Walking to Church

One thing that’s so nice about Europe is the walking culture. Because the vast majority of European cities emerged before the invention of the automobile, they are built to a human scale, with the expectation that the average person will be able to get around town by simply walking from Point A to Point B.

Years ago, during the semester I was living abroad in Gaming, Austria, I had to walk everywhere. I had an apartment in a quad-plex on the edge of town, and if I wanted anything, I had to walk into town to get it. Walk to the restaurant. Walk to my classes. Walk to the grocery store and carry my bags back by hand—or in a little cart I had for such purposes.

And, I had to walk to Mass.

Living in Gaming was the first time I’d ever had to walk to church. It wasn’t far—maybe a 10 minute walk at most—but there was something so incredibly meaningful and wholesome about it, especially living in a Catholic community where you would see multiple other Catholics walking as well, all converging at the historic Kartause church while the morning bells rang.

I got to experience this again this summer when I visited England. Sunday fell when I happened to be in the historic Catholic city of Walsingham, and the parish church was just a few blocks from my lodging. My daughter and I got dressed and took to the streets in the early morning. All the shops were closed; the only people out were Catholics walking to mass. From every corner of the historic city, little pockets of people made their way down the streets and out the narrow alleyways, filtering towards the church like little rivulets whose waters gradually combined into a great stream of faithful flowing into the church.

Walking home after Mass is a great feeling as well—coming out of church refreshed from the graces of the Holy Sacrifice, and ready to stretch your legs after sitting for a while. The soul, cleansed through reception of the Eucharist, rejoices at the tactile encounter with the world as you walk. There’s a freshness about it, like a fragmentary participation in glories of the new creation.

Walking to Mass is a luxury I’ve seldom had in the United States. I’ve always lived in places where I had to drive at least a half hour to get to my parish. It’s hard to put my finger on why walking feels so much better than driving; I have noticed that having to get everyone ready and pile in the car always seems more stressful than just opening the door and walking out. Perhaps it’s because driving itself is inherently more stressful—we are so familiar with driving that perhaps we forget that it is still operating heavy machinery and requires a degree of attentiveness, as well as , punctuality to navigate prospective traffic, the patience to deal with other people on the road, and issues that arise from having family cooped up in close quarters in the early morning when they are likely to be irritable. But I’ve noticed that I never worry about punctuality in times when I’ve walked to Mass. While driving may be faster, I think the rate of speed at which you walk is more constant and predictable: you don’t have to deal with heavy traffic, you pretty much walk at a constant pace the entire way, you can’t get pulled over, and things like accidents or other drivers rarely oppose an issue. It’s almost easier to know exactly when you will arrive if you’re walking. But beyond that, I’ve just noticed that I feel less anxious about arriving precisely on time when I’m walking. There’s a leisure to the act that makes the journey less stressful. If I time it right, I should walk in a few minutes early, but if I don’t, it’s no big deal; it’s hard to be in a rush when you are walking.

This weekend, I traveled down to Jacksonville, Florida for a family wedding. I didn’t have any independent transportation and was at the mercy of my family members to drive me here and there. Because I got lodging a little further out from the rest of my family, no one was willing to come pick me up and take me to Mass this morning. The nearest church was a 45 minute walk away, but rather than be annoyed by this, I was excited. I packed my church clothes and shoes in a backpack, got up very early and walked to the 8 AM mass. When I got to the church, I went to the bathroom and changed into my church clothes. Then after mass, I changed back into my walking clothes and street shoes to go back to my lodging. The whole experience was absolutely lovely. It made me wish I could walk to church more. I felt like I’d “worked for” the Mass I attended, and I was constantly thinking of the countless souls who have walked to church throughout history and was deeply cognizant of solidarity with them in this little humble act.

On a natural level, walking is the fundamental way humans were created to get around. We are biologicaly engineered for it. While there are a good many creatures who are faster than us, their legs are designed to run extremely fast over short distances. Man, however, is designed for endurance—to walk tremendous distances at a leisurely pace, no doubt to enable our ancestors to follow the migratory trails of the ancient herds in the days before we became sedentary. There is thus a naturalness to walking, a sense of moving the way one is "supposed" to that can't compare to other forms of travel. If I would compare it to something, it is analagous to the way that drinking water nourishes you in a way no other beverage is able. It's the "natural" drink, and walking is the natural means of travel.

In a spiritual sense, our faith tells us that we are to regard ourselves as pilgrims on a journey towards our heavenly homeland. In a mystical sense, we are all traversing the desert of exile towards the Holy Land, making our way through the valley of the shadow of death towards the heavenly Jerusalem. Our relationship with God is characterized as a walk; "Walk before me and be blameless" the Lord tells Abraham (Gen. 17:1).What is the defining characteristic of a pilgrim if not walking? In the Middle Ages , the universally recognized symbol for a pilgrim was an image of a walking man carrying a staff. 

I wish our communities were still structured around the church in a geographical sense. The traditional orientation of a town or village around the parish church created a cultural focal point for the community expressing the shared belief of the people—a kind of geographical ad orientem that imitates the liturgical ad orientem found within the church. Given the busyness, complexity, and sprawling nature of contemporary society, such a reorientation is unlikely. But until all things are restored in Christ, if you are able, try walking to church now and then : )