Dear Rainbow Circle Friends,

As we began our first full day with sleep behind us, Bishop Malkhaz took our pilgrim group on a hike out in the country. It was beautiful. The temperature was just right, the sky was blue, and the springtime flowers were in all their glory.

 We began by walking down a road that had been created nearly three to four thousand years ago. It wasn’t smooth nor was it straight. It was lined by stone walls built over the millennia to differentiate one community of people from another. Our band of hikers was joined by three stray dogs and as we ascended our first hilll an old man on his cart being pulled by two mules passed us by.

As we started, I couldn’t help but think of the opening lines of Sam Walter Foss’ poem, “The Calf-Path”…

One day through the primeval wood

A calf walked home as good calves should;

But made a trail all bent askew,

A crooked trail as all calves do.

Since then three hundred years have fled,

And I infer the calf is dead.

But still he left behind his trail,

And thereby hangs my moral tale.

The gist of Foss’ poem suggests that humanity doesn’t really create too much that is new. We only build upon the path created by the original calf in that primeval wood. As we continued on our hike, we were reminded of such human-tendency as we visited three ancient structures.

These ancient church edifices in various stages of ill-repair or decay, weren’t too far apart. This reminded me that even as faith communities build houses of worship only yards or intersections apart today, so too did our forebears before us. We build new buildings and create fresh vision because ideas evolve, convictions adjust, and the needs of our communities change. Of the three structures we visited, interestingly, the oldest, from the 12th century, is still in use by village dwellers and pilgrims today. And perhaps of greater significance, this sacred structure has been shared by Christians from very different traditions. Maybe we’re wise to let go of what doesn’t work any more and perhaps we’re wiser still if we can share in common our resources even if our theologies are different.

Our day of hiking concluded with a shared lunch at a restaurant near the old city portion of Tbilisi. As I reflected on our experience of walking where ancients once inhabited and worshipped, and as I considered how time, history, civilization, and religions have evolved over the millennia, it was refreshing to be greeted by a Pride Flag at the establishment where we ate. In a city and country that is not overly inviting and affirming of LGBTQ+ folk, it was comforting to know that there are still places where support can be found

Humans will be human. We will carve out crooked paths, we will erect walls of separation, we’ll build edifices that will stand and crumble, and yet there is always hope that in moments we can get some things right. Like the springtime flowers in all their glory, hope doesn’t go dormant forever. No, hope really does spring eternal.

In my reflections to come I’ll share more about the hope being witnessed through the ministry of Peace Cathedral, the Georgian-Baptist community that has opened its doors to us this week.