Fr. Romeo, MJ, Mark L., 26, and Fr. Tom, MJ, walked 100 miles of the Camino Portugues to Santiago de Compestela from June 3-8, 2015. They share here some background to the pilgrimage, their experiences and reflections.
Ed. note: In this article the Spanish word “Camino” and its English equivalents of “Trail” and “Way” are used interchangeably as a term describing the pilgrimage path itself, as well as the state of being on it.
To go on a pilgrimage is to travel, to respond to a calling. Something (or Someone) propels us towards a journey. The desire is deep-rooted, coming from the core of our being as we try to understand our own essence and our destiny. Camino is an expression of our longing for “the eternal hills.”
You meet many people on the Trail. The reasons for subjecting themselves to the rigors of the Way are multiple. Some walk for adventure, some for the sport of it, some for its historical-cultural value (a great way to see Europe!), some because Camino is in vogue. But all, nonetheless, are pilgrims. A tense-looking man told us that he had walked from Latvia. He had been a sniper in the U.N. peacekeeping forces and was walking for the 10 lives that he had taken in Afghanistan and Iraq.
I too needed a tangible reason to walk, a cause. In Pope John Paul II’s Crossing the Threshold of Hope, he was asked if there was really any hope in the youth of today. His answer was that wherever he went in the world he would tell the youth: “You are the hope of the Church; you are the hope of the world.” So I dedicated my Camino to the youth! After all, it was on the occasion of the 1989 World Youth Day at Santiago that the ancient pilgrimage route came alive once again, the youth expressing their enthusiasm in search for meaning and finding it in the Lord.
After greasing our feet and toes with Vaseline to prevent blisters we started walking … and walking… We had conditioned ourselves months in advance for the walk, but I still wondered if I would make the distance. It was more grueling than I imagined. The temperature was in the 90’s (35+ c) every day and there were more high hills and steep descents than I had figured on. And no matter: we got blisters anyway. Each day we were pitted to attain a certain distance, usually about 15 miles to the next town where there would be lodging for pilgrims. That was our daily goal, to get to the next “albergue.” Each day we struggled and pushed ourselves to cover the distance. “Miles to go before I sleep. And miles to go before I sleep.” There is no other way for the pilgrim, but forward.
We took care of our basic needs and looked after one another. We slaked our thirst from the plentiful crystal clear streams along the way whose babble soothed the spirit, whose steady flow recalled us to its Primordial Source. (“I will guide them to streams of water … for I am their Father.” Jer. 31,9) Hats, sunblock, seeking the shady side of the trail, protected us (somewhat) from the bright, hot sun. Food never tasted better out there, and the Bread of Life was our daily sustenance.
A canopy of pines once served as our chapel. The Rosaries and other prayers hallowed the distances, sanctified our steps. There was plenty of time to reflect, to hum/sing, to be alone with the Creator, to feel His pull. In the fatigue, the pain, the soreness, the stiffness, the weakness, the heat, the thirst, the dizziness, the weight of the load digging into shoulders and back, one couldn’t help but to think of the Lord’s passion. The Camino was a Via Crucis. I thought of Our Lady’s request to the children of Fatima: to offer themselves to God and accept any suffering He wished to send them in reparation for sin and the conversion of sinners. I offered the hardships of the Way for the youth, knowing how exposed and vulnerable they are to the world, the flesh, and the devil, these enemies allying with one another to snuff the Life out of the unwary.
The above noble thoughts and inspirations were nonetheless mixed with more mundane ones like “how many more miles do we got to go?” “We better pick up the pace!” “We’re the only nut jobs out here in this blazing sun!” “I shouldn’t have packed so dang much stuff!” “I’m contributing to the destruction of my own body!” “Is this a waste of time, or what?” “I should’ve been doing this 40 years ago, not now!”
There is a Camino Culture, a special rapport, among those walking the trail and those who live along the trail. It is one of friendliness, encouragement, support. Everyone greeted us with: “Buen Camino.” A few days into the walk I had a burst of energy and went on ahead of my companions intending to wait for them down the road. (If one is distracted he can miss the yellow arrows which mark the trail.) I was walking solo through a small hamlet of houses when a kind-faced octogenarian yelled out to me from his balcony: “A donde vas, caballero? (where do you think you are going?)” “A Santiago, por supuesto!” I replied. He said “Oh no you’re not! You’re lost, you’re off the track!” So he came down, took me by the forearm, and showed me the way to the Way. Then different friendly farmers along the Camino told me that my companions were just up ahead. It took me an hour to catch up with them whom I had feared I would not see again on the trek.
We had a lot in common with our fellow travelers and would share topics such as blisters, mean dogs, interesting sights, aches and pains. Most of the pilgrims were quite open and even shared personal things about themselves that they probably would not have shared so easily with just anyone “back home.” The bonding experience was palpable and Spirit-strong.
As we neared our final destination, the Basilica of Santiago, the emotions were mounting. We had trod the same trail packed down by a 1000 years of pilgrims’ plodding and experienced their relief and joy at the sight of Santiago’s steeple in the distance. Those who had made the pilgrimage before were telling us novices what to expect at the finish line: photos in front of the Basilica, cheering and tearing, embracing the bust of Santiago, and of course, the pilgrim’s Mass at noon and the swinging of the huge incenser. It was all part of the Santiago pilgrimage experience and Catholics, non-Catholics and atheists alike were moved by the finale. Two liberal feminists, art history professors from Florida, were emotional about their anticipation of the Pilgrims’ Mass. This was their fourth pilgrimage. I guess they couldn’t get enough of this unique experience, drawn to it as they were!
Once inside the Basilica we had the privilege of concelebrating Mass with about 10 other weather-beaten, scruffy-bearded priest pilgrims for the hundreds of equally rugged-looking Way-farers. At the time of the distribution of Holy Communion several people that I had met on the trail made a point of receiving Communion from me. Some of them hadn’t known that I was a priest (as I had met them only briefly) and so were very surprised to see me at the altar. After Mass they came back to the sacristy for a brief reunion and to express their joy.
My own grand finale was accompanied by a sign/ a gift. Fr. Romeo and Mark had left right away and I had four days extra in Santiago. As I walked the cobblestone streets of Santiago I wondered where I was to stay? The youth hostels were all booked and the hotels and even religious houses that I passed were above my mendicant status. I began to pray: “Show me where You want me to stay, um now, please!” As I walked on, searching, my prayer became more urgent. I said a “Memorize” and as soon as I finished begging Our Lady for help, noted that my shoe was untied. I bent over, tied it up, and suddenly noticed to the left of me, on the wall of one of the dozens of modest homes joined-together on that street, a small tile depicting the Blessed Mother under the title of “Help of Christians.” That was the favorite Marian devotion of St. John Bosco, the Patron of Youth! (You recall that I had dedicated my pilgrimage for the youth.) This was the place. I knocked, I asked, and was graciously received; and spent four days in the simple community of the Salesian fathers and brothers.
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