Yesterday we arrived.
Just a few minutes after 11 in the morning, accompanied by our expert and oh, so caring guide Fran, we came down through the arched passageway at the northeast corner of the Praza de Obradoiro and out onto the plaza itself. Out of the shadow and into the light (yes, we had gotten there ahead of the rain), to where the sun was warming the pavement beneath the magnificent west facade of the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela.
It was breathtaking.
Tears, unexpected, welled in my eyes, and I wasn’t alone. Some of us embraced; some, arms wrapped around others’ shoulders, gazed upward. Some simply stood in awe, both of where we were and the pilgrimage just completed. From Ponferrada, we had walked some 140 miles over the course of 11 days, one of which we rested. Our joints and our feet were all too aware; yet this morning’s 6-miles had gone by blessedly fast. Perhaps it was anticipation that lightened our steps.
We found our way around to the south facing doors and into the Cathedral. Well ahead of the noon Mass, we had time to take in a bit of the architecture and scale of the extraordinary space before finding seats for the service. The Roman Catholic liturgy, with all of its pageantry - the majestic organ, splendid soloist and richly vested clergy - was still familiar. And the homily, according to my my companion (whose Spanish is far better than mine) was graciously welcoming of all pilgrims, bidding us to journey into our futures imbued with love for God and one another.
At the conclusion of the service, the moment we had all been anticipating arrived. The incense in the enormous thurible was lit, and a team of acolytes began turning the wheel that hoisted it far above our heads, then started it swinging back and forth, above north transcept, then south, then back again. Smoke billowing, its arc reached higher and higher, and the scent pouring down felt like a benediction - not just upon those actually present, but also the countless souls who have gathered in that space throughout the centuries to lift up their hearts, and those who will do so in the future. Because in the journey, in pilgrimage, we are one.
Afterward, most of us found meals in warm cafes nearby and then collapsed at our hotel. We had completed an arduous journey and our bodies knew it. There was so much to recover from, so much to begin to process. For me personally, having walked a portion of the Portuguese route of the Camino six years ago, there was also a feeling of “okay, this was really great, as I knew it would be. I have loved the walking, loved the countryside, loved meeting and journeying with incredible people who have become friends. But…what do I carry home with me from this pilgrimage?”
Today I got a glimpse.
Not of the whole thing, mind you. More like a foretaste, with more to come. And surprisingly, it happened this morning when we went to check out the Market here in Santiago de Compostela. Fran had said we shouldn’t miss it, and though the day was gray he was right: it was colorful, and vibrant.
Just before we joined the crowds moving between the fruit and fish and flower stalls, we stepped inside a church on the far corner - large, relatively plain exterior, with a small sign “St. Agostino” at the door. The church of my childhood had been St. Augustine by-the-Sea, and last year I had read the Confessions with a group of dear, nerdy parishioners. I was immediately drawn.
The interior of the church was exquisitely simple. High, uncluttered arches stretched above an ornate gold altarpiece. Meditative music was playing softly through discreetly placed speakers; votive candles flickered in racks placed near the back; open confessional stalls displayed icons from the life of Ignatius of Loyola, founder of the Society of Jesus (the Jesuits).
After taking a couple of photos, I turned to the cluster of votives to my right, and all at once, memories of losses from my immediate family welled up. My mother who passed in 2015, my dad in 2017, my youngest brother in 2019. I dropped coins into the box and lit candles for them, thinking “there were six of us, now there are just three”. Then I lit two more for my surviving brothers, one is doing well and one is not. Five candles for my five “homies”, as my youngest brother had called us, flickering in that place that was evoking so much in me - such deep grief, gratitude and love.
What this pilgrimage has done for me and in me, step by step, mile by mile, day by day, is to gently, yet steadily, peel back the layers of my projects, plans, expectations and imaginings, so that I may more deeply know the wonder of this life that is mine: all it that has been, all that is now, and all that it will be in the years to come.
All, through the gracious and inexplicable gift of the Earth-Maker, Pain Bearer and Life Giver.
Such a blessing it has been! Buen Camino to you all.
The Reverend Christine F. Purcell
Camino Days 11 and 12
