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Abundance

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How do you describe Istanbul? Vibrant. Layered. Teeming with life. Above all, it is a city of people—people everywhere. Rarely did we find ourselves in spaces that felt empty or still. Mosques and markets, streets and cisterns, palaces and restaurants—all pulsed with noise, movement, and human energy. Istanbul does not whisper; it hums, calls, gathers, and overflows. Every corner seemed to offer a glimpse into the city’s religious and cultural complexity. We noticed the many visible expressions of Muslim identity, from styles of dress to the types of beards, each reflecting histories, traditions, and communities we could only begin to understand. Yet Istanbul also carries the marks of many worlds at once. Western influence appears in familiar names and modern storefronts. Wine and liquor are sold openly. Small Christian and Jewish communities remain tucked into the folds of this sprawling city. It is a place shaped by empire, faith, trade, and migration—a city where differences lives s...
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Lost

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It never ceases to amaze me how quickly group travel can go sideways. There are always personalities that clash, plans that unravel, and places that are mysteriously closed when they are supposed to be open. But in all my years of traveling, we had never — and I mean never — actually lost someone. Until Istanbul. In our very short time there, it happened twice. After hours of travel, arriving in any new airport can feel disorienting. Your brain is foggy with jet lag, your body is exhausted, and when you are in another country, even the language around you can make you feel a little unsteady. So when the small group I was meeting in Istanbul landed, I texted them the best place for us to gather. What I did not think through was this: not everyone would necessarily have access to their phones. When one, then two, then three people arrived at the meeting spot, we assumed the fourth would be right behind them. But they were not. We called and texted over and over, with no response. There w...
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Connection

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Arriving in Greece was not the panacea I had expected. I came tired and worn after an intense season at church, and the many wrinkles in our pilgrimage program had left me feeling ragged. (Did I mention that the itinerary had to change at the last minute because our four-night cruise got canceled?) By the time I arrived, I had very little left. I spent my first day simply sitting in a taverna drinking coffee, letting myself be still. Then I went to be early. The next morning, after sleeping in, I hurried to meet two dear friends who were spending two days with me in Athens before we all headed to Istanbul for the first phase of the pilgrimage. Seeing Michael and Barbara was like taking a deep draught of spring water after a long thirst. We have been friends for decades, ever since meeting at First Pres Berkeley—before I became a mother, before seminary, and before ordination. In other words, they have known me through many seasons of my life. Because of my move to Cincinnati nearly a d...
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Uh Oh

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Pilgrimage has a way of undoing me. You would think by now I would expect it. You would think I would have learned that a pilgrimage is never only about the places we long to see, but also about the surrender we never intended to make. And yet, each time disruption comes, I am surprised. Today, as we sat on the runway waiting to take off, I learned that two of our pilgrims—who had arrived in Istanbul a few days early for a bit of rest—had gone to their hotel only to discover that there was no reservation for them. Calls were made immediately. I contacted the tour company in Palestine, which reached out to the broker in Istanbul. Everything that could be done was being done. But then the plane lifted into the air, and with it went any illusion that I could manage the outcome. Once the phones were switched to airplane mode, I could do nothing more. I could not fix it, confirm it, oversee it, or resolve it. I could only sit there, suspended above the clouds, carrying my worry for these de...
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Following in the Footsteps of Paul

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Pilgrimage is never only about travel. It is a journey of the heart, a decision to step away from ordinary routines and walk more attentively with God, with history, and with one another. To go on pilgrimage is to enter places made holy not because they are untouched by sorrow, but because God has met people there through struggle, hope, faith, and endurance.  This upcoming pilgrimage feels especially weighty. At a time when the Middle East is in the news because of war, fear, and deep human suffering, traveling to Greece and Turkey cannot be treated lightly. We do not go as spectators. We go prayerfully, humbly, and with open eyes, aware that these lands bear both sacred memory and present pain. Pilgrimage in such a time becomes not an escape from the world, but a way of carrying the world more honestly before God.  For me, this journey is especially shaped by the desire to follow in the footsteps of the Apostle Paul. Paul’s life was marked by travel through lands unsettled...
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