Spaghetti-head.
Part 2 of 3, a series on Pilgrimage.
Honesty is grounded in humility and indeed in humiliation, and in admitting exactly where we are powerless.
~ David Whyte
Our venture to Iona — “planes, trains, and automobiles” plus buses and ferries — took a defining turn in the Heathrow airport. We had just taken our seats on British Airways flight 1484 when Kellie glanced out the window, then turned back with a frown: “There’s a guy driving a luggage cart back from the plane toward the terminal, and there’s one bag on it: yours.” I stared at her. That’s not good, I mumbled. But what can you do? Oh well, I figured, I hope it will follow me soon.
It did not.
I spent all seven days on Iona wearing, except for a borrowed outfit, the same set of clothes I wore in. Yeah. The island is only four square miles, so there are no clothes stores, only gift shops. Apart from feeling a little foolish about my appearance, it wasn’t really a big deal practically (I was able to get them washed once); the real struggle was internal. Trying to be present to this once-in-a-lifetime pilgrimage, I was constantly distracted by fruitless phone calls to the airline. In the rare attempts when I actually reached a human being, the complete apathy and incompetence was infuriating. This isn’t rocket science, I fumed; why won’t they simply do their job? I felt completely powerless. And I was. And I think it served a purpose.
I’ve come to believe that the path of pilgrimage requires a certain amount of powerlessness.
Think of the last time that you felt totally out of control: physically, emotionally, financially—in some form, you lacked all security and could not steer the outcome. It’s scary, right? And on top of the powerlessness, there is often a layer of injustice. Someone has intruded on you, or abandoned you, and you’re left dazed and vulnerable, violated in some fashion, and probably—if you’re like me—really pissed off. Anger is often a vain attempt to reclaim some vague sense of power, but power is precisely what has to be released in order to experience pilgrimage. As long as we’re in charge, it seems, our hearts remain closed.
Maybe you’re wondering about the bizarre image of the guy with spaghetti over his head. On our second day at Iona, we were invited to a spiritual exercise where the facilitator had laid out dozens of pictures on tables. We were to walk around in silence and pick up one that spoke to us in some way. When I first saw “spaghetti-head,” I snorted internally: What a moron was my ungracious thought. How do you even get yourself into that kind of a situation, and why would you ever find it funny? In the next breath I was crying.
As I sat back down palming my tears, I stared at the image. All my life I’ve wanted to have it together, to be prepared and cool and competent. Even as a toddler, I’m told, I didn’t want messy hands; I wanted to be clean and neat. I wanted to please whoever was in charge. I wanted affirmation, approval, admiration… in a spiritually acceptable way of course. Sort of Thomas Merton meets James Bond. The last thing I ever wanted was to appear silly or foolish, clumsy or stupid. But alas, I am periodically all of those things.
The image rocked me. Why do I resist so vehemently? What am I trying to prove? Is it possible that I could be a total mess—in any or every sense of the word—and be okay with that? Is it conceivable that I could even find humor in my disasters?
It’s a stretch… but that is precisely what I felt God inviting me into. There on the island of Iona, disoriented, alternately awed and embarrassed, elevated and humbled, I felt God welcoming me as a pilgrim. Cracked open and vulnerable.
And my luggage? It didn’t make it to Scotland at all. Or to our next port. When I had all but despaired of seeing it again, it finally landed on my front porch yesterday, 28 days later. Whoa.
growing the soul
How do you feel about the spaghetti-head image? When you picture yourself in that scenario, can you find yourself laughing? Can you receive the absurdity that’s woven throughout this life?
serving the world
How might that image inspire you to serve and love others more graciously?
takeaway
Laugh at yourself.