The Long Walk

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Sunday, June 4, 2023

Holy

What is a holy place, a holy site or a holy object? You can imagine that as we have walked some 700kms across Northern Spain thus far, we have certainly seen our share of churches, Cathedrals, images of saints, crosses, shrines and reliquaries. From the breathtakingly magnificent to the most humble, faded and dilapidated. We have been in the Cathedrals of Burgos and Leon as well as chapels and hermitages not bigger than our family room with altars as simple as an old wooden table with a cross. And yes, of course we have seen the chalice used by Jesus at the last supper in the museum of San Izadoro. I’m reminded of the saying that if you assembled all the purported pieces of the cross of Jesus preserved in churches you would have enough lumber to build Noah’s ark.

I suppose as a lifelong participant in the low church traditions with a particularly anabaptist foundation I approach such matters with an element of unease, if not suspicion. However, it is also true that in all of these experiences I am deeply moved by the beauty, whether that of the magnificent altars, unimaginably detailed stained glass and flying buttresses of the Cathedrals, or the simple carved wooden crosses and tiny churches with their bell towers that are sometimes built atop impossibly steep hills. As I get older I am much more comfortable with and comforted by the mystery of my faith and aware that the incarnation of Jesus has broad implications for a somewhat sacramental understanding of material things.

The dedication, duty and faith all of these places and structures represent leaves me speechless. Consider the complex of artisans, architects, laborers, farmers, cooks and cleaners over the many years it took to build the great monasteries and churches. Or the lifelong dedication of a simple hermit, usually affiliated with a monastery, who spent his life serving in the tiniest village and helping injured pilgrims. All of this has a holiness to it, it seems to me. And I must share that over these last few weeks we have met not a few people who have found themselves struggling to express how or why they have felt drawn into churches along the Camino, or have wept upon hearing liturgy in a language they don’t even understand. One young German man, obviously driven to succeed, gripped by anger and a difficult past stated that he has never darkened the door of a church in Berlin but can hardly walk past one on the Camino and while sitting inside feels the most at peace he has ever experienced.

Of course, there is a strange sadness as well that attends all of this. Many, probably most of the small churches we have walked past are now only a physical witness to the Religious past of this country. They have no priest or pastor and the doors are locked. I have perhaps 50 photos of enormous stork nests that are on the steeple and/or bell tower of churches along our Camino and one gets the impression that these storks are the only creatures making use of the building. In one town, as we read a sign on the wall beside a locked gate to a grand church, a young man approached and asked if we would like to enter, which we were eager to do. He shared that this massive church had no priest and that he; a young priest/missionary had come from Uganda to serve the parish.

Several weeks ago as we approached a tiny village, we could see the church bell tower from a considerable distance, as is often the case particularly while walking across the plains. As we finally got close I realized that the church building had been utterly ruined and only three walls of the bell tower remained standing. The symbolism of this was striking: the physical church, and likely the spiritual vitality of life with Jesus has diminished, but the tower and bell remain as a physical reminder and photo opportunity for passing pilgrims.

Frankly, I was also saddened by a comment I heard the other day. We were on a tour of the astonishingly large San Xulian monastery in Samos, now host to only 9 Benedictine monks. As we entered the actual church a woman on the tour with us said, “now we are in the presence of Christ”. I recognize this represents a particular theological view, and while I want to be respectful, I desperately wanted to tell her and perhaps should have, that Christ is everywhere and I have been in his presence all day.

All of this brings me to reflect on what has been the most palpable holy “thing” I have experienced on this journey. It is what I would call “holy hunger.” While it is true that some walk the Camino merely as an adventure, or perhaps strictly as tourists, it seems to me the majority walk as an expression of a hunger for meaning, for direction for connection with God and with their fellow human. They might not use this vocabulary but the reality of this longing is evident in many conversations in which we have engaged. Some pilgrims are explicit about this longing, in others it lies under a thin veneer and is expressed in the vaguest of terms. But it is there.

This holy hunger shows up when people unexpectedly find themselves weeping during a blessing of the pilgrims at a mountain top church. It shows up when people of different languages and cultures share fellowship around a meal and are truly attentive to one another as God’s image bearers. It shows up when obviously different political views are set aside and our common humanity celebrated. It shows up when it feels normal that radical stories of encounters with God are a welcome part of the conversation among pilgrims, some of whom are atheistic or agnostic, over a round of pints or a jug of sangria.

When I see and feel the presence of many, many people on this journey, something deep in my soul feels hopeful, joyful even. Perhaps I perceive these fellow peregrinos as in some way foreshadowing a wider movement of humanity toward a recognition of this holy hunger, one that admits all of our stuff, our reputations and titles, our pursuits and hobbies do not fully satisfy and are often attempts to cover over the “God shaped void in every human heart” as Pascal put it.

I am painfully aware that in three days we will reach the end of our Camino journey and that this little bubble, this temporary isolation from our usual lives, will burst. Hopefully I, along with many others we have literally and figuratively bumped into over these last 40 days will return to our respective homes more aware of the holy hunger we share and more inclined to become people who learn to “love the Lord our God with all our heart, soul, mind and strength and love our neighbor as ourself.”

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Monday, May 22, 2023

Common slogans on the Camino

"The Camino provides". This is a common expression one hears while walking the Camino de Santiago or encounters when reading accounts of those who have. I have heard it many times over these last 20 days.

Somebody has no place to sleep and all the albergues (hostels) are full and so, despite being exhausted from walking perhaps 30 or 40 kilometers, they must continue to the next town in hopes of getting a room. But just then, someone else realizes they accidentally booked two bunks rather than one. The newly available bunk is given to the weary traveler and the words, "The Camino provides" are uttered. This actually happened today among our new friends.

Pilgrims are encouraged to embrace this mantra and an attitude of gratitude in even small details. When one is sad, the next bend in the path reveals something whimsical and cheery like wildflowers or a volunteer offering fresh squeezed orange juice and toasted bread soaked with olive oil for free or for a small donation. When an injury occurs there is often someone with extra resources to help treat them. The Camino provides.

I have been thinking about this for some time. Believe me, the one thing you have when walking much of the day is time to think. Of course, my faith perspective is that God provides, and many we have met cetainly believe this also. For them, saying "the Camino provides" is tantamount to acknowledgement of God's providential care. For others this is a little too specific, perhaps it holds uncomfortable implications. All of us are familiar with people who would not give any credence to the idea of praying to God but feel quite comfortable "putting that out to the universe". This has always puzzled me. But I am not here to write about the faith perspective of others, at least not in this post.

In my reflection on the matter of the Camino providing, I have come to believe that the conditions and expectations are what create this openness of heart to some form or another of divine providence.

The conditions are unique. People walking the Camino have time on their hands. One doesn't travel to Spain planning to walk 800 kilometers unless afforded a special opportunity through retirement, sabbatical or a rare extended leave from work. This pilgrimage involves slowing, listening, feeling, perceiving and being fully attentive to the experience. In our usual hurried lives back home, this kind of attentive perception of small graces is elusive and takes great effort to cultivate. Naturally, spiritual disciplines help greatly in this regard but perhaps something like this journey, a time set aside to hone these ways of being, will enhance progress in this aspect of the spiritual journey.

Pilgrims are also, generally speaking, in need of help of one kind or another. These needs can be physical, such as food, water, a bench to sit, a bed to sleep, repair to a trekking pole or medication. In fact, just today I met a limping Brazilian chap and in my broken Portuguese I was able to inquire as to his injury and offer him much needed ibuprofen - 3 hours later we met again as he arrived at the albergue, long after jenny and I had already showered and were into a second beverage. Needs are just as likely to be emotional or spiritual in nature. This has also been a regular occurrence for us as we have both received and given kindness, prayer, blessing and friendship.

Typically, when in our usual surroundings and living at break neck speed, we are disinclined to ask for or accept help, maybe out of pride, and too hurried to be attentive. As I walk I wonder how much of God and of good I miss out on because of this. Maybe you and I can learn to embody more of this even on the Camino, which just means path or way, of our everyday lives.

"It's your Camino". This is another common Camino slogan used by pilgrims to remind their fellow travelers not to compare themselves with others on the journey and, rather, to enjoy the experience as it unfolds for themselves (nor to compare with those who have journaled, blogged or shared their experience on YouTube). This is wise counsel which I have needed to hear repeatedly.

I was disappointed when we had to miss the very first 5 kilometers of the Camino. I felt like I was cheating. Similarly, when various hostels I had seen on videos were fully booked I was frustrated. When Matts and Frederick, two 60 year old Swedes told us they planned to walk the Camino in just 16 days, I felt very inadequate. BTW, Frederick mentioned that his FitBit noted he had logged 84,000 steps the day we had dinner together. Thankfully, Jenny has continually and gently reminded me that this is our adventure and not a contest or something to be conquered. God has let me encounter others too, who have reminded me, "this is your Camino". I am slowly learning the wisdom in this slogan.

"Buen Camino". This is the phrase heard more than any other while walking this path. When passing a fellow perigrino (or pilgrim) one always says this. It is humorous that a Canadian passing a American or New Zealander still expresses this wish for a good Camino in Spanish. It's just the way it is.

As we have walked our way through perhaps 100 hundred small towns thus far, countless local people have wished us a "buen camino", especially the elderly folks sitting on benches or leaning out their windows. I find this astounding since they likely see 300 Pilgrims daily for 6 months of the year. Shop keepers, bar owners and wait staff generally say it too. And often you can feel a deep sincerity in this wishes for a great pilgrimage experience.

One day I walked with a German gentleman for a short time, and as is custom, we wished one another a buen camino. But then he went on to explain that this greeting is deeper than just, "have a good trip". He noted that the implied meaning is more akin to saying, "a good life journey to you", that Camino represents the whole of one's path. This was beautiful and opened up new meaning to this simple pilgrim's greeting. So, with that in mind, let me say from the depths of my soul to all of you who have taken the time to follow our journey, "buen Camino" from Jenny and I.

(No photos on this post but I have been putting some up on Facebook regularly so feel free to check that out).

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Thursday, May 18, 2023

Odds and Ends

I thought I would use this post to comment on a couple things that might not warrant a full post on their own. I hope you find them interesting.

FOOD. Many friends have suggested I would lose weight walking over 700 kilometers. I probably won't as they food is quite good. And they love their bread in Spain so many items come with a side of bread. Very good bread.

Common breakfast items are chocolate croissants, tortillas (which are a potato and egg dish often with either cheese, ham or onion in it) or a bocadillo (baguette sandwich usually with excellent cured ham or maybe cheese or dried chorizo - no mayo, mustard or any other condiments) and of course either espresso or cafe con leche (espresso with hot milk). Usually we grab a coffee as we leave in the morning about 7am and then after walking two hours stop for some breakfast/lunch combo.

Lunch stops are at little bars that serve the above items as well as salads (usually with tuna and hard boiled egg), some times pasta or paella and little tapas (sometimes called pinxos). These commonly include croquettes of various types (often with a bit of ham in them or sometimes mussels), skewers of various types (a common one has olives, an anchovy, and maybe a small hot pepper - I love these).

Most places we stay, and almost all albergues offer a "pilgrim's menu" for dinner. This is served in a big room and it is a great time to meet new friends or get caught up with someone we might have met days ago. These meals tend to be substantial. First course choices typically include a salad, pasta, stewed beans with chorizo or a local favorite garlic and egg soup. Mains are often stewed meats, a grilled meat, tuna or cod cooked in tomato and red pepper sauce or fried white anchovy. Always with bread and always with fries. Almost always delicious. Red wine is always included but water may be extra. A small dessert is also provided.

Paella with scallops and octopus. Wow.

The ubiquitous batata brava: fried potatoes with a red sauce and mayo. Yum

Typically skewer. Quail egg, olive, anchovy and a hot pepper.

Tortilla. Very satisfying breakfast.

I love that a sandwich and beer is not unusual at 10am here.

Tuna pieces in tomato sauce.

Pork cheeks in a delicious sauce.

Also not an unusual snack anytime of day. Locals seem to eat these little bowls of olives regularly.

GRAFFITI

In the account of Cain and Able in Genesis, God marks Cain in some fashion so that, though guilty of murder, others will not take revenge on him. And it seems we have been marking things ever since.

Of course I expected to see the usually graffiti here as at home, highly stylized words in paint that I cannot read on bridges and structures. And certainly there is plenty of that here. When I can decipher the lettering it is sometimes about Basque independence or something political. However, most often it is something profound like, "Ed from Ohio was here" or "Marco loves Lucy". One slogan had me mystified for many days. On the small, official Camino marker signs placed every 500m or so, I have noticed the saying, "CYMRU AM BYTH". It always appears in black marker, in the same style and is clearly the work of one individual. This is the work of maybe the most dedicated graffiti artist in history since he wrote it on every sign over the last 300 kilometers, perhaps more. Finally, I used Google translate and discovered it is Welsh and means "Wales for ever".

Personally, I was raised with far too much respect for property to vandalize it. Although, if pressured, I might admit to participating in a group activity of this nature in my youth. Don't tell my mother.

Generally, this business of graffiti, marking every sign, building and object in some fashion is annoying to me. However, there is something fascinating about the need we all have, in one way or another, to leave our mark, to alter things, to put our own touch on them, to say "Bob was here".

Wales has found its champion

Many are unaware, until now, that Socrates frequently bars in this area.

PEOPLE

We have met people from so many places. While on Camino I've chatted with people from the following countries: Canada, USA, Belgium, Netherlands, Spain, Germany, France, Australia, New Zealand, Italy, Switzerland, Brazil, Argentina, Canary Islands, Sweden, Luxembourg, Korea, England, Ireland, Czechia, Croatia, Romania and I'm sure I have forgotten a few.

We've had opportunities to offer parental advice to a young German girl who was asking for guidance. To offer encouragement to a young, single dad who has a tough life. Interestingly, he is not at all religious but has entered as many churches as possible because he finds a remarkable peace in them. With tears I shared some thoughts with him and told him I will pray for him, and he seemed pleased to know it. We have a new Korean buddy who might come visit us in Canada and a delightful friend from the Netherlands who we meet every few days and hug like old friends.

As much as I am here for quiet reflection, there have also been wonderful encounters. Some, though brief, have left an impression on my heart. I suspect some of those we met would say the same. The saying goes, "The Camino gives you what you need", and this has been true in terms of both solitude and community.

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Sunday, May 14, 2023

Peripatetic Prayer

Yesterday, Jenny and I entered the middle phase of the Camino de Santiago, known as the Meseta, the plains. However, day one of the plains was a different experience for each of us. Jenny took a taxi as she didn't feel well and I walked the 30 kilometers.

Some describe the Camino as being in three phases: mind, body, and soul. The first phase is a challenge to the body as pilgrims battle long, steep ascents and descents which challenge knees, hips and feet often creating shin splints and blistered feet over those first 300kms. The middle section is deemed "the mind", as it challenges one's resolve over the ensuing few hundred kilometers and engenders reflection and contemplation. The initial excitement has past as has the more dramatic scenery and the long grind of the plains has begun. The third and final stage is labeled "the spirit", reflecting the joy of anticipated completion and the soul being lifted as one arrives at the Cathedral of Santiago.

This first day of our Meseta experience was, as we sometimes say sarcastically, "special". Naturally, I didn't like being separated from my wife, but having our phones meant we could be in touch. As it turned out there was no cell coverage all day, which left me concerned about her health and her concerned about my feet. It was a cold and windy 5 degrees Celsius and after walking 10kms I was very excited to get my first coffee of the day and some breakfast as I entered the village of Hornillos. No coffee to be found. Eighteen kilometers in, one of the blisters on my foot burst painfully, sucking out what little of my soul remained in my body after the great coffee let down of Hornillos. While I did secure a "breakfast" of a sandwich, coffee and pint of beer at 11:45, I still had 10kms remaining, which by now had become rather painful on my blistered and cracked feet. (I am keenly aware that some of you endure incredible physical and emotional hardship everyday, so please forgive my whining over small matters).

There were highlights to this uncomfortable day too. Although I walked alone I did have several uplifting encounters including bumping into Benedict, a delightful chap we met 3 days ago. There were vast fields of wheat punctuated by seemingly random fields of stunning red poppies and paths lined with all manner of cheerful wildflowers in yellow, white and purple.

I must say though, that the dominate themes of yesterday's journey were prayer and simply, painfully, and silently putting one foot in front of the other for 7 hours. The "Mind" moniker given to the Meseta region already began to make sense. And let's be honest, this reality of walking the plains is an apropos metaphor for how we experience life in various stages, grinding it out, step by step.

Over the 7 hours I naturally engaged my usual prayer liturgy, which when interspersed by short chats with fellow peregrinos (as pilgrims are called in Spain), my many scattered thoughts and the occasional pause to take a picture, might last an hour. I also spend perhaps thirty minutes engaged in something like repetition of the Jesus Prayer or a short breathing prayer. For those of you keeping score at home, as baseball broadcasters say, this left me with five and half hours of, well, just walking. Silently walking. This leads me to reflect on St. Theophan and Sister Maria.

The 19th century Russian Orthodox monk St. Theophan the Recluse was celebrated for his teachings on how to live the spiritually life. He said this about prayer, "The principal thing is to stand before God with the mind in the heart and to go on standing before Him unceasingly, day and night until the end of life." I like this distillation of what it is to pray and trust Theophan would not object to the substitution of "walk before God" for "stand before God". After all, life necessitates motion. We are all peregrinos in some fashion. My silent walking was also prayer.

I wrote about Sister Maria of Zabaldika in a previous post. One item she gives each pilgrim is a paper called The Beatitudes for Pilgrims, though I do not know the authorship of these sayings. The 9th beatitude states, "Blessed are you, pilgrim, if you discover that the road has much to do with silence; and silence with prayer; and prayer with encounter with the God of love who awaits you." As we walk the Meseta I think this will become clearer.

As stated above, there were small delights along yesterday's path. One I failed to mention was the Cuculinae, or cuckoo birds that have been daily companions during our walks. Until this trip I had only heard this sound coming from old "cuckoo clocks", which have largely gone the way of another famous bird, the dodo. The call of this bird, which I have yet to actually see, makes me smile every time as it strikes me as comical, almost cartoon like.

In the silent prayer of walking these small delights feel oddly important, I might even say sacramental. They are reminders of grace and of God in the simple monotony of putting one foot in front of the other. I am told that Pastor Richard, who is covering for me during this sabbatical, shared these words from Elizabeth Barret Browning last Sunday: "Earth is crammed with heaven and every common bush afire with God: but only he who sees takes off his shoes." Whatever your path brings today I hope you keep walking and that you also see flowers, encounter friends and hear birds and maybe even take off your shoes - not to replace dressings on blistered feet but out of awe of the presence of God.

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Monday, May 8, 2023

The Alto de Perdon

I have been thinking about forgiveness. This is not surprising since my daily prayers include the Lord's Prayer, as we call it, as well as an expanded version that restates the forgiveness point three times. This prayer also refers to forgiveness through Jesus as "forgiveness that reforms the world". Moments later the prayer of St. Francis is repeated and this includes, "it is in pardoning that we are pardoned".

The way of Jesus is the way of forgiveness. Recall his utterance on the cross, "Father forgive them they don't know what they are doing", and I'm inclined to think we rarely do. And don't forget that "forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sins against us", is the only aspect the Lord's Prayer that Jesus clarified for us, reinforcing the nexus between divine and human forgiveness (see Matthew 6:14,15).

Walking the Camino, as one moves west from Pamplona through breathtaking landscape, one climbs the famed Alto de Perdon (the Hill of Forgiveness). It is a significant ascent and at the summit one encounters metal sculptures, I believe installed in the 1990s, that symbolize the historical development of the Camino (see photos below).

The sculptures are interesting. But it is the name, "The Hill of Forgiveness" that has stayed with me. And the lore of the Hill too. The intent is for pilgrims to forgive others and themselves with each uphill step. I doubt many take this literally, however with a rise in elevation of 500 meters one certainly has time to consider one's ways regarding forgiveness and do so in light of the Way of Jesus. The obvious metaphor is that as forgiveness is granted, as each weight is released, the ascent becomes easier. Reaching the peak, the pilgrim can enjoy the relative weightlessness of this newfound freedom and the descent will be easy. In reality the descent was anything but easy but the power of the metaphor remains.

Sometimes we speak of forgiveness in a somewhat mechanistic ways, as though it was a matter of simple transaction. I cause injury, the injured brings this to my attention, I utter an apology taking ownership, forgiveness is offered and all is well once again. This is good, better than not. I suspect there are much deeper waters from which to drink if we wish to walk the way of Jesus.

This is captured, at least for me, in the speeches of Father Zossima in Dostoyevsky's The Brothers Karamazov.

Zossima speaks of hell as the suffering of being unable to love. He teaches that no one can judge a criminal unless he realizes he is just such a criminal as the one before him and perhaps more than anyone responsible for the transgression. He tells of his brother who asked forgiveness of even the birds and notes that while this seems senseless, the birds and children will certainly feel happier in the presence of such a person. Zosimma counsels, "make yourself responsible for all men's sins" and in doing so find salvation.

Clearly, I cannot do Dostoyevsky and his brilliant character Father Zosimma justice. However, in my walking, praying and reflecting on the Alto de Perdon, this eccentric priest came to mind. Reading Zossima brought me to tears. It seems to me the Way of Jesus, the life of love and constant forgiveness is wonderfully captured in the portrayal of this character.

Today we walked 25 kilometers and will do the same tomorrow. I suspect Zosimma will come along and, like the Hill of Forgiveness and my prayers, continue to point me to the extraordinary and beautiful way of Jesus.

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Tuesday, May 2, 2023

Zabaldika

You know how it is. You go into something with expectations based on the opinion of others, the info you were able to gather or perhaps your own imagination. Usually these are a set up for significant disappointment. Based on some YouTube clips I had certain expectations for our visit to the church of S. Sebastien (Steven of the book of Acts if I'm not mistaken) in Zabaldika. I was NOT disappointed.

The structure itself is not all that impressive I suppose, unless you stop to consider what it took to build that on a steep hill some 800 years ago. Based on my climb of the bell tower, 56 very narrow stairs, tightly spiralling and buffed smooth by eight centuries of usage, I can surmise that people must have been smaller and more agile back then :) Of course it has a beautiful altar, unbelievably ornate statuary and some of the usual features. One of the unusual features is a statute of Joseph holding the baby Jesus, which I believe is incredibly rare. Don't panic, Mary was not far off. There was also a lovely ancient/modern contrast: a large and very old crucifix surrounded by green "post it" notes placed by visitors and pilgrims who are encouraged to write their prayers and leave them there. Profoundly beautiful.

I must say though, that what exceeded any expectations Jenny or I might have had was our encounter with Sister Maria. I sure hope I have her name right but if not it is a pretty good guess as I have met more than a few Marias here. Sister Maria belongs to the Religious society of the Sacred Heart of Jesus (RSCJ) and these sisters volunteer to keep the church open and to receive pilgrims to not only show them the church but to listen to their stories, to point them to Jesus, to let them pray quietly and to bless them and express the love of Jesus to all who enter.

Although Maria made an appearance on one of the YouTube clips I had seen, and she seemed lovely, meeting her was beyond delightful. It seems every once in a long while you meet someone who exudes love, and I would even say the love of God. Like the beauty of the region we are walking through, this love is difficult to put into words, but when you encounter it it seems you know it. Maria did nothing spectacular for us, gave us no possession beyond an information sheet and in some ways is an unremarkable, petite, elderly woman. But the love. The peace. The powerful and comforting presence of someone fully aware of how loved of God they are and without hidden agenda sharing that, well that is truly remarkable, palpable and moving. Jenny and I shared a few words with her and were both moved to tears. In my estimation growth means continually being transformed to be more like Jesus and it is pretty clear to me that Maria has done far more growing than I. But hope remains.

Jenny with Sister Maria

One final observation. At the outset of the Camino de Santiago one is given a Pilgrims Passport or a Credential, as they call it. At most of the towns, churches or hostels along the way travelers get this stamped to indicate stops on the journey and that adequate miles have been walked to earn a certificate upon completion. The stamp at Zabaldika was that of the Religious Society of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. It is so meaningful, expressing the love of Jesus in the world and for the world. Methinks that includes you.

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Sunday, April 30, 2023

Fog and Crosses

Greetings from Zubiri, in Navarra region of Spain (Basque country).

It occurs to me that on this pilgrimage there is an overwhelming amount of material about which one could write. The beauty, the people one meets from all over the globe, the creatures great and small and many other aspects of the journey thus far are all fodder for reflection. It is difficult to discern if this is because of there being something inherently exceptional about these or if it is due to one's heightened awareness while on pilgrimage. Probably both of these factor into the equation.

Having read several books/journals of other pilgrims and watched plenty of video clips of the same, there is also the temptation to forget that this Camino is my own (or our own as Jenny is with me) and it is not important to mimic what others have done with respect to where they stayed, the sights they photographed or the insights they gleaned. This also rings true regarding this blog. While I would wish to write as well as others or seem as insightful as they, I am learning to come to terms with who I am and be content in this. And from this perspective I will be sharing from my own Camino reflections in hope that it might bring perspective, joy, insight or peace to some of you who chose to follow. With all this in mind, here are the two themes that have been my companions for the first 2 days of this journey: fog and crosses.

Day one was extremely challenging physically. We walked perhaps 9 kms ascending almost constantly and at an incline that was beyond anything I could train for in the area we reside. For perspective, at my less than impressive height of 5'8" (sorry for mixing metric and imperial measure, but I suspect I am not alone for Canadians my age in this regard), if I looked straight ahead with a level I would see the feet of a person only 12 yards ahead of me. Then we descended from this 1400 meters (4600 ft) also at a very difficult angle for perhaps 9 kms. Finally, we walked relatively flat terrain from Roncesvilles to Burgette and our first accommodation.

Now, aside from the grade, the most prominent aspect of yesterday's pilgrimage was the fog. And I don't mean the kind of fog I might encounter at home. I mean the kind of fog in which at 25 meters you begin to suspect an animal nearby but cannot discern if it is a cow or horse, at 20 you cannot seen another human at all, and the kind that makes your hair drip as though in the rain. This kind of fog was our constant companion all the way up and part of the way down our first Pyrenees experience.

The fog was disappointing: we knew we were surrounded by spectacular beauty, high peaks, deep and lush valleys in which we could hear rushing streams and we typically would see great distances and tiny villages below. However, we saw none of this. Part of my daily prayer includes asking God to help me be attentive to what is real, to what or whom is present rather than living in the realm of "if only", or "I wish". Panting and stumbling I began to let go of the disappointment of what I could not see and began to attend to what was. And it turns out that what was, was sounds. Bells worn by flocks of sheep, by horses and cows. Voices and the click of trekking poles hitting rock. Fog was our constant companion but so was sound, so were people and animals. This awareness began to give me this odd joy, delight and peace. The bells made me smile. The voices reminded me that we were part of a large company of pilgrims. My mind went to the "great cloud of witnesses" of Hebrews 12 and the comfort of those with us, even if not always visible as well as those who have previously travel this pilgrimage, both the physical Camino de Santiago and the more general walk of faith. I am thankful for the fog now, it occluded some things but revealed others. The former make great pictures, the later make for great "travel" companions in life.

Crosses. They exist back home, but are ubiquitous here. In two days I have viewed more than I can recount. They are on churches, monasteries, chapels, monuments, memorials, Camino markers and on homes.

In my first post I mentioned using a daily prayer liturgy organized and by Brian Zahnd in Water to Wine. Here are a few lines from these prayers regarding the cross:

"So that as we draw near to Jesus Christ lifted up, His cross becomes for us the axis of love expressed in forgiveness that reforms the world."

Here is another example:

"Lord Jesus, you stretched out your arms of love upon the hard wood of the cross that everyone might come within the reach of your saving embrace: So clothe us in your Spirit that we, reaching forth our hands in love, may bring those who do not know you to the knowledge and love of you; for the honor of your name. Amen."

These prayers have been shaping me for some time. And as a Jesus follower and pastor the crucifixion of Jesus is obviously central to my life. Yet, somehow seeing these crosses, these prominent visual reminders of stone, wood, metal and paint seemingly everywhere in Spain, have magnified the outrageously generous love of God expressed in the embracing arms of Jesus and have, by extension, been challenging my lack of wide eyed, generous hearted embrace of all God put in my path. Lord have mercy on me.

Posts in this series:
Welcome to The Long Walk
Ent-ish

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Saturday, April 22, 2023

Ent-ish

I love to walk among the willow trees along the Grand River near our home. There is something decidedly Ent-ish about these willows. Now I know this blog is about our journey on the Camino de Santiago, however, it is about a week before we leave so I am practicing two things before we leave: walking and blogging.

Back to the willows. The one in the photo has fascinated me for years. My photos don't do it justice so let me explain. The tree is completely broken off at about 12 feet and has been for probably many years. You can see one main horizontal branch remains and it has a secondary one stemming from it. I have used an online lumber calculator and "guesstimate" this branch weighs about 1500 pounds. In the same way a five pound weight is easy to hold in close to your body but really tough to hold with your arm extended out all the way, the eccentric load of this branch must create incredible strain at the point at which it joins the trunk. What my photos don't capture well is that the trunk of the tree, which was 3 feet in diameter is not only split in half, but the remaining half is almost entirely rotted away, leaving a thin 4 inch wall of living trunk around one half of the original circumference.

This Ent like tree reminds me of the words of Miracle Max in The Princess Bride, "it's mostly dead, which is partly alive", or of Greg Boyd's band called NDY, Not Dead Yet. As I walked past it today I noticed the one and only branch is full of buds and will soon be in full leaf. It is hard to believe it strong enough to stand let alone healthy enough to produce leaves for another summer. I love this tree. I have taken many very poor pictures of it, none of which capture its resilience, its odd and almost humorous shape, its stubborn refusal to give up even though the vast majority of it has long become organic soil.

Frankly, I'm not too sure why I am writing about this tree. Seeing it doesn't just amuse me, it moves me. Perhaps I think of it as s symbol for my life, or life generally. Along the way some beliefs fall off when we find they no longer serve us, plans may die and rot away due to changing circumstances, we might suffer some damage along the way inflicted by others or by having allowed our false self to control our narrative for far too long. And yet, there is life, there is resilience, there is growth and there is strength. I might even say there is beauty. Like the willow, which some might see as distorted and disfigured, but I see as special, as having earned its place. If I spoke Entish I suspect I would learn that this willow is wise and that its hollow trunk has provided refuge for many little critters and its one remaining branch is the favorite perch for many birds.

Posts in this series:
Welcome to The Long Walk
Ent-ish

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Thursday, April 20, 2023

Welcome to The Long Walk

Welcome friends. I am glad you are here.

I am not exactly an avid blogger. My presence on social media is minimal. I only recently learned what a Google Doc is 😊. However, as I am about to set out on the Camino de Santiago, I decided I would share aspects of my adventure with those who might find value in it and who probably would not have the opportunity to walk the Camino themselves. My good friend Steven was kind enough to set this blog up for me. Thanks buddy.

For those unfamiliar with the Camino, you can find loads of info online and some fantastic videos on YouTube. In particular I would recommend these videos: Faith Walk with Peter and Kristen (Spirit and Nature Productions) for a well made film that tells their story, or Camino Frances (The Fast Hiker) if you want to see a film that is less story and more detailed on the physical aspects of the walk. If you prefer to read, Peri Zahnd has written a great little reflection on her Camino adventure with her husband Brian (one of my favorite authors of late), called Every Scene by Heart. Basically, the Camino de Santiago is an historic Christian pilgrimage along various routes that all lead to Santiago de Compostela, Spain. The route Jenny and I will be walking is known as the Camino Frances since it begins in France, but after only a day we will be in Spain for the rest of the 780 kilometer trek.

Frankly, I am not exactly sure how often I will post. It could be daily, weekly or just randomly when I feel inspired. My hope is that while walking across Spain I will be able to be fully present and attentive to aspects of the experience: nature, beauty, people, God and the many historical physical testaments to the Christian faith and the pilgrims who have walked this path for over the past 1000 years (churches, monasteries, convents, art, etc.). Since this adventure is taking place during the very beginning of a sabbatical I am hesitant to commit to frequent posting, fearing that it will feel like work. So, I will post when it seems joyful to do so.

People have been asking me why I want to walk the Camino de Santiago. To be honest, I am not sure. It's not like I have long dreamed of this. I do know that the sabbatical seems necessary for me at this point: taking a break from pastoral ministry, feeling some residual unease over the polarizing last few years, recently finishing doctoral studies and experiencing major change to our family with both daughters getting married over the last 18 months. Instead of addressing the question of why I want to walk the Camino, I think I can more easily address the question of what I hope to get from the experience. Primarily, I hope to experience the ways in which physically walking, many miles on an old path, correlates with walking through life with Jesus. This is obviously not easy to articulate and no matter how I attempt to phrase it, it sounds either contrived or silly, perhaps both. Maybe the best I can do is explain this hope in terms of some practices.

First, I plan to use a particular prayer liturgy or pattern as I begin walking each day. I have often used the liturgy shared by Brian Zahnd in his book "Water to Wine" over past few years and will make this an essential aspect of my journey. Walking while praying has become very meaningful for me going back to using Matt Canlis's book "Backyard Pilgrim" for Lent for the past 3 years.

Second, I hope to enjoy quiet, if not exactly silence. This too can be understood as prayer or meditation. As Orthodox Christians engage the "Jesus Prayer" as part of the hesychastic tradition in which they "let the head fall into the heart" and aim at union with God beyond word or image (see Kallistos Ware), I also hope to rest in this experience while walking, to whatever degree I am able. If in simply putting one foot in front of the other for hours each day I am able to let some of what is in my head settle and be distilled, it will be a great blessing. It seems to me that following Jesus requires learning and leaning into His values, not just learning information. Perhaps getting away from new information will be a catalyst for this other kind of learning.

Finally, and very simply, I expect that this long walk of the Camino will serve as a powerful metaphor for life long learning, becoming and growing. I will not be walking to find God, as though He is hiding in Santiago, but walking with Him. While this is an everyday, everywhere pattern for the life of faith, I trust that the actual, physical and undoubtedly challenging trek across the Pyrenees, the Meseta and Galicia will be a memorable lesson in this regard.

Matt Canlis makes the observation that Jesus walked everywhere and when we walk, we are going Godspeed, about 3 miles an hour. I suppose for about 6 weeks I plan do just that. And as I blog, in some very small way, you will be with me on the journey.

Posts in this series:
Welcome to The Long Walk
Ent-ish

...