Showing posts with label Jim Forest. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jim Forest. Show all posts

2025/12/03

[[The Road to Emmaus: Pilgrimage as a Way of Life eBook : Forest, Jim: Amazon.com.au: Kindle Store

The Road to Emmaus: Pilgrimage as a Way of Life: Forest, Jim: Amazon.com.au: Kindle Store



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The Road to Emmaus: Pilgrimage as a Way of Life Kindle Edition
by Jim Forest (Author) Format: Kindle Edition


4.1 4.1 out of 5 stars (26)


Being a pilgrim might involve a journey to distant places associated wih God-revealing events, but it has more to do with simply living day by day in a God-attentive way. Jim Forest's book assists the reader to see one's life as an opportunity for pilgrimage, fwhether in places as familiar as your living room or walking the pilgrim path to Santiago de Compostela.



Print length

210 pages
Language

English


Product description

Review
"This is a book which will hold the attention of any reader from the first page to the last, and such reading will have been in itself a pilgrimage both with and towards Christ."
About the Author
Jim Forest (1941-2022), a co-founder of the Catholic Peace Fellowship, was author of many Orbis books, including All Is Grace, Living with Wisdom, At Play in the Lions' Den and Eyes of Compassion (his biographies of peacemakers Dorothy Day, Thomas Merton, Daniel Berrigan, and Thich Naht Hanh). His other bestselling titles include Praying with Icons, The Ladder of the Beatitudes, and Writing Straight with Crooked Lines: A Memoir.

Product details
ASIN ‏ : ‎ B00AACPXUU
Publisher ‏ : ‎ ORBIS
Accessibility ‏ : ‎ Learn more
Publication date ‏ : ‎ 13 November 2012
Language ‏ : ‎ English
File size ‏ : ‎ 7.0 MB
Screen Reader ‏ : ‎ Supported
Enhanced typesetting ‏ : ‎ Enabled
X-Ray ‏ : ‎ Not Enabled
Word Wise ‏ : ‎ Enabled
Print length ‏ : ‎ 210 pages
ISBN-13 ‏ : ‎ 978-1608330805
Page Flip ‏ : ‎ Enabled
Customer Reviews:
4.1 4.1 out of 5 stars (26)



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Jim Forest (1941-2022), a co-founder of the Catholic Peace Fellowship, was author of many Orbis books, including All Is Grace, Living with Wisdom, At Play in the Lions' Den and Eyes of Compassion (his biographies of peacemakers Dorothy Day, Thomas Merton, Daniel Berrigan, and Thich Naht Hanh). His other bestselling titles include Praying with Icons, The Ladder of the Beatitudes, and Writing Straight with Crooked Lines: A Memoir.

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Pawprints

5.0 out of 5 stars A wonderfully written book!Reviewed in the United States on 25 July 2016
Format: PaperbackVerified Purchase

Great book. Loved all the history, the saints and people who walk the Emmaus road in their daily life. Much research noted. Thank you for the inspiration!

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4.0 out of 5 stars The ordinaryReviewed in the United States on 20 July 2014
Verified Purchase

While describing pilgrim roads and places, I most appreciate his describing how pilgrim faith occurs in life every day. Pilgrimage happens when we may not be looking. It is well to become aware of how we are pilgrims daily at home, work on the street, and in grand offices.

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E.M. Tennessen

5.0 out of 5 stars Game-changing!Reviewed in the United States on 12 August 2010
Format: PaperbackVerified Purchase

One of the books I read this summer was "The Road to Emmaus: Pilgrimage as a Way of Life" by Jim Forest. This was a game-changing book for me. Jim encourages us to see all of life as a journey to the Kingdom and to see every day as an opportunity to serve others and to grow into Christlikeness. In the book, he discusses our actions along the way (prayer, fasting, almsgiving), spiritual "places" like cathedrals and geographical locales, and different sorts of journeys when one doesn't travel (like his own pilgrimage of illness -- I highly recommend this chapter for all those who deal with chronic illness). The book contains many photos that go along with the text. I found this an easy and enchanting read; it was hard to put down!



Mary Corchia Hart

5.0 out of 5 stars Be Here Now!Reviewed in the United States on 27 October 2017
Format: PaperbackVerified Purchase

Beautifully written book on making a spiritual pilgrimage. It places the reader right there and is very uplifting. Great spiritual author!

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Displaying 1 - 6 of 6 reviews
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Adam Metz
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April 27, 2021
A really nice devotional/reflection guide on "pilgrimage as a way of life." I purchased this book in connection with a sabbatical in which my family spent a couple of months living overseas. It was the perfect compendium for merging that experience with daily life after the sabbatical ended. Forest provides a collection of reflections that speak into traveling for pilgrimage, but also in recognizing that we are all on an inner, spiritual pilgrimage. He writes in the introduction: "Whether the journey is within your own backyard or takes you to the other side of the world, the potential is there for the greatest of adventures: a journey not only toward Christ but with him" (xvii).

Each chapter is a kind of stand alone devotion that prods particular parts of pilgrimage (the road, walking, maps, relics, the front door, etc.) The Road to Emmasus invites us to take every moment captive along the pilgrimage with Christ and to awaken ourselves to the God who is all around us. I am grateful that I waited for some time after my sabbatical ended to read this book as it helped to both reminisce over my family's experience as well as reflect on my life in the current (pandemic) moment. I think anyone would be blessed to spend time in this short book.

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Jane G Meyer
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July 23, 2008
Beautifully written--this is the type of book that can be re-read every so years... Forest created something in these pages that is truly memorable and life-changing.
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Dave
15 reviews
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July 15, 2012
The pilgrimage is a recurring theme for me in my faith journey. For that reason, I was more inclined to like this book than others may. Having said that, I think it's a great intro to the theme of pilgrimage in the Christian life and gives a pretty good overview of its historical significance while offering helpful insights.

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Jonathan
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November 22, 2009
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Else
74 reviews

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November 11, 2012
Wonderful Christian travelogue. Don't miss this one. Not only are the places inspiring, but so are Jim's reflections.

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===

짐 포레스트(Jim Forest)의 저서 **『엠마오로 가는 길: 삶의 방식으로서의 순례(The Road to Emmaus: Pilgrimage as a Way of Life)』**는 그리스도교적 전통에서 ‘순례’가 단순히 특정 성지를 방문하는 여행이 아니라, 우리 일상의 모든 순간을 어떻게 변화시키는지에 대해 깊이 있는 통찰을 제공하는 영성 서적입니다.

이 책에 대한 1,000자 내외의 요약과 평론을 정리해 드립니다.


1. 내용 요약

순례: 목적지가 아닌 과정으로서의 삶

저자 짐 포레스트는 루카 복음서에 등장하는 '엠마오로 가는 두 제자'의 이야기를 책의 핵심 모티브로 삼습니다. 부활하신 예수님을 곁에 두고도 알아보지 못했던 제자들처럼, 우리 역시 일상이라는 길 위에서 신성함을 놓치고 살아간다고 지적합니다. 저자에게 순례란 단순히 예루살렘이나 산티아고를 걷는 행위가 아니라, **"모든 장소에서 하느님의 현존을 발견하려는 의도적인 영적 태도"**입니다.

세상을 바라보는 눈의 변화

책은 순례의 외적 여정보다 내적 변화에 집중합니다. 순례자는 관광객(Tourist)과 다릅니다. 관광객은 소비하고 관찰하지만, 순례자는 참여하고 변화됩니다. 포레스트는 '환대', '기도', '침묵', '회개'라는 키워드를 통해 순례의 기술을 설명합니다. 특히 낯선 이를 그리스도로 대접하는 '환대'의 정신은 순례를 완성하는 핵심 요소로 강조됩니다.

고통과 기쁨의 동행

그는 순례가 항상 평탄할 수 없음을 인정합니다. 길 위에서의 피로, 길을 잃는 두려움, 낯선 환경에서의 불편함은 우리 내면의 교만을 깎아내는 도구가 됩니다. 결국 엠마오의 제자들이 빵을 나눌 때 눈이 열렸듯, 우리도 일상의 평범한 나눔과 고통 속에서 부활하신 그리스도를 만날 수 있다는 것이 이 책의 결론입니다.


2. 평론: 일상의 성화(聖化)를 위한 지침서

깊이 있는 영성과 구체적인 삶의 연결

짐 포레스트의 글쓰기는 매우 따뜻하면서도 날카롭습니다. 그는 평화 운동가이자 정교회 신자로서 쌓아온 자신의 삶을 바탕으로, 추상적인 신학 용어가 아닌 구체적인 '발걸음'의 언어로 순례를 설명합니다. 이 책의 가장 큰 미덕은 순례를 '특별한 이벤트'에서 '보통의 삶'으로 끌어내렸다는 점에 있습니다.

'머무름'과 '떠남'의 역설

평론가들은 이 책이 현대인의 고질병인 '조급함'에 대한 훌륭한 해독제라고 평가합니다. 우리는 항상 어딘가에 도달하려고 애쓰지만, 포레스트는 지금 걷고 있는 그 길 자체가 목적지임을 일깨워줍니다. "길이 곧 기도다"라는 그의 메시지는 성(聖)과 속(俗)의 경계를 허물며, 우리가 발을 딛고 서 있는 거실, 직장, 거리조차 성지가 될 수 있음을 역설합니다.

아쉬운 점과 제언

다만, 정교회적 전통과 관상적 영성에 익숙하지 않은 독자들에게는 일부 내용이 다소 정적인 명상처럼 느껴질 수 있습니다. 하지만 역동적인 삶 속에서 내면의 평화를 찾고자 하는 이들에게는 이보다 더 친절한 안내서를 찾기 어렵습니다.


3. 핵심 메시지 한 줄 요약

"순례는 지도를 따라가는 여행이 아니라, 동행하시는 그리스도를 알아보기 위해 마음의 눈을 뜨는 과정이다."


이 책의 내용을 바탕으로 독후감을 작성하시거나 세미나 발제문을 준비 중이신가요? 필요하시다면 특정 장(예: 환대나 침묵의 장)에 대한 더 상세한 분석이나, 서평에 쓸 만한 인상적인 구절들을 추가로 정리해 드릴 수 있습니다. 어떻게 도와드릴까요?

===

<한국어 | 약 1,000단어 요약 + 평론>

Jim Forest의 <The Road to Emmaus: Pilgrimage as a Way of Life>는 “성지 여행”을 특정 종교 장소로의 이동에만 가두지 않고, 일상 전체를 “순례적 삶”으로 다시 읽게 만드는 책입니다. 저자는 관광(tourism)과 순례(pilgrimage)를 구분하는 데서 출발합니다. 같은 장소를 가더라도 마음의 태도와 주의(attention)의 방식에 따라 “그리스도께(또는 진리/은총을 향해) 가는 길”이 되기도 하고, 소비적 경험으로 끝나기도 한다는 문제의식입니다. Orbis Books+1

이 책의 큰 장점은 순례를 “걷기”라는 가장 기본적인 행위로 되돌려 놓는 점입니다. 걷기는 단순 이동이 아니라, 몸의 리듬으로 세계를 다시 배우는 훈련이 됩니다. Forest는 Dorothy Day를 따라 “도시의 추함 속에서도 아름다움을 알아차리는 걸음”을 말하고, Thich Nhat Hanh의 걷기 명상을 인용하며 “걷기 자체가 말 없는 신학의 학교”가 될 수 있다고 강조합니다. spiritualityandpractice.com 이 대목에서 순례는 ‘먼 곳’이 아니라 ‘깊이’의 문제로 바뀝니다. 먼 데를 가도 마음이 닫혀 있으면 관광이고, 집 앞 골목을 걸어도 마음이 열려 있으면 순례라는 관점이죠.

구성도 흥미롭습니다. Google Books에 공개된 목차만 봐도, 저자는 걷기(Walking) 다음에 침묵(The Other Side of Silence), 미로(Mazes), 순례의 성인들(Saints of Pilgrimage), ‘얇은 곳’(Thin Places), 어두운 길(Dark Places Dark Paths), “내가 서 있는 바로 여기”(Right Where I’m Standing), “방해와 뜻밖의 은총”(Interruptions and Surprises), “질병의 순례”(The Pilgrimage of Illness), 그리고 “엠마오로 가는 길”(The Road to Emmaus)로 이어가며 순례를 한 겹씩 확장합니다. books.google.com 즉, 이 책에서 순례는 ‘목적지’가 아니라 ‘감각과 해석의 기술’입니다. 침묵을 배우는 순례, 길을 잃는 경험을 통과하는 순례, 성인의 전기를 통해 길을 배우는 순례, 그리고 상처·두려움·상실이 열어젖히는 순례가 있습니다.

특히 “thin places(얇은 곳)”는 책의 정서적 중심으로 보입니다. Forest는 예루살렘, 아이오나 같은 전통적 성지뿐 아니라, 안네 프랑크의 은신처 같은 장소도 “신적 현존이 유난히 짙게 느껴지는 자리”로 다룹니다. Orbis Books+1 여기서 순례는 ‘성스러운 곳을 숭배하는 종교 행위’라기보다, 인간의 고통과 기억 앞에서 자기 삶의 방향을 다시 세우는 윤리적·영적 사건에 가깝습니다.

후반부의 “질병의 순례”는 이 책을 단순한 여행-영성 에세이에서 삶-영성의 기록으로 끌어올립니다. 한 리뷰에 따르면 Forest는 매년 상당 시간을 투석(투석기계)과 함께 보내는 자신의 현실을 “순례”로 묘사하며, 돌봄을 주고받는 관계, 의존과 겸손, 감사와 두려움이 영성의 핵심 훈련장이 될 수 있음을 보여줍니다. spiritualityandpractice.com ‘내가 원하는 곳으로 갈 수 없음’이 오히려 더 근본적인 여정을 열어젖힌다는 역설이 설득력 있게 다가옵니다.

마지막으로 이 책이 강조하는 실천 중 하나는 ‘환대(hospitality)’입니다. Forest는 결혼과 양육 자체를 “서로를 위한 공간 만들기”라는 의미에서 환대로 해석하고, Dorothy Day의 “환대의 집” 전통을 통해 환대를 평생 과제로 제시합니다. spiritualityandpractice.com 이 대목은 순례가 결국 “타자를 맞이하는 삶의 형식”이라는 결론과 맞물립니다. 순례자는 낯선 땅에서만이 아니라, 자기 집 문 앞에서부터 낯선 이를 ‘사람으로’ 맞이해야 한다는 것이죠.

<평론>
장점부터 말하면, 이 책은 순례를 ‘특권층의 이동’이나 ‘종교적 소비’로 축소하지 않고, 일상·돌봄·질병·침묵·도시의 걷기 같은 삶의 핵심 영역으로 되돌려 놓습니다. Orbis Books+1 그래서 실제로 따라 해볼 수 있는 감각(걷기, 주의 기울이기, 침묵, 환대)을 남깁니다. 또한 Dorothy Day와 Thich Nhat Hanh를 나란히 불러오는 방식은 신앙의 경계를 느슨하게 만들면서도 “실천의 진지함”은 유지합니다. spiritualityandpractice.com

다만 한계도 있습니다. 첫째, ‘관광 vs 순례’ 구분은 강력하지만, 현대 순례 산업(상품화·성지의 정치경제·환경 비용·지역 주민의 삶 등)에 대한 비판은 상대적으로 덜 전면에 나오는 편으로 보입니다(적어도 출판사 소개/발췌/리뷰에서 드러나는 범위에서는). Orbis Books+1 둘째, 독자가 비기독교인이거나 “신-언어”에 거리감이 있을 경우, 책의 중심 비유(엠마오 이야기)가 주는 울림이 약해질 수 있습니다. 하지만 동시에, 이 책은 ‘장소’보다 ‘태도’를 강조하기 때문에 종교적 전제를 완전히 공유하지 않아도 실천적으로 건져갈 것이 많습니다.

정리하면, <The Road to Emmaus>는 “멀리 가야만 순례가 된다”는 통념을 무너뜨리며, 지금-여기에서의 걷기, 침묵, 고통의 통과, 환대의 실천을 통해 삶 전체를 ‘길’로 바꾸는 책입니다. 서정적이면서도 현실(특히 질병과 돌봄)을 피하지 않는다는 점에서, 영성 독서가 공허한 위로로 흐르기 쉬운 독자에게도 꽤 단단한 발판을 제공합니다. books.google.com+2spiritualityandpractice.com+2


<English | Summary + Review>

Jim Forest’s <The Road to Emmaus: Pilgrimage as a Way of Life> reframes pilgrimage from a special trip to “holy sites” into an everyday spiritual posture. The book’s core contrast is simple: you can travel to the most sacred destination and still remain a tourist, while a familiar route—your neighborhood, even your living room—can become pilgrimage if you move with attention, humility, and openness to grace. Orbis Books+1

The table of contents (as previewed on Google Books) reveals how Forest builds this vision in layers: walking, silence, mazes, saints, “thin places,” dark paths, being present “right where I’m standing,” interruptions and surprises, illness as pilgrimage, and finally the Emmaus story itself. books.google.com In other words, the book treats pilgrimage less as a destination and more as a practice of perception—training the senses and the heart to notice what is usually missed.

Walking is foundational. In a review, Forest is described as drawing inspiration from Dorothy Day—whose urban walks sharpened her ability to notice beauty amid harshness—and from Thich Nhat Hanh’s walking meditation, which Forest calls “a school of wordless theology.” spiritualityandpractice.com This is one of the book’s most attractive features: it grounds spirituality in embodied practice, not in exceptional experiences. Pilgrimage becomes a way of inhabiting the world rather than escaping it.

Forest’s “thin places” chapter(s) widen the map. Publisher and review materials note that he moves from classic sacred locations (Jerusalem, Iona) to morally and historically charged sites such as Anne Frank’s hiding place—spaces where ordinary matter feels “charged” with presence, memory, and ethical demand. Orbis Books+1 Here pilgrimage becomes an encounter with suffering and witness, not just inspiration.

A major shift arrives with “the pilgrimage of illness.” One review highlights Forest’s own long experience of dialysis and dependence on caregivers, which he interprets as a spiritual journey into vulnerability, gratitude, fear, and trust. spiritualityandpractice.com This keeps the book from turning into romantic travel spirituality: the “road” includes constraint, weakness, and receiving help—often the hardest terrain for modern, self-sufficient selves.

The closing emphasis on hospitality ties the whole vision together. In an excerpt on hospitality, Forest reads marriage and parenthood as profound acts of making space for the other, and he credits Dorothy Day as a lifelong teacher in this “university” of welcome. spiritualityandpractice.com Pilgrimage, then, is not only about where you go, but about whom you are willing to receive—at your door and within your life.

<Review> The book’s strongest contribution is its insistence that pilgrimage is available without privilege: it can be practiced in daily movement, daily silence, daily interruptions, and in the unchosen journey of illness and care. :contentReference[oaicite:16]{index=16} Forest’s wide range of companions (Dorothy Day and Thich Nhat Hanh in the same frame) also gives the book an ecumenical, practice-centered warmth. :contentReference[oaicite:17]{index=17}

A likely limitation is that, while the tourist/pilgrim distinction is compelling, the materials accessible through publisher/review/excerpt pages foreground personal and devotional dimensions more than systemic critiques of modern pilgrimage economies (commercialization, local impacts, environmental costs). Orbis Books+1 Also, readers who do not resonate with Christian narrative framing may find the Emmaus metaphor less immediately gripping—though the book’s practical insights often travel well beyond confessional boundaries.

Overall, <The Road to Emmaus> is best read as a manual for re-attuning everyday life: walking as prayer, silence as listening, places as moral teachers, illness as a transforming road, and hospitality as the “homecoming” of pilgrimage. books.google.com+2spiritualityandpractice.com+2

===

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The Road to Emmaus: Pilgrimage as a Way of Life – Jim and Nancy Forest

The Road to Emmaus: Pilgrimage as a Way of Life – Jim and Nancy Forest



The Road to Emmaus: Pilgrimage as a Way of Life

Christ at Emmaus (Duccio)

By Jim Forest

Each of the stories about Christ’s resurrection is a challenge to the rational part of ourselves. Dead people are dead, period.

There is the account in John’s Gospel of Mary Magdalene’s encounter with him near the empty tomb. Until he speaks to her by name, she thinks he must be the gardener. Once she realizes who he is, Jesus tells her not to touch him. Why? There are many guesses, but in fact we don’t know.

Though risen from the dead, he still bears the wounds that caused his death. Thomas, the apostle who was the most reluctant to make a leap of faith, becomes the only man to touch the wounds of the risen Christ. Why isn’t Jesus fully healed? We don’t know.

Soon after, on the shores of the Sea of Galilee, Jesus — a man freed from mortality — joins his friends in eating fish cooked over an open fire. Why is he who has become deathless still hungry? We don’t know.

Finally the resurrected Christ ascends into heaven. Where would that be? Why didn’t he stay on earth? Why didn’t be reveal his resurrection to crowds of people? We don’t know.

We know Christ rose from the dead and are familiar with the stories the Gospel preserves for us of encounters people had with him before the ascension, but the mystery of his resurrection is way beyond our intellectual reach.

Perhaps the most accessible of the resurrection narratives concerns the risen Christ’s short pilgrimage with two disciples to Emmaus, a village described as being seven miles — less than a two-hour walk — from Jerusalem.

Two friends are escaping from a tragedy in Jerusalem and perhaps also running from possible personal danger. It wasn’t at all clear that Jesus’ disciples weren’t next in line for execution. The two were not only mourners, but disillusioned mourners. Jesus had failed to meet their expectations. The person they fervently believed would become the new king of Israel, heir to David’s throne, not only isn’t ruling Israel but is in his grave. The candle of their messianic hopes has been snuffed out. His closest followers were in hiding. Their homeland was still ruled by Romans, undergirded by a second tier of well-rewarded Jewish collaborators. The kingdom of God that Jesus had said was already present now seemed infinitely distant.

Conversation would not have been easy. Deep grief is rarely a talkative condition. The words they hewed out of silence were confused, bitter, angry. Their beloved teacher was dead and buried. Everything that mattered had turned to dust. The world had no center. Life’s axis had crumbled. Death once again had proven itself life’s defining event. Existence had no meaning, no pattern. People of virtue perish while their persecutors feast. How could one speak of a merciful and all powerful God? Ruthless power, corruption, betrayal and the triumph of the grave — this was Good Friday’s bitter message.

What person old enough to have attended a funeral of a deeply loved person whose life was cut short in its prime hasn’t known a similar rage, numbness and despair?

Walking side by side, breathing dust, the two friends are joined by a stranger who appears without a word of description. He doesn’t impress the two men as being somehow familiar. They fail to notice his wounded hands. Without apology he joins their conversation. He wonders why they are so downcast. They are amazed at the stranger’s ignorance. One of the men, Cleopas, asks the stranger how is it possible that he doesn’t know what has happened in Jerusalem in recent days. Could anyone share in this particular Passover and be unaware of what happened to Jesus of Nazareth? Only a week ago Jesus had entered the city in triumph, joyful crowds putting palms in his path and shouting hosannas and calling him king of Israel. And now the man who should have redeemed Israel had been condemned by the high priests, renounced by the very crowds that had cheered him, and sentenced to public execution under the authority of Rome’s agent, Pontius Pilate. Finally he had been ritually murdered while soldiers threw dice for his clothing. Jesus’ followers had dared to hope for a miracle even when Jesus was taken away to Golgotha — after all, he had raised Lazarus from death — but the man who had been able to bring others back to life proved powerless to save himself. Yes, the two men had heard the wild tale told earlier in the day by a few grief-stricken women — angels, an empty tomb, Jesus alive again — but truly it was an unbelievably tale.

The stranger listened patiently. At last he responded, “O foolish men, so slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have spoken! Was it not necessary that the Christ should suffer these things and enter into his glory?” Then, starting with Moses and going on to all the prophets, he explained all the scriptural texts concerning the Messiah.

By this time they had reached the outskirts of Emmaus, apparently the place where the two friends planned to end their journey or at least spend the night. The stranger appeared to be going further, but they were so taken with his authoritative explanations of the prophecies of scripture that they appealed to him to join them for a meal in the local inn. “Stay with us,” they said, “for it is toward evening and the day is now far spent.”

Even when they sat down to eat, the stranger was still nameless and unrecognized, yet it was he who presided at the table, taking bread, blessing it, breaking it and giving it to them. It’s at this point in Luke’s Gospel that we get one of the most breathtaking sentences in the New Testament: “And their eyes were opened and they recognized him.”(Luke 24:31)

Perhaps they recognized him because, at last, they noticed his wounded hands as he blessed and broke the bread.

In their moment of realization, Jesus “vanished from their sight.” Perhaps he actually disappeared — as we have seen in other resurrection stories, the risen Christ doesn’t seem subject to the rules of physics. Or perhaps he chose that moment to leave the table in order to continue his journey, but his departure was unseen because the two disciples, weeping with joy, were momentarily blinded by their tears. We don’t know. All we are sure of is that the stranger was Jesus and that the two friends finally knew with whom they had been talking on their way to Emmaus, and who it was that blessed the bread and broke it.

They said to each other, “Didn’t our hearts burn within us while he talked to us on the road, while he opened to us the scriptures?”

Forgetting their exhaustion and hunger, the two friends reversed their journey, hurrying back to Jerusalem in order to report what they had witnessed. But by now, they discovered, it wasn’t only the women who had proclaimed the resurrection. “The Lord has risen indeed,” they were told, “and has appeared to Simon!”

What happened on the road to Emmaus, and finally in Emmaus itself, was the first Christian pilgrimage. Every pilgrimage, whether to a local park or to some distant place at the end of a well-trodden pilgrim road thick with miracles, is in its roots a journey to Emmaus, and every pilgrimage is animated with a similar hope: to meet the risen Christ along the way.

It’s a hope one hardly dares to mention. Yet something like the Emmaus story occurs in many lives. Again and again, we meet strangers along the way who speak with unexpected clarity about things that really matter. In such encounters, do we not find our hearts aflame within us? This is a person we’re in no hurry to part from, whose words and presence are water in the desert. The stranger is someone we would eagerly invite to eat with us even if we had little money to spare, someone with whom we are eager to break bread.

At the heart of the Emmaus story is the stranger. Had the two disciples failed to made room for him in their journey, the New Testament would be missing one of its most illuminating stories.

Pilgrimage is not possible if it excludes unexpected people found along the way. Perhaps it’s only for an hour or a day. A hesitant conversation takes wing. A reluctant tongue becomes fluent. Finally, we eat together. By now the stranger has become a named person. Sooner or later we part, but we remember that encounter as a shining moment. We didn’t literally meet Jesus risen from the dead, and yet, in this brief communion with a stranger, Jesus became present and traveled with us. A chance encounter became a eucharistic event. Ideas about Jesus were replaced with an experience of Jesus.

The details of such encounters vary infinitely. No two God-revealing encounters are the same. Each of us is unique and each of us experiences conversion in unique ways, even though we recognize something of our own conversion in all the conversion stories we happen to hear. Conversion means a deep turning. Each of the conversions I experience shifts the way I see, hear and act. Each conversion is a freeing event. Something I desperately and addictively needed yesterday has become superfluous today. Certain fears I previously struggled with have been burned away.

There is not one conversion in life. Conversion follows conversion like an ascending ladder. Each rung reveals another. It’s a slow process, one that can never be forced or hurried. We are still busy being converted when we die. A good title for any autobiography would be the two-word message a computer occasionally displays when adapting a file from one program format to another: “Conversion in progress.”

Conversion isn’t something we do entirely on our own. As pilgrims, the main challenge is not to miss Jesus along the way. It requires the recognition that, no matter how alone we are, there are no solitary journeys. Life is a series of meetings. The only question is how deep we allow the meetings to be. The “I” exists only in communion with others.

We interact with other people every day: family members, friends, neighbors, co-workers, plus many people we don’t know by name, people we meet briefly in shops, on buses and trains, behind counters, beggars on the street. Whether known by name or an anonymous stranger, how much real contact occurs is partly up to us. Even people living or working under the same roof can be too busy, too irritated or too fearful for real contact to occur.

But there is always the possibility of conversation that moves beyond the exchange of distance-keeping civilities. To be a pilgrim — to be on the road to Emmaus — is to be open to contact, willing to share stories, willing to talk about the real issues in one’s life, willing to listen with undivided attention.

“Our life and our death is with our neighbor,” said St. Anthony the Great, founder of Christian monasticism. “If we win our brother, we win God. If we cause our brother to stumble, we have sinned against Christ.”

There is no such thing as finding Christ while avoiding our neighbor. The main thing impeding that encounter is my suffocating fear of the other. As the Orthodox theologian, Metropolitan John Zizioulas, comments:

Pilgrims to Canterbury

Communion with the other is not spontaneous; it is built upon fences which protect us from the dangers implicit in the other’s presence. We accept the other only insofar as he does not threaten our privacy or insofar as he is useful to our individual happiness …. The essence of sin is the fear of the Other, which is part of the rejection of God. Once the affirmation of the “self” is realized through the rejection and not the acceptance of the Other — this is what Adam chose in his freedom to do — it is only natural and inevitable for the other to become an enemy and a threat. Reconciliation with God is a necessary pre-condition for reconciliation with any “other.”

That last sentence also works in reverse: Reconciliation with the other is a necessary precondition for reconciliation with God. For as the Gospel author St. John writes, “He who says he is in the light and hates his brother is in the darkness still.” (1 John 2:9) The path to heaven leads through the rush-hour traffic of the human race.

At the heart of pilgrimage is the struggle not to let my dread of the other prevent meetings with strangers. Just as on the road to Emmaus, it is in the disguise of the stranger that Christ appears.

I often think of a nun who gave me a ride from Louisville to Lexington when I was in Kentucky to give a few lectures. It’s now too long ago for me to remember her name, but I will never forget the spirit of welcome that she radiated. Her old, battered car is also not easily forgotten, though it would have been worth little in a used-car lot. In her care it had become a house of hospitality on wheels. As we drove along the highway, the glove compartment door in front of me kept popping open. I closed it repeatedly, each time noticing a pile of maps inside and also a book. At last the text on the spine of the book caught my eye: “Guests.” I pulled it out, discovering page after page of signatures, most of which gave the impression that the person signing was barely literate.

“What is this?” I asked.

“Oh that’s my guest book.”

“But why keep it in the car?”

“Well, of course, I always pick up hitchhikers, so I need a guest book.”

It was very matter-of-fact to her, but I was astonished. Though I had been a hitchhiker myself back in my early twenties, I knew picking up hitchhikers was not without risks, especially for women.

“But isn’t that dangerous?” I asked.

“Well, I have had many guests sitting where you are now, most of them men, and I never felt I was in danger.”

She went on to explain that when she pulled over to offer a ride, she immediately introduced herself by name. Then she asked, “And what’s your name?”

The immediate exchange of names, she explained, was a crucial first step in hospitality and one likely to make for safety.

“Once two people entrust their names to each other,” she explained, “there is a personal relationship.”

The next step was to ask the guest to put his name in writing: “I would be grateful if you would sign my guest book.”

She didn’t have to explain to me that few of the people she had given rides to had ever been regarded as anyone’s guests, and fewer still had been invited to sign a guest book.

“I’ve met many fine people,” she told me, “people who have been a blessing to me. I never had any troubles, though you could see that many of them had lived a hard life.”

Anyone reading the lives of the saints will notice that life-changing meetings with strangers are not rare events. Martin of Tours, one of the major saints of the fourth century, famously had one such encounter not long before his baptism. A detailed retelling of the story is included in Butler’s Lives of the Saints:

One day, in the midst of a very hard winter and severe frost, when many perished with cold, as Martin was marching with other officers and soldiers, he met at the gate of the city of Amiens a poor man, almost naked, trembling and shaking with cold, and begging alms of those that passed by. Martin, seeing those that went before him take no notice of this miserable object, thought he was reserved for himself. By his charities to others he had nothing left but his arms and clothes upon his back; when, drawing his sword, he cut his cloak in two pieces, gave one to the beggar, and wrapped himself in the other half. Some of the bystanders laughed at the figure he made in that dress, whilst others were ashamed not to have relieved the poor man. In the following night St. Martin saw in his sleep Jesus Christ dressed in that half of the garment which he had given away, and was bid to look at it well and asked whether he knew it. He then heard Jesus say, “Martin, yet a catechumen, has clothed me with this garment.” This vision inspired the saint with fresh ardor, and determined him speedily to receive baptism, which he did in the eighteenth year of his age.

One extravagant act led to another. Two years after his baptism, Martin — still in the army — risked his life by refusing to take part in battle. “I am a soldier of Christ,” he explained to Julian Caesar on the eve of battle. “It is not lawful for me to fight.” Accused of being a coward, Martin volunteered to stand unarmed before the enemy. Miraculously, the enemy sued for peace. Caesar afterward allowed Martin to resign his army commission. Martin went on to become one of the most distinguished missionary bishops of the early Church. He who converted many owed his own conversion to an encounter with a nameless beggar in Amiens.

It’s a never-ending story — and a story of never-ending pilgrimage. Whatever real growth I may attain in my life is chiefly thanks to the care and love, the welcome and hospitality, provided by others who see in me qualities I cannot see, who somehow assist me in deepening my faith, who open a window revealing the risen Christ. Often the unexpected encounters come not from people who are obliged by family ties to care for me, but from strangers met along my particular pilgrim path. Indeed it’s often thanks to strangers that we discover that indeed we are on pilgrimage.

Pick any century, pick just about any saint, dig carefully enough into the stories that have come down to us, and again and again one finds both pilgrim and stranger.

As the life of grace deepens, many saints are no longer willing to wait to meet strangers by chance, but make it their business to do the finding.

Among recent examples of those who each day sought Christ in the poor is Dorothy Day, founder of the Catholic Worker movement, with whom I worked in my early adulthood. “Those who cannot see Christ in the poor,” said Dorothy Day, “are atheists indeed.”

Another saint of the same generation is Mother Maria Skobtsova, a recently canonized Orthodox nun. Like Dorothy Day, she founded a house of hospitality. Indeed in both women’s lives it happened in the same year, 1933, one doing so in New York, the other in Paris.

In 1940, when the German army marched into Paris, hospitality became a vocation involving huge risks. Taking in many Jews and finding places of safety for them, Mother Maria and her co-workers were well aware they were courting arrest. In the end, she and three others from the same community died in Nazi concentration camps.

At the heart of Mother Maria’s countless acts of welcoming strangers was her conviction that each person without exception bears the image of God. As she wrote:

If someone turns with his spiritual world toward the spiritual world of another person, he encounters an awesome and inspiring mystery. He comes into contact with the true image of God in man, with the very icon of God incarnate in the world, with a reflection of the mystery of God’s incarnation and divine manhood. And he needs to accept this awesome revelation of God unconditionally, to venerate the image of God in his brother. Only when he senses, perceives and understands it will yet another mystery be revealed to him — one that will demand his most dedicated efforts. He will perceive that the divine image is veiled, distorted and disfigured by the power of evil. And he will want to engage in battle with the devil for the sake of the divine image.

The Russian writer Alexander Solzhenitsyn made the same discovery, in his case while a prisoner in Stalin’s archipelago of concentration camps, an environment of profound contempt for life. While witnessing cruelty day after day, Solzhenitsyn found the anger and hatred he felt was gradually replaced by compassion. As religious faith took the place of Marxist ideology, it became more and more evident to him that no human being has ever been born in whom there is no trace of the Creator. Even the most vile person at certain moments reveals some evidence of God. As Solzhenitsyn wrote in The Gulag Archipelago:

The line separating good and evil passes not through states, nor between classes, nor between political parties either — but right through every human heart — and through all human hearts. This line shifts. Inside us, it oscillates with the years. And even within hearts overwhelmed by evil, one small bridgehead of good is retained. And even in the best of hearts, there remains … an un-uprooted small corner of evil.

Mainly one learns this only in the crucible of life. It’s a truth rarely revealed in movies. In films those who do evil tend to be evil. The evil is imbedded in their DNA. They had a pathological twist before they were born. The only cure for such pure evil is death. Thus killing evil people is an act of a virtue. It’s what we think heroes do. Far from wanting to meet such people and search in them for a “small bridgehead of good,” we either applaud their executions or, should our awareness of the mercy of Christ protect us from advocating killing as a solution, insist that they be locked up as long and grimly as possible, ideally until claimed by the grave. Seeing how merciless such people have been, we are tempted to think that they deserve no mercy and can never change for the better. In fact we behave toward them in a way that makes our dire expectations all the more likely.

A great problem of thinking along such grim, vindictive lines — imagining we know a person we know only through clippings or movies and resolutely refusing to search for God’s image in him — is that we exclude ourselves from walking on the road to Emmaus.

But being a pilgrim is not a naive undertaking. There are, we all know, strangers who are dangerous. Should our fear of violence lead us to avoid all strangers for that reason? Should our fear of death lead us to live cautiously?

But Christian pilgrims have always known that they might die on the way, like countless thousands of pilgrims before them. There are many graves along the roads leading to Jerusalem and Santiago de Compostela. Statistically, unexpected death along the way may be less likely for the modern pilgrim than it was in earlier times, but still accidents happen, grave sicknesses occur, and there are even occasional act of violence and even murder.

The pilgrim’s attitude traditionally has been: “Sooner or later I die. If it happens while on pilgrimage, what better way to cross life’s final border? Why be afraid?”

Pilgrimage is not getting from point A to point B on the map while counting the miles. The distances covered are incidental. What matters is being on the road to Emmaus — the road of discovering Christ in the Other.

Pilgrimage was, and still is, the great adventure of becoming unblinded. We discover it is impossible not to be in the presence of God. God is with us all the time, only we don’t notice. It’s not that we are technically blind. We may be able to read the small print in an insurance contract without glasses and to make out the shape of a high-flying jet, and yet there is so much we don’t yet see that we live in a darkness that is not unlike actual blindness. It is a condition not caused by physical damage but by deeply rooted fears, the imprisonment of self-absorption, and ideological obsessions.

Walking the road to Emmaus, as a Christian on permanent pilgrimage, is the great journey into real seeing. In words ascribed to Saint Patrick:

Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me,
Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ on my right, Christ on my left,
Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down, Christ when I arise, Christ in the heart of everyone who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of every one who speaks of me,
Christ in every eye that sees me,
Christ in every ear that hears me.

Pilgrimage is not only the act of going to one of thin places where great miracles have happened or where some event in the life of Jesus occurred. It can be to the journey to the front door of your house, opening it with a real welcome. It can be the creation of a Christ Room — a room of hospitality — in your own home. It can be choosing to see an unexpected and seemingly untimely event not as an irritating interruption but as a potential moment of grace. It can be your caring response to a beggar. It can be the journey to forgiveness in a situation in which forgiveness seemed impossible. It can be the difficult decision to take part in some act of public witness whose objective is to oppose killing, whether in war or by abortion or in an execution chamber.

It’s all pilgrimage. We are all on the road to Emmaus.

* * *
[Talk for a mini-retreat at Saints Peter and Paul Orthodox Church in Lorain, Ohio on Saturday, May 5, 2012. The text is based on the final chapter of The Road to Emmaus by Jim Forest, published by Orbis Books.]Author jhforestPosted onApril 28, 2012CategoriesUncategorized
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2025/12/02

Books by Jim Forest | Goodreads

Books by Jim Forest (Author of All is Grace) | Goodreads

Books by Jim Forest


Jim Forest
Average rating 4.30 · 1,175 ratings · 206 reviews · shelved 3,711 times


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All is Grace: A Biography o...

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 4.33 avg rating — 199 ratings — published 2011 — 8 editions
Praying With Icons

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 4.11 avg rating — 167 ratings — published 1997 — 8 editions
The Ladder of the Beatitudes

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 4.49 avg rating — 101 ratings — published 1999 — 8 editions
Living With Wisdom: A Life ...

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 4.38 avg rating — 77 ratings — published 1991 — 9 editions
Love Is the Measure: A Biog...

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 4.09 avg rating — 79 ratings — published 1986 — 9 editions
At Play in the Lions' Den: ...

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 4.40 avg rating — 65 ratings — 2 editions
Loving Our Enemies: Reflect...

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 4.39 avg rating — 54 ratings — published 2014 — 10 editions
Saint Nicholas and the Nine...

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 4.57 avg rating — 47 ratings
Eyes of Compassion: Learnin...

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 4.38 avg rating — 42 ratings — 2 editions
Road to Emmaus: Pilgrimage ...

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 4.12 avg rating — 43 ratings — published 2007 — 2 editions
The Wormwood File: E-mail f...

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 3.49 avg rating — 39 ratings — published 2004 — 4 editions
Saint George & The Dragon

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 4.74 avg rating — 27 ratings — published 2011
Writing Straight with Crook...

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 4.54 avg rating — 28 ratings — published 2020 — 2 editions
The Root of War is Fear: Th...

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 4.54 avg rating — 26 ratings — 2 editions
Confession: Doorway to Forg...

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 4.04 avg rating — 27 ratings — published 2002 — 4 editions
Silent as a Stone: Mother M...

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 4.83 avg rating — 12 ratings — published 2007 — 2 editions
Making Friends of Enemies: ...

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 3.29 avg rating — 7 ratings — published 1988 — 3 editions
The Resurrection of the Chu...

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 4.33 avg rating — 3 ratings — published 2002
Leven met wijsheid: Een bio...

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 4.33 avg rating — 3 ratings — published 2008
Confession: The Healing Sac...

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 4.50 avg rating — 2 ratings
The Tale of the Turnip: A R...

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 3.50 avg rating — 2 ratings — published 1988
Bidden met Iconen

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 3.50 avg rating — 2 ratings — published 1997 — 4 editions
Αγαπώντας Τον Εχθρό Μου: Σκ...

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it was amazing 5.00 avg rating — 1 rating
Amare i nemici. Il comandam...

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it was amazing 5.00 avg rating — 1 rating
Finding God Among the Russians

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it was amazing 5.00 avg rating — 1 rating — published 1989
Everyday Spirituality: Find...

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it was ok 2.00 avg rating — 1 rating — published 1992
Political Correctness: What...

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 0.00 avg rating — 0 ratings — published 2015
Four days in February: The ...

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 0.00 avg rating — 0 ratings — published 1988
Thomas Merton. Solitudine e...

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Vita di Thomas Merton

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