Eight miles more before nightfall

to reach the holy city;

weary, footsore, he stops here

at La Storta, rests, and prays.

Eight miles, and the journey’s done.

 

He begs the Lady yet again

To place him with her Son;

another year before he says

priestly words to bread and wine.

Lady, place us with your Son.

 

A change, sudden and great,

 overcomes his soul, he sees

all light: the Father and the Son

Who daily shoulders His Cross.

All is light, and light crucified.

 

The Father desires the Son

to take the pilgrim as His servant;

the Son desires the Father’s will:

to obey is how He loves.

Father, place us with Your Son.

 

A servant is not greater

than his Master; every day

the Master carries the Cross.

In the company of Jesus

Pick up your cross and follow.

 

He finds his Master every day

in all the hungry, the thirsty,

the stranger and the naked,

the sick and those in prison.

Place us, Father, with Your Son.

 

His Master is Christ poor,

replete with opprobrium,

and crucified, every day.

The servant desires nothing more.

Calvary, not Babylon.

 

Christ the Lord calls His servant

no longer servant but friend;

break now the bread, take the wine,

say the words in an upper room.

Father, place us with Your Son.

 

Another gift, great and sudden,

overcomes him; whatever happens

the Father promises to be

favourable to him in Rome.

This is another beginning.

 

He continues on his way

towards the eternal city,

where all the windows are closed

against him.  Only eight miles

and your pilgrimage is done.

Place us, Father, with the Son.

 

ANNOTATION 10

Your destination is always a surprise,

a holy place always gifts you with silence;

leave the Holy Land and it remains with you for ever.

 

 

Andrew Bullen SJ, Ignatius the Pilgrim: Poems and Prayers, 2013