On the cardboard sign strung over his neck were the words "Argentia ferry." Pack on his back, his thumb was out for the ride. Without hesitation, I pulled over and waited for him. Up he ran, stuffed his gear into the back seat and jumped in.
Well tanned from days under the sun, tattoos along his arms, a black baseball cap on his head, he greeted me amiably. For some reason, I liked him from the start.
I don't often pick up hitchhikers. At least, not with all the stories that one hears these days. But sometimes, I just have a sense. The road he was on was not well travelled. No one hitchhikes that road. And he was going in the right direction for the Nova Scotia ferry.
He was from the South Shore of Nova Scotia, his first time in Newfoundland. For the past week he had travelled the roads of the Avalon Peninsula, mostly on foot. He was now on his way back home to Nova Scotia. A friend in Cape Breton and a sister in Halifax would round off his visiting before his journey ends.
He had always wanted to travel the Avalon Peninsula. He loved the beauty of the ocean and the country roads that wound their way in and out of the many inlets and coves.
Somehow he got to talking about his past. He fell in love after high school, had two children, but the relationship had recently broken up. Apparently, there was no marriage.
A time of healing, maybe that's why he suddenly took off for Newfoundland. Those were his words. He wrote down his thoughts and feelings in his diary. He pulled the diary from his sack to show me. He said that maybe he would give it to his children one day.
The daily readings at Mass speak of Moses. Hidden from birth, set adrift on the waters, fleeing to a foreign land after murdering the Egyptian, called by God to set His people free, leading his people through the wilderness, across the Red Sea, into the promised land – Moses was a man on the move.
Vatican II described the Church as a pilgrim people of God. St. Ignatius of Loyola considered himself a pilgrim. Jesus calls us to follow Him, to be pilgrims on the way.
I like the image of pilgrim. As pilgrims, we don't know the way ahead. Each day calls us into mystery, to faithfulness and to trust. We place one foot in front of the other. Each day brings it own pain and its own beauty. We depend on the kindness of others. We pray on the providence of God.
That young man from Nova Scotia was on a pilgrimage. Maybe he wouldn't know to call it that. But I could sense that the journey was doing something to him. Maybe I'm just reading too much into it. Why then does the memory of that short hour's drive linger? I don't know exactly. I'm just grateful for having stopped for a hitchhiker on the side of an empty road.
When gratitude lingers in your heart, it speaks something of God. When that happens, stop – and listen.