Photograph by Patrick Fore via Unsplash

How many of you have intentionally walked part of the Underground Railroad Trail in the United States of America? Some may find this question to be an odd one. Others may be entertaining such a trip as part of an Emmaus Walk. Or others may wonder what this trail is all about. Let us ponder and journey together, shall we?

The trails of yesterday spoke of determination, perseverance, survival and freedom. Crossing state and country borders meant the crossing from commodity to humanity. The trails of today bring an array of mixed alliances where God’s light of peace, love, and mercy may not be quickly recognized. Trusting these paths may even be questioned.

The Underground Railroad was a pathway, waterway, railroad way to freedom for many men, women and children fleeing the atrocities of slavery in the 18th and 19th centuries. Did you know that the paths crossed to Canada and Mexico? Many Black individuals and families were seeking safe places, sanctuaries to be recognized as humans. They were escaping environments, towns, plantations where they were used and misused, were seen as commodities and suffered atrocities. A visit to the Legacy Museum and the National Memorial for Peace and Justice in Montgomery, Alabama is a jolt to recent national and international realities.

It does not take long to wonder whose footprints you might be stepping on, as you notice historical signs near where you walk, drive, or ride your bike. What decisions are made at various forks in the roads? I am taken back to the book of Ruth, chapter 1 where we are presented with a conversation the matriarch Naomi had with her daughters-in-law Orpah and Ruth at a significant crossroad in their lives. They were facing the cultural reality of being all widows in a land that was not theirs. How might have the paths to freedom looked like, if they had each gone their separate ways? How long did Orpah walk alone?

A friend and I decided this past summer to walk a portion of the Underground Railroad Trail near Sandy Springs, Maryland. I was delighted to have a walking companion. Perhaps I was having a “Ruth moment,” whispering in my heart “where you go, I go” and “where your foot lands, mine will as well.”

Our journey on the trail was filled with gratitude, which we both spoke of out loud. We were grateful for a well-marked path, for walking the wooded areas in the daylight hours and not at night, for having chosen a day when temperatures were on the mild side, for the ability to speak and be heard and not walk in silence or whisper or only communicate with hand gestures. We reflected a great deal on what our ancestors would have needed to negotiate in the dark, when dogs might have been chasing them or wild animals traveling alongside them. We were very aware of the noises of animals we were hearing, the beauty of birds and butterflies circling around us. We wondered what sounds of nature accompanied the enslaved men, women, and children along this path we ventured on. Was the path busier in the winter or summer?

We spoke of what we could see and what we missed seeing, like the hollow tree, which had been a hiding place for some runaway slaves. By the time we reached a natural water spring, we paused and silently prayed before heading back to our starting point. The four-mile journey is little compared to what our ancestors did. We trusted the well-worn path and gave thanks for the many feet who made it possible for us to walk freely in 2024 without any dogs chasing us. We found ourselves taking turns leading the walk. There was a mutual trust between us and the path, to take us to a safe clearing or resting spots.

As I reflect on this recent walk, I need to first give thanks to my walking companion. Walking in the woods, whether in daylight or nighttime, is a big stretch for me. I entered the trail with internal trepidations I did not express. I trusted my walking companion. I trusted the clearly marked path. I trusted the map we received at the Visitor Center. One might say that I stepped out in faith. As we meandered through the woods, my eyes were fixed on the shoes in front of me. They guided my own feet. Occasionally, I would lift my head to take in the view and see the variety of birds chirping near us. I lived courage as I put my feet where she put her feet. We were both embracing the Scripture verse from the book of Ruth: “Don’t ask me to leave you and turn back. Wherever you go, I will go; wherever you live, I will live. Your people will be my people, and your God will be my God.” (Ruth 1:16 NLT).

Was that a verse or a refrain on the lips of our ancestors as well? Did they walk in silence? What song did they hum in their hearts to be the accompanying cadence? Knowing that singing out loud would compromise their freedom, I imagine that the shared silence was a trusted, sacred, and justice-freeing reality. How ironic that silence has now evolved in some circles into a space that is filled with misgiving, compromise, and deceits! The silence of yesterday carried many questions, most likely very different then the silences of today.

Upon returning home and reflecting longer on this intentional walk on an Underground Railroad trail path, I found myself turning to Psalm 80 in the Psalms for Praying by Nan C. Merrill, specifically the beginning and ending verses. “Eternal Listener, give heed to your people, You, who are our Guide and our Light! You, who dwell amidst the angels, shine forth into the heart of all nations! Enliven your people with compassion that peace and justice might flourish…May we always walk and co-create with you; receive the gratitude of our hearts, as we share in the Great Plan! Restore us, O Holy One! Let your face shine upon us, teach us to love!”[i] In this season of constant divisiveness, I wonder how we recognize divine light in hearts of all nations to guide us all towards intentional co-creation for peace.  Are the paths to freedom which were formed by faith by so many footprints still trusted paths in current strained national and global relationships? Reading Psalm 80 had me pondering these questions in my heart.

The thousands of men, women and children running to freedom were seeking to be recognized as God’s beloved. They were seeking compassion, peace, love and freedom. The unseen trusted paths that protected their journeys came about because of the deep knowledge that better living needed to be embraced. They trusted the footprints that had gone before them, and all they represented. As I ponder the deeper meaning of the Underground Railroad Trail for us in 2024 and consider the global polarizations we face, I wonder where our paths will take us. Do we trust the footprints? Can we see them? Who are our chosen companions to journey with? What trusted and sacred paths are we choosing to mold for God’s beloved community?