Not more discipline. Not more self-improvement. But a promise carried by pilgrims for thousands of years.
Dear Pilgrims,
At the beginning of this year, I have been feeling something I reluctantly admit out loud: uncertainty.
More than a year ago I founded the Berlin Pilgrims to share something that has carried me for a long time: the quiet power of walking, of being on the way, of listening to what moves inside us when we slow down.
What began as a small group has become a growing community. With that growth came stories, expectations, hopes, and also my own desire to do everything well, to be prepared, to offer meaningful pilgrim experiences.
Between the years I worked on new ideas: future walks, pilgrimages, new ways of gathering. Planning feels good. It creates the sense that things are moving forward.
And yet, beneath all the plans, I still do not really know where this journey will lead for, the community or for me.
Walking into the new year
That quiet not-knowing stayed with me on January 10, when we set out on our first pilgrimage of the new year.
We had taken a train to Fürstenberg in Brandenburg to walk around Lake Röblinsee.
A few days earlier it was not even clear whether we could go at all. A winter front had brought snow and storms to northern Germany; trains were cancelled, and the forecasts looked uncertain.
But on that morning, almost twenty young people gathered on the platform, old friends and many new faces. The air was cold but calm, the sky lightly covered, a hint of sunlight breaking through.
From murmur into silence
Some of the newcomers had probably been nudged by the new year: a wish to spend more time outside, to move their bodies, to meet people, perhaps to explore something deeper in themselves.
They started talking easily with one another. As we walked, I heard a steady, cheerful murmur – until we intentionally entered a time of silence and continued walking without words.
When we later gathered again in a circle to end the silence, snow suddenly began to fall. Thick flakes for just a few moments, as if the sky had briefly joined us. It felt like a quiet blessing.
The illusion of control
Earlier that day I had spoken to the group about New Year’s resolutions.
So much of what we decide in January rests on one hidden assumption: I am in control.
I will be more disciplined. I will improve myself. I will make it work.
And yet life keeps reminding us that this is only partly true. Weather changes. People get sick. Plans fall apart. Life itself just happens.
So what do we do? Give up on plans altogether? Drift without direction?
I do not think so. But I do believe we are invited to hold two things at once: to walk with intention – and to trust that we are not walking alone.
A pilgrim’s promise
For centuries, pilgrims have carried this trust in a simple song, Psalm 121:
I lift up my eyes to the mountains —
where does my help come from?My help comes from the Lord,
the Maker of heaven and earth.He will not let your foot slip —
he who watches over you will not slumber.The Lord will watch over your coming and going
both now and forevermore.
This is not a promise that nothing will go wrong. It is a promise that, even when things do not go as planned, we are still held.
A question to carry with you
You do not have to be walking a forest path to carry that with you. You might be reading this at a desk, on a train, or late at night when the year still feels heavy with expectations.
If you wish, you can pause for a moment and let these questions be with you – not to answer them, just to notice them:
- What is beginning anew for you this year?
- What is in your hands – and where might you need to be carried?
You do not have to prove anything to be worthy of blessing. Sometimes the most faithful thing we can do is to keep walking, one quiet step at a time, trusting that our coming and our going are seen.
Buen Camino,
Alexander
Thanks for reading The Pilgrim’s Path!
Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.