From the Camino: I’m not going to pretend that I didn’t have an intensely spiritual visit the first time I made my way to the Cathedral of St. James to visit what is believed to be the apostle’s tomb. My companion, Fr. Jim, and I had each spent some time on our own. The morning was an incredible high, shared with so many who had made their ways and arrived with us. I spent much of it praying in the cathedral one last time, remembering everyone I had been praying for over the two weeks.
The Portico of Glory was closed off, and the façade of the cathedral was covered in scaffolding, so I was unable to place my hands in the deep handprints of the centuries on the center pillar under St. James, nor could I head-knock Maestro Mateo for wisdom and intelligence, as is the tradition. But other than the fun-to-be-a-part-of-it, such things didn’t matter deeply to me. I was able to embrace St. James’ statue from behind, according to the custom, and make my way to the tomb. Later, I met up with Fr. Jim in time to attend Mass together, and we got to see the botafumeiro swing; the sheer excess of the ancient rite was the culmination of the whole experience.
In my second Camino, scaffolding still covered the cathedral, just like the first time. By chance, I saw five friends that I had made on the Camino sitting in the pews. They had arrived the day before me, and I didn’t expect to see them till later that evening. None of them were Catholic but it didn’t matter to them or to me. We had done the last weeks together, and I was so pleased to see them. Celebrations are always better with friends.
As I was in time for the pilgrim’s Mass, I made my way to the sacristy, one of about twelve priests and the only native English speaker in the group. I was pleased to be asked to do one of the prayers of the faithful in English. It was such a privilege to be part of the liturgy in the company of priests and pilgrims from all over the world. I remember my heart was just singing.
Later, as I made my way down the steps, leading below the altar, to the shrine dedicated to St. James, I was both surprised and grateful that there wasn’t a line, and I was nearly alone with my thoughts. As a professor, I admit to a certain critical skepticism about the veracity of the claim that these are the actual bones of the apostle in St. James’ tomb. Part of me simply cannot bring myself to believe that they are his.
And yet in that moment I didn’t care. For over a millennium, here in this place pilgrims like myself have gathered to remember the martyr James, and to celebrate the obedience of the apostolic commission to proclaim the Kingdom to the furthest ends of the earth.
According to tradition, James brought that faith to Spain himself – and yet, the proof of this was irrelevant to me in that moment. The point is that, somehow, the Gospel got here. And so, we celebrate the fact that the faith was spread by people who, like James, ventured into a hostile world to preach what was truly good news: There is a God who broke into our world, a God who doesn’t ask us to sacrifice our lives or our children’s lives, but was willing to sacrifice himself for us … that this God fashioned us and still loves us and forgives us. We celebrate that apostles brought this message centuries ago to a very different and far harsher world, populated by those who served far more savage gods. For them – and for us — this was truly good news.
And so, each time we as pilgrims walk the Camino toward James’ memorial (whether or not it is, in fact, his tomb), it is a celebration of that triumph.
How lovely your dwelling, O Lord of hosts!
My soul yearns and pines for the courts of the Lord.
My heart and flesh cry out for the living God.
As the sparrow finds a home and the swallow a nest to settle her young,
My home is by your altars, Lord of hosts, my king and my God!
Blessed are those who dwell in your house!
They never cease to praise you.
Blessed the man who finds refuge in you,
in their hearts are pilgrim roads.
As they pass through the Baca valley,
they find spring water to drink.
The early rain covers it with blessings.
They will go from strength to strength
and see the God of gods on Zion. (Psalm 84:6-8)
For reflection: The first attraction to any pilgrimage – and the Camino is no exception — may come from something as mundane as a movie, the story of an acquaintance, or something we’ve read. Pilgrims have many reasons for making this journey. This was true in the ancient world as well. Some sought adventure. Others sought an indulgence or pardon. Still others received sentences, for crimes committed, to go on pilgrimage. Still, then and now there have been those who set out with sincere devotion, with a hunger for union with God – a hunger that can surface in vague, even disguised, ways: in longings for acceptance, for peace, for love, for possessions, for romance, or for chocolate. All of these normal human yearnings, the short-term desires of the heart, fail to satisfy us entirely. Peace gives way to boredom. Infatuations run their course. Even chocolate, theobroma – “food of the gods” – becomes cloying in excess.
There will always be a desire for something more, something else. Our immediate and fleeting satisfactions are but pale, shadowy reflections of the ultimate satisfaction found in God’s holy presence. We were fashioned for that presence, and nothing else will suffice. As St. Augustine so famously wrote at the beginning of his Confessions, “You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our heart is restless until it rests in you.”
The psalmist felt that tug and recognized the source: “My soul yearns and pines for the courts of the Lord. My heart and flesh cry out for the living God.” For the psalmist, that longing found satisfaction only in Jerusalem’s temple, the very heartbeat of spirituality and religious practice for God’s people from the time of Solomon to its final destruction in 70 AD – a thousand years of piety and pilgrimage. Throughout the ages, the faithful journeyed to that place to make their offerings and lift up their supplications. Christians, too, as they have been able, also found their ways to Jerusalem, seeking the holy presence of God.
We, too, yearn for the divine. And so we set out on our own pilgrimages, seeking out those thin places where, Celtic spirituality suggests, heaven intrudes into our human places, where the holy can be accessed. We may even find that the journey itself creates its own thin places where we are not alone, where we are walking with the Lord, so that the journey for some becomes far more important than the destination.
And in this, the psalmist speaks to us. Hebrew poetry has room for expansive interpretation. The sixth verse of Psalm 84, interpreted literally, says “Happy is the person whose strength is in you; roads are in their heart.” My favorite translation is in the NABR: “in their hearts are pilgrim roads.” What would it be like to have pilgrim roads in our hearts?
Is there a pilgrim road in your heart? Are you destined for the journey? Does your “heart and flesh cry out for the living God”? Can you find your heart’s rest any other way? Do you need to go to find out?