people go on pilgrimages all the time…they go to the shrine of Our Lady of Guadaloupe and gleefully throw away their crutches….they hike the Saint Iago de Compostella trail in northern Spain, perhaps on their knees, and are purified and cleansed…

So, the least we can do is drive 99.7 miles to this clear plate of ice, studded with white bubbles, clear to the bottom, clear to the horizon.

(Photo: Lee Spiller)

and what will we do on this pilgrimage? how–on this thin, perhaps impractical, ice– express our gratitude, our wonder?

Recently, our new Pope chose to wash local prisoners’ feet rather than those of carefully chosen Cardinals on a feast day. A tattooed prisoner asked him why. ” Acts of the heart need no explanation”, he said.