetic. They have time to stop and chat. There is no sense, as there sometimes was on my London commute, that you are merely an obstacle in someone else’s way rather than a fellow human being.
Aside from commuting, even walking as a leisure pursuit can feel like a competitive sport. I was once (very slowly) climbing a lesser-known route up the side of a Lake District mountain. I met several men already on their way down the mountain who eagerly told me how long it had taken them to reach the summit. Perhaps they were going to tick the mountain off their list of ‘Wainwrights’ (the famous fell-walker’s list of 214 Lake District summits).
It’s harmless enough as an activity and there’s certainly a thrill in getting to the top of a mountain after all that exertion. But I’m not into ticking peaks off a list as if they are just another achievement to put on my CV. The mountains do not exist to flatter my ego.
What happens when we see a landscape, a mountain range as something to conquer, an achievement to be ticked off a list? What might happen if we slowed down and listened to what the land might have to say to us? If we spent more time with a landscape and let it develop a relationship with us? How might we see God in all things in the world around us?
About the author
Tracey Messenger is a writer and editor living in west Wales. She is currently leading a community heritage project, 'Wales as an outward-looking nation' on St Davids' links with Lesotho.
