It has been too long since I have posted, perhaps.
This year is an odd year--I had the joy of going on a walking pilgrimage, the first pilgrimage I have been on.
The Pilgrimage for Restoration is an annual event that I learned of September of the previous year when visiting St. Peter and Paul Basilica down in Chattanooga. I went to the website, read stuff, and ultimately decided to go. A sister of mine came too, which made the going easier.
I practiced setting up the tent, did not pray enough, neglected my Night Before setting off arrangements until *too late*, and did not walk enough in preparation. We did pack well, though, and had more than enough food. When we arrived at Auriesville we got to meet the Brigadier for the Company of St. Joan of Arc, which was the company we would be marching/walking with. We also met some of the Company of St Stephen of Hungary. Delightful people all, and you know you are likely in good company when someone invites the group to pray the Rosary as we go along.
It was a good start to an amazing weekend of pilgrimage. Quickly when we reached the camp at the Lake George Battlegrounds, we were meeting more of the Company of St. Joan and we were found a place to set up tent. So many people have gone year after year, and so many people were new to the pilgrimage.
Our tent was set up shortly before sunset, right behind a great statue of St. Isaac Jogues. Now he was a worthy Jesuit. Mass would be said in the morning on the other side of that statue.
After setting up the tent, with a little mishap along the way that was rectified by an unusual use of a seam-ripper, Elizabeth and I walked (and ran) down to the Lake of the Blessed Sacrament. This was where St. Isaac Jogues landed. It was kind of awe inspiring to think that here we were and within a few days, we would be were he and other Christian martyrs met their earthly ends.
In the morning, we got up before the dawn, dressed for the day and packed up the tent. It was still dark when we formed up with our battalion to go to Mass. We had been asked if we wanted to bear the standard. A new old one had just been gotten, it had been retired by a parish in France, if I remember the story correctly. On it was a representation of St. Joan of Arc bearing the banner. Now, the problem with a novice bearing the standard is that we did not know where we were going. We were pointed in a direction, moved confidently, and had to be redirected. We made it to mass in any case, and still the sun was not yet risen.
It was quiet. A canopy was over the area of the Altar at the feet of the gigantic statue of St. Isaac Jogues. A bishop was seated off to the side as mass was being offered. We all faced God together. As mass was being prayed, almost insensibly the morning dawned. It was grey and then golden. St. Isaac was more discernible, and with his mutilated hand raised in blessing, he was also a powerful reminder of the Faith. The homily given also pointed to the example set for us by those martyrs of old. We would be roughly following their path. I hope, that when I die, however it may be, I die in the Faith, in the Love of God and get to be welcomed like them into heaven.
