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Let me tell you a time when my love had to be non-verbal. I was trying to help a lady who had been so seriously ill that she could no longer drive her car. She wanted to get to her elder sister’s house for a few weeks of bed rest so I offered to drive her there. I still had my driver’s license at the time. On the way she said, “Peace, I wish you could stay with me for a while—my elder sister is so domineering. I just dread being alone with her.” I said, “All right, I have a few extra days. I’ll stay with you for a little while.”

When we were turning into her sister’s yard she said, “Peace, I really don’t know how my elder sister is going to accept you.” She was quite right about her elder sister. When her sister took one look at me with my lettered tunic she ordered me out of the house. But it was late at night and she was so afraid of the dark that she said, “Not tonight, you may sleep on the sofa tonight, but the first thing in the morning you must leave!”

Then she hurried her younger sister off to bed way upstairs somewhere. Well, this was worse than I thought it might be. I certainly didn’t want to leave my friend in this situation but what could I do? So I looked around to see if there was anything that might permit me to communicate with the elder sister. I looked into the kitchen and there was a mountain of dirty dishes and no dishwasher, so I washed all the dishes. Then I cleaned up the kitchen and lay down and slept for a few hours.

In the morning the elder sister was in tears and she asked me to stay. She said, “Of course, you understand I was so tired last night I didn’t know what I was saying.” And we had a wonderful time together before I left them. You see, it just gave me the chance to put my little message into practice. Practice is good; practice makes a person perfect, they say.

During my travels a saloon-keeper called me into his tavern to give me some food, and while I was eating he asked, “How do you feel in a place like this?”

“I know that all human beings are God’s children,” I replied. “Even when they are not acting that way, I have faith that they could, and I love them for what they could be.”

As I rose to leave I noticed a man with a drink in his hand was also on his feet. When he caught my eye he smiled a little, and I smiled at him. “You smiled at me,” he said in surprise. “I should think you wouldn’t even speak to me but you smiled at me.” I smiled again. “I’m not here to judge my fellow human beings,” I told him. “I am here to love and serve.” Suddenly he was kneeling at my feet and saying, “Everyone else judged me, so I defended myself. You didn’t judge me, so now I judge myself. I’m a nogood worthless sinner! I’ve been squandering my money on liquor. I’ve been mistreating my family. I’ve been going from bad to worse!” I put my hand on his shoulder. “You are God’s child,” I said, “and you could act that way.”

He looked with disgust at the drink in his hand, and then hurled it against the bar, shattering the glass. His eyes met mine. “I swear to you I’ll never touch that stuff again,” he exclaimed. “Never!” And there was a new light in his eyes as he walked through the door with steady steps.

I even know the happy ending to that story. About a year and a half later I heard from a woman in that town. She said as far as anyone knew the man kept his promise. He never touched liquor again. He now has a good job. He is getting along well with his family and has joined a church.

When you approach others in judgment they will be on the defensive. When you are able to approach them in a kindly, loving manner without judgment they will tend to judge themselves and be transformed.

On my pilgrimage a lot of cars stopped and people invited me to ride. Some thought walking meant hitchhiking. I told them I did not cheat God—you don’t cheat about counting miles on a pilgrimage.

I remember one day as I walked along the highway a very nice car stopped and the man inside said to me, “How wonderful that you are following your calling!” I replied, “I certainly think that everyone should be doing what he or she feels is the right thing to do.”

He then began telling me what he felt motivated toward, and it was a good thing that needed doing. I got quite enthusiastic about it and took it for granted that he was doing it. I said, “That’s wonderful! How are you getting along with it?” And he answered, “Oh, I’m not doing it. That kind of work doesn’t pay anything.”

I shall never forget how desperately unhappy that man was. In this materialistic age we have such a false criterion by which to measure success. We measure it in terms of dollars, in terms of material things. But happiness and inner peace do not lie in that direction. If you know but do not do, you are a very unhappy person indeed.

I had another roadside experience when a fine car stopped with a well-dressed couple inside who began to talk to me. I started to explain to them what I was doing. Suddenly, to my amazement, the man burst into tears. He said, “I have done nothing for peace and you have to do so much!”

And then there was the time when another man stopped his car to talk with me. He looked at me, not unkindly, but with extreme surprise and curiosity, as though he had just glimpsed a live dinosaur. “In this day and age,” he exclaimed, “with all the wonderful opportunities the world has to offer, what under the sun made you get out and walk a pilgrimage for peace?”

“In this day and age,” I answered, “when humanity totters on the brink of a nuclear war of annihilation, it is not surprising that one life is dedicated to the cause of peace—but rather it is surprising that many lives are not similarly dedicated.”

When I ended my first cross-country walk I felt so thankful that I had not failed to do what I had been called to do. I either said or thought to myself, “Isn’t it wonderful that God can do something through me!”

Afterward I slept at the Grand Central Station railroad terminal in New York City.

When I came into the state between sleep and wakefulness, I had an impression that an indescribably beautiful voice was speaking words of encouragement: “You are my beloved daughter in whom I am well pleased.” When I came into full wakefulness it seemed as though a celestial orchestra had just finished playing in the station, with its echoes still lingering on. I walked out into the cold morning, but I felt warm. I walked along the cement sidewalk, but I felt I was walking on clouds. The feeling of living in harmony with divine purpose has never left me.

[Reproduced with glad consent of the publishers – Friends of Peace Pilgrim]

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