The rector at the local cathedral is on a pilgrimage in the Holy Land. I covered his weekend Masses and experienced a pilgrimage of my own.
          The first evening in the city found me following GPS signals to the home of a young family—good friends of mine—who recently moved to a new neighborhood. Thanks to GPS, there was no need to scan street signs or house numbers in the fading light. Instead, I gawked at amazing Christmas displays along the way. Like the Magi of old, I was eventually led to a holy shrine: a simple meal in a family home with scrappy kids…and parents with eyes all aglow with happiness and pride.
          The next day, my spiritual wandering led to a hospital where I anointed a friend who had undergone surgery earlier that morning. Her husband of sixty years stood at bedside next to me, holding the flask of holy oil. Beneath the rhythm of the prayers, their devotion to each other reverberated like a hymn within the walls of a wayside chapel.
          The itinerary of holy sites resumed the next morning: Sunday Masses, children choirs, infant baptisms. A flurry of quick-stop, hustle-bustle Holy Spiritedness!
          Later, on the way home, I enjoyed a roadside rest at the rectory of another priest. Snacks, beer, shop talk and hilarious stories. Grace flickered in his living room like candles inside a grotto.  
          That night, seated by the hearth in my own house, my faithful dog lying at my feet, I prayed Vespers, reflecting on the myriad blessings that flow from shepherding God’s people.  
          I offered a petition for the rector’s safe return from the Holy Land, then closed with a prayer of heartfelt thanks for the pilgrimage I experienced in a holy land closer to home.