Destination Unknown by Dr Alison Bybee

25 Aug 2025 Sunday Service reading and sermon

Due to a technical difficulty, we weren’t able to stream the service led by Alison Bybee on 25 August. Here is one of the readings she chose and her sermon.

Reading: The Lake Isle of Innisfree by William Butler Yeats

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,

And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;

Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee,

And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,

Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;

There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,

And evening full of the linnet’s wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day

I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;

While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,

I hear it in the deep heart’s core.

Sermon: Destination Unknown, by Dr Alison Bybee 

This morning… I want to speak with you more about this month’s theme of journeys 

When we hear the word journey, many of us picture motion — roads unwinding, trains, boats and planes, passports. We think of going somewhere. Crossing distances. Collecting photos, stories and memories. But there is another kind of journey… One that can happen without packing a bag, without boarding a plane, without even stepping past the front gate. 

It is the journey inward. The journey of stillness. The journey of deepening into the life we already inhabit. Some people live for travel. Others live for home. And I believe… both are pilgrims. Both are explorers. But in different terrains. 

Before I continue, let me acknowledge that there are of course many people who do not have the option to take off into the wide blue yonder. Circumstances may dictate that you cannot have any sort of outing whether due to disability or caring commitments, or lack of resources. We see you. Many others are obliged to spend all their waking time earning a living, and that includes people who have been forced from their home and even their nations by war, climate breakdown, or other hard times. The news shows us daily that some people who migrate do not get a warm welcome at all, and that is a very tough issue that we need to work on as individuals and as a society. 

The Traveller’s Heart 

For today, let’s begin with the traveller, planning a trip, maybe for pleasure. The traveller wakes up with a hunger for novelty —for the unknown city or hills, the exotic melody drifting from a café, the scent of spices they can’t name. Travel isn’t only about movement. It’s about being open to newness. For the traveller, every departure is a tiny act of rebirth. They shed their daily skin, and step into a new self, shaped by wherever they arrive. There is something spiritual in this. 

When we leave home, we surrender control. We enter environments we do not command, languages we don’t speak fluently or at all, customs we may not understand. This surrender is humbling. The same kind of humbling a child might feel in a vast, echoing cathedral…or a backpacker might feel, standing at the edge of the ocean.  

Travellers meet the world not only as tourists, but as students. They come to learn. To listen. To be changed. The spiritual gift of travel is expansion — an awareness that the world is bigger, stranger, and more beautiful than any single life can hold. 

The Stay-at-Home Spirit 

Now… let’s turn to the stay-at-home soul. In a culture that glorifies constant movement, it’s easy to overlook the spiritual richness of remaining. 

Some people take root in a place like a tree. They know their street in all its seasons, the way the kitchen light falls differently in winter and in spring, the sound of the neighbour’s gate in the wind. Their adventures are not measured in miles — but in moments: the first spring crocuses flowering in the garden, the arrival of a new family next door, the way a child’s face changes over the years. 

The stay-at-home journey is a journey of really noticing. Of finding endless complexity in what others might call “ordinary.” Spiritually, this is the path of grounding. The Benedictine monks have a vow of stability — a sacred commitment to remain in one place, to know it so well that it becomes a mirror of your own soul. It’s the belief that the divine is not only on the distant horizon… but also in the soil beneath your feet. 

If you’re a traveller, you might feel the call of the horizon — roads, airports, cities whose names you can barely pronounce. Your heart beats faster at the thought of leaving. If you’re a stay-at-home type, you might feel the call of belonging — of knowing and being known. Your joy is not in seeing more… but in seeing deeper. Both are forms of pilgrimage. Both demand courage. The traveller must face the uncertainty of the road. The stay-at-home must face the challenge of not growing stagnant. And each has a shadow side: The traveller risks becoming restless without purpose. The stay-at-home risks becoming comfortable without growth.

Rarely are we entirely one or the other. A traveller sometimes longs for home. A homebody sometimes feels the pull of the horizon. Life has seasons. The young adventurer often grows into a settled elder. The lifelong homebody may one day take a notion, surprise everyone and pack a bag for a long-awaited trip.

Even without moving physically, we can travel — through books, through art, through conversation. And even while crossing continents, we can carry an inner stillness that makes every place feel like home. Here’s the truth at the centre of it all: Every journey — whether it spans oceans or just the length of a hallway — is, in some way, an inner journey. Travel strips away assumptions, leaving us bare to the truth of our smallness… and our connectedness. Staying home strips away illusions about novelty, forcing us to see the beauty in repetition.

Both paths ask us to encounter ourselves — our strengths, our fears, our attachments, our longing. In the end, the destination is not a city… or a house… but a clearer, truer self. From the traveller, we learn openness — to the unexpected, to the unfamiliar, to the possibility that the next encounter could change us forever. From the stay-at-home, we learn devotion — to the present, to the small, to the enduring rhythms and relationships that sustain us. The sacred can be found in a distant temple. And it can be found in a familiar kitchen.

A Story of Two Pilgrims 

Let me tell you a story of two young women, being waved off from their parental homes for the first time. They were later to become Jan, my mother, and Joan, my mother-in-law. Jan dreamed of travel. She wanted to see the world but had no money or qualifications. She left England aged 21 to work in California, in a big house. An economic migrant at a time when newspapers placed tempting ads about opportunities far from home. (Meanwhile, Britain called on Caribbean health professionals to board the Windrush and staff our NHS!). There Jan met a man, and she married, on her condition they move to Florida.  With a baby on the way, they returned to his home region in the Midwest of the USA.  Iowa was NOT on her bucket list! So, her travels were interrupted for a while, but Jan eventually resumed her adventures with toddler Alison in tow and visited many places, family and friends around the world. 

Joan on the other hand, as a young woman became a household manager, also a big house- a grand stately home, Adare Manor, in Limerick Ireland, riding her bike to work. She met a man, married him, and they moved to Dublin to raise their family. 

Time passed. Both mothers waved off their grown children, and as it happened, their offspring met and married.  Jan and Joan became the matriarchs of the extended family. Jan invited Joan to visit her home in the USA, and after much persuasion Joan made the trip- once. Joan overcame her deep distrust of planes and boats but enjoyed seeing the sights of the New World. Joan was very glad to return to her own bed.  

Jan on the other hand, crossed the seas and visited Joan several times in her home. They enjoyed lots of stories, tea and homemade scones. They often wrote letters to one another and exchanged news clippings and cards. They shared their creations- Jan sent Joan her paintings which adorned the walls, and Joan sent Jan intricate hand-knitted cardigans which were treasured. 

Despite their different nationalities, outlooks and interests, and regardless that one was a committed traveller and the other a staunch homebody, their friendship enhanced both their lives. 

The Journey’s End — and Beginning 

Whether you are a “King of the Road” or a homebody in your “small cabin of clay and wattles made” — or some blend of the two — 

your life is a journey. 

It has landscapes of its own: 

some external, 

some internal. 

You are moving through seasons, through challenges, 

through joys and losses. 

You are leaving. 

You are arriving. 

Always. 

And perhaps the deepest truth is this: 

The journey never truly ends. 

Even when we stay in one place, we are moving. 

Even when we cross the globe, 

we are carrying our inner home with us. 

So, here’s my invitation to you: 

If you are a traveller, travel with openness — 

not just to new places, but to the lessons they bring. 

Don’t only collect souvenirs. 

Collect humility. 

Collect empathy. 

Collect wonder. 

If you are a stay—at-home, stay with attentiveness — 

not just to the comfort of routine, 

but to the miracles hidden within it. 

Don’t only collect days. 

Collect gratitude. 

Collect patience. 

Collect depth. 

Both paths can make us wise. 

Both together can make us whole.