From before the Camino: I live at the southern end of California’s Central Coast. Some of my favorite places to hike are in the western end of the Santa Monica Mountains, that run from the Hollywood Hills, along the Pacific Ocean, ending just south of my home in Camarillo.
As the weather patterns change, we have had ever growing dryness in the region. Recently, parched land was further marred by dramatic and devastating fires, driven by the fierce Santa Ana winds that tear through our mountains and valleys. One of the worst conflagrations, the Camarillo Springs Fire in May of 2013, burned 24,238 acres in a day and a half, almost the entire north end of the mountain range. It was disheartening to see mile after mile of ash covered hillsides, dotted by the stumps of once beautiful oak and sycamores. It was so dismal I stopped walking there altogether during the three years of drought that followed the fire. It was too depressing.
At last, abundant rains in 2016, restored greenery to the foothills and I returned there to make some of the longer training walks before walking my Camino del Norte.
I have some regrets about having waited so long. I lost an opportunity to watch the quiet rebirth in those dry years. Defying the odds, green branches pushed up from beneath the black and burnt branches, down by the roots of some of the larger bushes. Sycamores, burned in part, greened up in those places where the bark survived. What appeared to be dead oaks, too, sent brave new shoots skyward. The very first season with significant rain produced a spectacular bloom of wildflowers. The will to live is impressive.
I had been so disheartened by the destruction that I missed that beautiful resilience of growing things clinging to life throughout that time, moving from ashes to rebirth. This revival became a metaphor for me, reminding me that, some of the barren landscapes of my own life could bloom again, with some attention.
So, even before I left, I decided not to avoid “The Ugly” on the Camino. That meant, in part, the desolate stretches of industrial building on the outskirts of towns – the bigger the city or town, the more likely there was to be an industrial sector to pass through. They aren’t the most interesting and beautiful sectors, but they have a life of their own, employing people, and enabling them to feed and house themselves.
It also meant probing the more ashy, sometimes barren, not always edifying patterns of my own behavior and history. My intent wasn’t to brow beat or proclaim myself the worst of sinners. Instead, it was to seek the places in my life where I might find the potential for renewal and hope.
Isaiah 49:8-10 – 8 Thus says the Lord: In a time of favor I answer you, on the day of salvation I help you; I form you and set you as a covenant for the people, to restore the land and allot the devastated heritages, 9 to say to the prisoners: Come out! To those in darkness: Show yourselves! Along the roadways they shall find pasture, on every barren height shall their pastures be. 10 They shall not hunger or thirst; nor shall scorching wind or sun strike them; For he who pities them leads them and guides them beside springs of water.
For reflection: There are so many different reasons for aridness, for barrenness in our lives. Mistakes in relationships, misjudgment at work, stress, unrealistic and unfulfilled dreams, unfinished projects, financial worries, the struggles of our children or parents, health issues, anger about politics, depression and so on. Who among us manages to live without the barren landscape of at least some regrets?
Each of these requires a different antidote…but how can we figure out what our salve will be? How do we identify a cure?
Somethings will solve themselves with time, but others will not, and failure to address them can lead to extended bleakness, even desolation.
We live, though, in a society marked by action over reflection and production over being or relating, evident in the fast and furious movies we watch, the action packed books we read, the profit based jobs we work, and the overly impacted lives we offer our children and live ourselves.
Some will balance that intensity with distraction, sinking into the information rich, entertainment abundant opportunities of social media, online gaming, internet surfing and streaming. Others will self-medicate with alcohol, drugs and food. For a window of time, these tools divert us, but they don’t solve our lives’ questions or cure our emptiness.
That process can be labor intensive and require honest probing, willingness to be reflective, and time.
In truth, there are somethings, like deep grief over a death, that can only be solved with time and patience. And some temporary wounds and physical imbalances that are well served by the careful use of anti-depressants. Other root causes may well benefit from honest self-reflection, careful moral evaluation, apologies, and self-forgiveness.
And this brings us to the rich blessing of quiet time on pilgrimage. The Camino gives us an opportunity to confront our compunctions, our losses, and to work through them, and reform our patterns in ways that are more life-giving for ourselves and others.
In that quiet we might ask if others are at peace with us, and just how at peace we are with ourselves? What is missing? Where are the shadowy places in our histories, the places of regret? How does our relationship with the Lord shape our response to what we find? We might need to remind ourselves of the beloved space we occupy in the mind of God. Recognizing how loved we are is the correct place to start doing honest, critical self-introspection. We might also consider repentance and confession.
We can profit from having mentors to move toward the right place. Who do you know that exemplifies the happiness you desire for yourself? Do they have patterns of thinking and behaving you find attractive enough to make your own? Do their ways fit you?
The Camino gives us space to consider the ash strewn hillsides of our lives, piece at a time. It doesn’t have to happen all at once. But if we take a little time here, and a little more there, thinking over some things, talking about others, sharing the fragile places in prayer with the Lord, perhaps we can find deep renewal springing from time well spent becoming our very best selves.
