Galicia

I have fallen in love with Galicia.

I didn't intend for it to happen. It just did. 

Perhaps it is because my maternal grandmother hailed from this part of the Iberian peninsula - in Portugal. I'm sure my maternal grandfather and paternal grandparents, who immigrated to the USA from the Azores, also have roots in this part of the world as well. 

In an inexplicable and strange way, it does feel so much like "home".

I look into the faces of the people in these villages and they could be my relatives, my aunts, uncles and cousins.  The hair is dark and thick and curly. The skin, "olive" complexion. The eyes are intense and expressive. And, of course, you couldn't miss the distinctive Iberian nose.

I listen to the sounds of the language and music and smell the food and I am instantly transported to my grandmother's kitchen.  I can hear her talking and singing as she cooks. 

There is a softness to the sounds of the language my grandmother reminded me constantly that I'd better learn fluently 'lest I be unable to speak with the angels, for it is a language so beautiful that it is the chosen form of communication in heaven.. 

It is a "shuusch" sound that falls with such familiarity and tenderness  on my ears that it almost makes me weep with a sense of ... what is it? Nostalgia? Homesickness?

Ah, no. It's not that. 

Now I remember. 

It's 'soledad', an inexplicable longing, a loneliness, a wanting for something that may be right in front of you but somehow is not available, perhaps because it has changed. Or, is no longer there as you remembered. Or, wasn't what you expected.

My grandmother used to remind me that you can have 'soledad' for a person when he or she is sitting right next to you.

I thought I was coming here to Spain to walk The Camino. And, I did that. I have the swollen ankles, the spider vein that popped on the back of my left calf and the still vaguely sore muscles to prove it.

More importantly, my heart is full and my soul is content that I not only physically walked The Camino (no small feat), but did so spiritually and emotionally as well.

At least, I thought I was content. 

Until I saw more of Galicia. 

And now, I have 'soledad' for a place I have only just this one time visited. 

I know. How does that even make any sense? 

I don't know. It just does. Somehow, it makes perfect sense. 

I am reminded of that wonderful quote by Blaise Pascal, "The heart has its reasons which reason knows nothing of."

It is said that The Camino provides what the heart and the soul did not know that it had lost. 

I am discovering this new chapter of The Camino which, it is also said, never ends at the Cathedral de Santiago. It only just begins there. 

And so, I am leaving this place knowing that I will be returning one day. 

Yes, I want to discover Iona and make a pilgrimage there.

Yes, I hope to finish the pilgrimage of the Axis Mundi and make pilgrimages to Rome and Jerusalem.

Now that I know the differences between being a tourist and a pilgrim, I am longing to see what my heart and my soul and my spirit will gain from those two ancient, holy places. 

But, I also hope to return here to Galicia as a pilgrim not a tourist, to discover or recover or uncover my ancestral roots and deepen my spirituality and commitment to service which was such an integral part of the spirituality of my grandparents.

And so, I'm off to the Aeropuerto de Santiago de Compestella. I wanted to go back into the Cathedral Square for one last time - perhaps to attend early mass at the little Capilla Santa Maria Solome, the mother of Santiago - but I simply couldn't bear to say goodbye again.

My heart is filled with emotions, mostly deep, deep gratitude and boundless joy.

My soul is wide open to endless possibilities and dreams.

And yes, I have 'soledad'.

But, it's good, you know?

It means that I have experienced something so good, so wonderful, so amazing, that to leave it brings an instant sense of longing.

In its own way, 'soledad' validates and affirms what the heart has always known.

If I somehow take a sudden, unexpected leave of this life - or, if it is simply my time to go - and you wonder where it is my soul will choose to hover, look no further than Galicia.

I think most of my relatives - past, present and yet to come - are all here.

I am richly blessed and so very, very grateful.

Day 12, Stage 11: O’Pedrouzo – Santiago (20 km / 12.4 mi)

Sunrise at Casa da Torre Branca

The day began at sunrise at the Casa da Torre Branca, a lovely farm house in Lavacolla which has been in the same family for over 400 years, where we had spent the night. We traveled through Pedrouzo and the remarkable, large stretches of eucalyptus forests and pine and fir reforestation areas.

Leaving Lavacolla, we began the ascent up to Monte De Gozo (Mount of Joy), a hill from where we caught our first glimpse of Santiago’s cathedral, which was breathtaking. There it was! Our destination! In plain sight! And yet, so much more walking to be done.

Suddenly, we were thrust out of the bucolic forests and meadows into the city of San Lazaro. Cars, buses, taxis – all jarring street noise which was a sharp reminder that a pilgrim’s journey is not one of sterile piety. The spiritual journey must go right into the heart of humanity – with all of its noise and clamor, its anxiety and suffering, its joys and sorrows – or it is meaningless.

Mount de Gozo (Mount of Joy)

I caught the first glimpse of the towers of the Cathedral from the small square of San Pedro (St. Peter) on which there is a small stone cross.

I must say, it took my breath away. I was flooded with a mixture of emotions. I wanted to go and yet, going there meant that the journey would end. I would have attained the goal of my destination.

As much as I wanted to be there – to ‘make it’ – I wanted to savor these last few steps.

I walked through Cervantes Plaza, via Sacra, Azabacheria Street, Plaza de Azabacheria and then, there I was, with hundreds of other pilgrims of all ages, at the Plaza del Obradoiro, looking at the baroque grandeur of the Cathedral de Santiago.

There I was, standing in the place which had once been the forest where the beheaded body of St. James had been buried, along with the two disciples who had carried his body there from Jerusalem.

There I was! I had made it to the place where for thousands of years millions of people had come to pay homage, to seek forgiveness and be absolved, to be granted a plenary indulgence, to be assured of entrance into heaven, to find an answer, or healing or a cure; or perhaps had no expectation and found nothing or, instead, found exactly what they didn’t know they had lost.

There I was! I found myself filled with a deep sense of gratitude and joy, full measure, pressed down and overflowing.

It was in the midst of that moment that I had a deep insight about how the pilgrimage is more than just a metaphor for life. It is the way of life.

A pilgrimage is filled with hot sunshine and cooling rain, with blisters and bruises, as well as times of unknowing and times of certainty. Life has its many challenges and trials, losses and blessings, its time of sweetness and joy as well as bitterness and sorrow.

A pilgrimage is made step-by-step, one foot in front of the other, in long periods of boredom and tedium, and moments of intense beauty and inexplicable happiness and profound insight. Life is best lived moment-by-moment, day by day, staying as much in the present as possible, marked by periods of clarity as well as uncertainty, sometimes with hope and other times with despair.

A pilgrimage does not necessarily have a lofty spirituality or sense of the holy; neither do some lives. Nevertheless, the Spirit of the Holy One is an ever-present companion, silent only because that Spirit is unrecognized or unacknowledged. 

Cathedral de Santiago

Hospice professionals talk about patients who have a “rally” – a few hour or few day burst of energy where the patient will suddenly ask for a favorite food after several days or even weeks of taking only bites of food and sips of liquid. 

They will ask to have someone in particular come and visit for no particular reason. Or, they will seek forgiveness from someone and/or ask for forgiveness from another.

I believe they have caught a glimpse of their “destination” and they want to slow down their journey a bit and savor for just a little while longer the fruits of their labors here on this side of Eden.

I think I had that “rally” in the Square of San Pedro when I caught my first glimpse of the towers of the Cathedral de Santiago. With my destination in sight, I wanted to savor where I had been and where I was going.

Oh, and then there was the exquisite, unspeakable joy of arriving at the beautiful city!

In the Eucharistic preface of the Burial of the Dead, the Book of Common Prayer of The Episcopal Church has these words, “… for we know that life is changed, not ended…”.

Those words have always been profoundly important to me.

 I believe them with all my heart. I believe them even more deeply today.

When we were in Madrid, the leader of The Camino gave us a white rock to keep in our pocket and a Pilgrim’s Blessing.   I have that white rock near me as I type the words of that blessing.

1.     Blessed are you Pilgrim, if you discover that the Camino opens your eyes to what cannot be seen.

2.     Blessed are you Pilgrim, if what concerns you most is not getting there but getting there with others.

3.     Blessed are you Pilgrim when you gaze out at the Camino and you see it filled with names and sunrises.

4.     Blessed are you Pilgrim, because you have discovered that the real Camino begins when the walking ends.

5.     Blessed are you Pilgrim, if your backpack is getting emptier but your heart is so full that it doesn’t know where to keep more emotions.

6.     Blessed are you Pilgrim, if you discover that taking one step back to help a fellow Pilgrim is worth more than one hundred steps forward without worrying about others.

7.     Blessed are you Pilgrim, when words fail to express the gratitude you feel for every surprising moment on the Camino.

8.     Blessed are you Pilgrim, if you seek truth and make your life a Camino in constant search of people who embody the Camino, truth and life.

9.     Blessed are you Pilgrim, if you find yourself on the Camino and you present yourself with the gift of time without hurries so as not to neglect the image of your heart.

10.  Blessed are you Pilgrim, if you discover that a great part of the Camino is silence, and a great part of silence is prayer, and prayer brings you closer to your (Creator) who is waiting for you.

Life is changed, not ended

I hope that you have found some blessing as you have journeyed with me these last few days. 

I know I feel deeply blessed, full measure, pressed down and overflowing.

I will be posting a few more blog posts as I have a few more days here in Santiago.

Tomorrow I will travel to Rias Baixas by boat to watch the folks on that island harvest mussels and clams and scallops.

They will be brought on board the boat and steamed for us and served with the wine that is also produced on that island.

I travel to Madrid on Monday and will spend a few more hours discovering that magical city. I make my way home on Tuesday.

I am so very grateful for those of you who have kept me in prayer, sending me words of encouragement and support, cheering me on when I was afraid I wouldn’t make it.

As the Spanish say, “Gracias a la vida que me ha dado tanto.”

Thank you, Life, for you have given me so much.

Buen Camino, my friends. Buen Camino.

Day 11, Stage 10: Arzua – O’Pedrouzo (20 km / 12.4 mi)

Today we expect to see many more pilgrims and services along our way, since many of the different Caminos to Santiago will begin to unite. Once again, our route takes us through meadows, forests, orchards and rural villages.

In Preguntono, we take the road leading to Cortobe, Pereiirina, and Calzada. In Saleda the Way approaches the main road leading to Santa Irene, where there is a small 18^th century chapel and a covered fountain with the image of St. Irene. Legend says that those who wash their feet in this fountain get cured and released of blisters.

Today is October 18, 2018, the Feast of St. Luke. Thirty-two years ago, I was ordained priest at St. Ann’s Episcopal Church in Lowell, MA. Lowell is one of the old “mill cities” where English mill owners hired young women from England and then Ireland and then Portugal to work for room and board and a small stipend of about one dollar per month.

In Lowell, one of the mill owners decided to build an Episcopal Church in town. Since his wife’s name was Ann, he decided the church should be named after her. And, since church attendance would be required of his employees, he also required that they tithe 10% of their monthly wages to the church. They had no choice. It was required.

There was poetic justice in my ordination there.

I am the daughter and granddaughter and niece of “mill girls” who worked the mills in the nearby mill town of Fall River, MA.

I am also the daughter and granddaughter and niece of labor union organizers who fought for safe working conditions and fair wages and benefits.

My family became activists and organizers after a fire in one of the factories took the life of my grandparent’s firstborn son and namesake, August Lima Medeiros, Jr. 

I am quite certain that the owner of those mills in Lowell rolled over in his grave at the thought of a Portuguese-Azorean “greenhorn” – and, for goodness sake, a woman – being ordained in “his” church.

That is not exactly the vision he had for the future of that church. His wealth and privilege and sense of how the world is ordered would have prevented him from even imaging such a possibility.

Pity, eh?

Last night, I had a “memory-dream” – a dream that I first experienced the night of my ordination in my bed in the house in Lowell where we lived. It comes back to me every now and again.

I remember being awakened in the middle of the night by a light in the room. As I opened my eyes, the light grew bigger and brighter until it filled the entire room. The center of the light was a pinpoint of open space which beckoned me out of the bedroom. I got up slowly from the bed and softly tipped-toed out of the room to the hallway.

There, I saw the entire city of Lowell illuminated, shining beautifully like a brilliant gem in the velvety night sky. It was not at all the gritty, down-on-its luck city one saw in the harsh reality of the day, with mills long-abandoned and bordered up, waiting and hoping and praying for the next wave of immigrants to make them hum with activity again.

I don’t know why, but I heard myself ask the light, “Am I to stay here?”

And, from the middle of the middle of the light, a sound spoke to the middle of the middle of me: “You will travel far in my name.”

And then, that was it!  The light was gone and I was standing in the middle of the hallway, in the middle of the night, all by myself, in the dark.

I went back to bed and convinced myself that I was just sleepwalking – just a little over-exerted from all the excitement and emotion of the day.

But, that dream has returned and haunted me for years. Sometimes, it just appears. Other times, I invite it back so I can understand deeper layers of its meaning.

Thing of it is, that sound was right. I have traveled far and wide, doing this work of ministry.

I’ve worked in and either been canonically resident or licensed in six dioceses – Maine, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, Maryland, Newark and Delaware. I’ve attended seven general conventions – three times a deputy – and two Lambeth Conferences.

The five years that I was Canon Missioner to The Oasis and worked for Jack Spong, I traveled all over The Episcopal Church, preaching, teaching, presiding and witnessing, mostly in church which claimed never to have met an LGBTQ person before, much less one who was ordained.  

I never would have even imagined, thirty-two years ago, that I would be walking the Camino on this anniversary. Or, as a matter of fact, ever.

I posted this poem on my FB page this morning. It is a poem by Antonio Machado that I discovered a few years ago and it has served to sum up my understanding of my vocation and ministry thus far. I have taken it with me these past 32 years of ordained ministry.

It is the second stanza which has really inspired my sense of ministry. I have come to know that the Bees of Heaven will gather my failures and take them to the Queen of Heaven to be blessed and will return to me as white combs to build new ministry and sweet honey to sustain me.

Last night as I was sleeping,
I dreamt—marvelous error!—
that a spring was breaking
out in my heart.
I said: Along which secret aqueduct,
Oh water, are you coming to me,
water of a new life
that I have never drunk?

Last night as I was sleeping,
I dreamt—marvelous error!—
that I had a beehive
here inside my heart.
And the golden bees
were making white combs
and sweet honey
from my old failures.

Last night as I was sleeping,
I dreamt—marvelous error!—
that a fiery sun was giving
light inside my heart.
It was fiery because I felt
warmth as from a hearth,
and sun because it gave light
and brought tears to my eyes.

Last night as I slept,
I dreamt—marvelous error!—
that it was God I had
here inside my heart.

The Bees of Heaven have been with me on this Camino, taking all my failures up to the Creator who is blessing it and now, even now, is making of it white combs with which I will build the future of my vocation and ministry.

Tomorrow, we walk 20 km to Santiago.

Buen Camino, amigos. I am so blessed that you have come this far with me.,

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Day 10, Stage 9: Sobrado Do Monxes - Arzua (21 km/13 mi)

And so it begins - moving closer and closer to Santiago. We are leaving the Upper Tambre basin and heading towards Carelle, a quiet livestock village with a parish dedicated to St. Lawrence.

We have been following the paved road through Bodelos, Corredoiras, Boimil and Boimorto in rural Galicia. The end of the stage is in Arzua where the North Way and the French Way meet. There is a natural bee production farm here which is quite lovely and famous. We are staying for a second night in the incredible 17th century manor house Pazo de Brandeso.

Today's poem for reflection is Finding What You Didn't Lose, by John Fox

When someone deeply listens to you
it is like holding out a dented cup
you've had since childhood
and watching it fill up with
cold fresh water.
When it balances on top of the brim,
you are understood.
When it overflows and touches your skin,
you are loved.

When someone deeply listens to you
the room where you stay
starts a new life
and the place where you wrote
your first poem
begins to glow in your mind's eye.
It is as if gold had been discovered!

When someone deeply listens to you
your bare feet are on the earth
and a beloved land that seemed distant
is now at home within you 

She came quickly around the corner, looking distracted, eyes down. She almost ran into me.

"Oh! Sorry," she said.  And then, she backed up a half a step and looked at me. She moved her head back and forth, looking at me.

"Oh, my," she said. "You look different today. I mean, I almost didn't recognize you."

I smiled and then felt suddenly like a self-conscious teenager, and a bit embarrassed.

"You ARE feeling better, aren't you?" she asked.

"Yes, yes I am," I said.

"It shows," said she. "Welcome back.'

"Or, " she said with a smile, "perhaps I should say, welcome."

Several of my fellow pilgrims have smiled and asked, "Feeling better?" Others have just smiled a knowing smile.

Most of the toxins I had been carrying within my body are now gone. I am able to breathe more deeply than before. A full breath. In. And, out.

I'm sure I have not lost a pound. In fact, I'm sure I - we all - have gained weight. (How could we not?)

And yet, I feel so much lighter. Brighter.

I feel like I am more of who I am. More at home in my self.

I was reflecting on this poem and realized that I have not said much of anything to my fellow pilgrims about my interior journey on this pilgrimage and yet, it seems, I have been deeply listened to and heard.

Anyway.

The particulars of the subject or issue matter not. My fellow pilgrims have been listening. They know. They see me. They hear me. They care.

And the truth of the matter is that I have been listening deeply to each one of them. I know. I see. I hear. I care.

I don't know how that has happened without speech or conversation. I only know it has.

I came to this Camino with a curiosity about many things but one of them was the personification of The Camino. People speak about The Camino as if it were a person.

Goodness knows, I've easily fallen into it.

"The Camino will teach you."

"The Camino will guide you."

"The Camino will provide."

I've thought it an interesting phenomenon - the way some people personify evil as Satan or good as an Angel. It makes it very convenient never to have to take responsibility for your own evil. Or, for that matter, to claim and own your own goodness.

While I still believe that's true, there is something . . . magical . . . or, mysterious . . . . or, at least, inexplicable . . . about the personal transformation that happens on The Camino.

I can't really explain it. I think it's one of those things you have to experience to know.

I have come to decide that that "something" that happens, happens because of deep listening. I suspect that deep listening can happen when one meditates or prays.

But, the walking  . . . .

Something happens in the walking.
Something happens in the walking to a different place.
Something happens in the walking in a different place where basic things are the same:
Earth
Rocks
Trees
Dogs
People
And yet, everything is different enough to have to pay attention.

Something happens in the walking
You walk and walk and walk, miles and miles and miles
And suddenly find yourself in a place deep inside you
Memories
Thoughts
Joy
Tears
People
And, you find yourself a stranger in a familiar land.

Something happens in the walking
When you listen more deeply to your surroundings
more deeply to yourself
more deeply to others
loving yourself more
being more gentle with yourself
so you can love
and be more gentle
with others.

Something happens in the walking.
You learn a new way to pray
that doesn't assume God is parent
but Creator
not as One who judges and condemns
but One who naturally gives and naturally takes
One who listens deeply
and inspires creation
and re-creation
in you.

Something happens in the walking.

In two days, we will be in Santiago, entering the city where for thousands of years millions of pilgrims have made this walking journey.

Something happens in the walking where millions of others have walked with intention.

There is something inexplicably marvelous and magical and mysterious about that.

We'll just call it "The Camino".

I know I am forever changed.

I am finding what I didn't lose.

Day 9, Stage 8: Altos de Mamoa to Sorado Dos Monxes (21 km/13 mi)

Today, The Camino in Galicia takes us to the highest point of the entire way – approximately 900 feet above sea level – across the boundary of Lugo, to enter the province of A Coruna, and continue towards Sobrado dos Monxes, where there is a monastery built in the 10^th century, run by Cistercian monks. We’ll be spending the night in a lovely rural manor – a palace, formerly – in Arzua.

Today’s reflection is from The Sound of the Genuine by Howard Thurman

There is in every person something that waits and listens for the sound of genuine in herself. There is in you something that waits and listens for the sound of the genuine in yourself. Nobody like you has ever been born. And no one like you will ever be born again.

You are the only one.

If you cannot hear it, the sound of the genuine in you, you will never find whatever it is for which you’re searching. And if you hear it and then do not follow it, it were better that he had never been born. You are the only you that has ever lived. Your idiom is the only idiom of its kind in all the existences. And if you cannot hear the sound of the genuine in you, you will all of your life spend your days on the ends of strings that somebody else pulls.”

Things happen to the body at this sea level. Especially a body under the stress of walking up hills. Especially a body which has been under stress, anyway, for a long time.

The simple truth is that I did not research well enough the different terrain of this land and therefore, did not prepare well for it. I thought we’d be walking, so I walked. I walked on pavement. I walked on dirt trails. I walked on flat surfaces. I walked in malls. I walked up slightly hilly surfaces. I sweated. I worked hard.

Nothing got me seriously out of breath or feeling dizzy or queasy so that my heart was pounding so fast and so hard I could hear it in my ears and feel it pounding through my entire body.

I was not prepared for the effect of walking up steep hills in high elevation. I take full responsibility for that. That's one thing I didn’t research. So, I didn’t prepare in the way I needed to in order to deal with these hills at this altitude.

But, I also know that I came here to do this walk because I knew, in that place of knowing, that I have been holding onto a lot of toxins. And, those toxins made it increasingly difficult for me to hear “the sound of the genuine” in me.

For me, there are two kinds of toxins. The first is chemical.

As a Hospice Chaplain, I work with people who have recently finished a course – sometimes several long courses – of chemotherapy. We are frequently advised to exercise and drink lots of fluid because our patients often perspire and/or exhale those chemicals as their body tries to get rid of them.

Sometimes, you can even smell it in the air in their room. When we touch them or lean in close to hear them, we can take small amounts of the by-products of the chemicals which, over time, can have an adverse effect on us, making us feel sluggish or out of sorts.

The other kind of toxin is from certain personalities and, especially, corporate systems. I suppose we ought not be surprised that the helping professions – medicine, nursing, psychiatry, social work, religious organizations, etc. – seem to attract toxic personalities, or that those toxic personalities might contribute to the toxicity levels in corporate systems.

It’s paradoxical, on one level, isn’t it? I mean, people ‘just’ want to help others. That’s pretty straightforward. They ‘just’ want to help, to ‘just’ be of service, to ‘just’ make a difference.

The question is “Why?” Why do you want to ‘just’ help?

Intention and motivation are important to examine. Let me give you an example.

There is an oncologist – a cancer specialist – who is described as “very aggressive” in his treatment plans. If you want to “fight cancer” if you want to “beat cancer”, he’s your guy. He will load you up with every cancer-fighting drug in his arsenal of cancer-fighting weapons and give you as many and as much as you can tolerate. And then some.

He doesn’t tell you how absolutely miserable it will make you feel, how it will compromise the quality of your life and only give you – maybe, maybe – a 30 or 40 percent chance of extending your life – maybe, maybe – another year, or two.

Then again, maybe you will “beat the odds” and live the rest of your life cancer-free.

It could happen.

The cost will be very high, but if you want to risk it, he’ll provide you with the means. The thing of it is, if you listen to him closely, he’s very clear to say, “I”. As in, “I can help you.” As in, “I can give you another day.” As in, “I can give you another year.”

So, if you start one of “his” medical treatment plans that “he” prescribes for you and the extra time “he” gives you, and you start to feel like, actually, you’d prefer quality of life over quantity of life, w.e.e.e.e . . .l.l.l.l.l.l., now you’ve got a problem, see? Now, you’ve insulted him. Now, you’re a quitter and he doesn’t work with quitters.

Now, you’ve made him angry and he will not shield you from his anger, not even in your weakened and miserable state. Not even if it makes you cry. Actually, that will just make him angrier, and he will storm out of the room.

And, no, he won’t refer you to Hospice. Never! You’re on your own, now.

So, I’m back to my question: Is that ‘help’?

One wonders about his motivation and his intention. Who is he ‘helping’, really?

That’s a fairly extreme example. There are others that are more subtle than that.

Like, the social worker who is just a great guy, you know, always asking team mates if he can help them in any way – change a tire, mow their lawn – what a guy! Then, one day, he says something inappropriate, something sexual, and he just doesn’t understand why you’re upset. I mean, he’s a great guy, isn’t he? You’re just being overly sensitive. And then, he gaslights you like a champ.

Lots of borderline personalities flock to the helping professions. Community-based helping organizations (including churches and temples and their affiliated organizations)  get more than their share of passive aggressive behavior, lots of projection, and tons of “dysfunctional behavior”.

It’s important to remember that the “dys” in dysfunctional stands for “pain”.

Dysfunctional behavior is painful behavior. It is a person functioning out of a painful past that he or she is working out. I try to keep that in mind so that, first and foremost, I can be compassionate, but secondly, to keep a healthy distance.

Trying to ‘keep a healthy distance’ for a clergy-person, anyway, is a constant challenge. If you aren’t “all giving” and “always available” or provide the answer someone may want or need to hear, you are bound to hear a loud harrumph or soft weeping followed by, “And you call yourself a priest/minister/clergy person!”

It goes without saying that there are many priests/ministers/clergy people who are, themselves, dysfunctional. Oy, there are large, multiple minions of them! I have known clergy support groups that are comprised of dysfunctional clergy who support each other in their dysfunction.

I was part of one, briefly. It was awful. It would be hilarious if it weren’t tragic and sad. And, toxic.

In my experience, sooner or later, the dysfunctional person will attempt to re-create in you the turmoil and pain they are feeling. They don’t do this to be mean or cruel. They are doing it because it is the only way that they will know that you know how they feel.

Sometimes, the dysfunctional system will do the same thing. It’s called “corporate culture” and you either fit in, or you don’t.

One way of ‘survival’ in dysfunctional systems is to create ‘silos’ – parallel universes where one does one’s work alone, with concern for their project and then one “puts on a game face” to come out and interact with others.

In the corporate pecking order, the idea is everyone “below” is making the one “above” look good so you keep your nose to the grindstone and don’t make any waves so one day you, too, can move up the corporate ladder. You smile, you agree, you go along to get along and get along to get ahead.

The real mark of a dysfunctional system is poor communication. Everyone thinks the other person, the person lower than them, sent along the message. Another is that, when an “educational event” happens, the presenter cares less about whether or not the information was received and understood and more – much more – about whether or not everyone signed the attendance sheet.

One thing that over 30 years of working with church personalities has taught me:

Anyone who seems to work really hard at being nice is someone you absolutely ought not ever trust.

And, the amazing thing is that no one knows how transparent they are; how inauthentic they are.

I have long understood that, as a clergy person who works in hospice, I “live and move and have my being” in multiple sources and levels of toxicity. This is a core piece of why The Camino appealed to me as “good medicine” for me, giving me the opportunity to walk and sweat off the toxicity I’ve been holding onto and to drink lots of water to flush it out of my system.

‘Walking in Beauty’ is especially appealing to me for that reason. I think beauty is the strongest medicine to neutralize the ugliness of the evil that can build up in toxic people and toxic systems.

I have tested that theory and proven it correct. Indeed, I think I’m getting rid of lots of toxins on this walk. In fact, I know I am. All the toxins I’ve been holding in my gut are finding their way out. As they make their way out and make room, I am also releasing the toxins I’ve held in my mind and my heart.

It’s a long, terrible, awe-full, wonder-filled, process. I am blessed to have this time to do this important, transformative work.

The Camino is a wise teacher, knowing what each peregrino needs even before s/he knows what s/he wants or needs.

There’s a line in a Madonna song, “Beauty’s where you find it.”

Releasing long-held toxins to make room for more of the goodness and beauty of life is an amazing and healing thing.

It is helping me to rediscover the sound of the genuine in me.

Thank you, again, for making this journey with me. I'm so glad you're here.

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Day 8:, Stage 7: Baamonde - Altos de Mamoa (18 km/11.2 mi)

Today began the last 100 kilometers necessary to obtain the Compostela certificate. The plan for today is to take The Camino towards La Coruna, passing through the bridge of San Alberte deep in the forests of Galicia. The way leads through a maze of local and traditional corredoiras roads, through the villages of Raposeira, Aldar and San Paio of Seixon.

In Seixon, we are to turn north through the town of Miraz, in the most secluded and remote territory inside Galicia, where the route climbs up to Altos de Mamoa. At the end, we will have climbed up 900 feet in altitude.

Except, I didn't.

I had suited up, ready for another long day in the pouring down rain. I had on my pink "waterproof" jacket but I also put over it my yellow def-waterproof  poncho. I was wearing my waterproof pants over my hiking pants. And, of course, my amazing waterproof hiking boots.

I was ready to rock and roll on The Camino.

I made it less than the first kilometer when my stomach, which had been queasy since last night (I only ate 1/2 my dinner), started to rock and roll.

Apparently, I have been felled by some sort of stomach virus. Or, perhaps, the altitude.

Or, a comination of both. At least those are the three major theories.

There was nausea and retching, dizziness and . . . um . . . gastric distress. With absolutely no bathrooms available along the route, it was considered the greater part of valor to take me back to the Parador where I was allowed to rest.

I just got up a bit ago and was fed tea and toast and jam by a dashingly handsome and most attentive member of the wait staff, who treated me like a princess. "Here, senora, let me help you to the chair."

"Here, senora, allow me to lightly butter your toast. Or, would senora prefer olive oil?"

"Ah, senora chose well. Green tea. Allow me to pour."

"Ah, senora, sip, sip, sip the tea. Sip, sip, sip. Like so. Yes! Good!" Take your time. Relax. No worries, now. You are here. You are safe. Okay? You are pale but you gonna be okay, yes? You let me know if I should call the doctor, yes?  Okay. Remember: sip, sip, sip. Relax. No worries. Okay?"

No worries.

Except, I fretted about lots of things: Not being with my fellow peregrinos, for one. I fretted about what I might have eaten that caused this wretched condition. Or, what "unseen baggage" I was carrying that caused my body to respond in this way.

It's all metaphor, you know.

But mostly, I fretted about not qualifying for the Compostella certificate.

I have finally settled on the fact that I did not dream and plan and prepare and walk this much of The Camino for a piece of paper.

I am doing The Camino not to prove anything or to accomplish anything.

I am doing The Camino for my self.

I am doing The Camino for my soul.

I am doing The Camino so that one day, perhaps, my grandchildren or great grandchildren will look back through their family tree as I have, attempting to discover, perhaps, why it is they have this yearning to discover - or uncover - or recover something about themselves and their lives.

Someone suggested that my Camino passport could be taken along and stamped for me so that I could still receive the Compostella certificate.

Someone else responded, appropriately, "But, that would be dishonest."

Someone else - someone with a Roman Catholic childhood - added, "Yes, she will not have deserved the certificate."

Even in my haze of dizziness and temporary misery, I found myself inwardly chuckling.

Dishonest? Yes, of course. But, I appreciate the sentiment.

Deserving? As a former RC, I recognized the concept immediately.

Worthy is its second cousin, twice removed by Guilt.

I have always loved that line in the Eucharistic Prayer, ".... we are made worthy to stand before you."

Indeed. No groveling. No bowing and scraping. No fawning. No sniveling.

Yes, "deserving" applies to the Certificate of Accomplishments. Of course.

I will still receive a Certificate of Distance. That will be sufficient for itself.

I am a peregrina. That will not change. Ever.

Sort of like being in the Olympics. Winning a medal is great, but the thing is being an Olympian.

I remembered that wonderful poem, Wild Geese, by Mary Oliver:

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.

Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting --
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

I am here. I am on The Camino which has taught me that I will always be a peregrino.

I still have my place in the family of things. The world has not stopped. My vocation has not ceased to call to me.

I am walking. Not physically, today. But the pilgrimage has not stopped because I was unable to physically walk today.

God willing, I will pick up my walking sticks and walk tomorrow.

I just set out my clothing and rain gear for the morning. My walking sticks are set at their appropriate height. My boots and socks are in their proper place.

I am recovering. I am ready.

I may have room service tonight - just a simple broth and, perhaps some tea and toast. I think I'd like to be pampered again by that dashingly handsome waiter who treats his guests like royalty in a Parador which used to be the castle of Fernan Perez de Andrade.

Tonight, I am a 'princess peregrino'. I will feast on tea and jam and bread and, perhaps, some broth for strength.

Muchas gracias, amigo/a. I am so deeply grateful for your company on this journey.

I hear you, fellow wild geese, honking to let me know you're right behind me in formation.

Thank you.

Day 7, Stage 6: Pontevella to Villalba (11.5 km/7.1 mi)

Now, The Way begins to turn south and west, leaving the ocean and traveling through grassy meadows populated by picturesque farming villages and beautiful farmer groves with willows, birches and oaks.

We have moved through the principality of Asturias and into the principality of Galatia, where evidences of Celtic influences abound. I passed a Neo-Gothic town cemetery – I’ll try to add the picture – which has stone niches where caskets are laid to rest, stacked up four niches high, with large spires on top.

Some of the spires have simple crosses, others more ornate and still others have Celtic crosses, with an open circle in the middle of the cross, representing the sun – its dawning and setting, or incarnation and resurrection – all enclosed in the circle representing the earth.

It is said that, because of the Celtic influence, the Galatians are “superstitious” people. The spires on the top of the cemetery are meant to dissuade the dead souls from returning to their caskets, hoping to “pinch their toes” if they try to walk along the top.

It is said that there are also many “witches” here who practice “earth medicine”. They are said to help lost souls find their way back to Paradise, something which the Catholic Church here has long quietly – some say silently – supported. 

Anything to avoid the “mischief” that can happen when a soul is not where it should be or doing what it is meant to do.

It is pouring down rain here today, with thunder and lightening punctuating the drama of walking in the rain. I’m so very glad my Columbia hiking boots are waterproof, but the rain slicker I got is less than advertised. I didn’t get soaking wet but let’s just say that my body was not as dry as my feet.

There is something about walking in the rain that is magical all in and of itself. The occasional bursts of fog add an ethereal quality to it that has a sense of the Holy about it.

The brim of my hat covered my eyes nicely and the hood from my jacket kept everything in place. The rain stayed off my glasses, allowing me to see. I kept my head down, mostly, but reminded myself every now and again to look up and around.

My path was mostly through back roads and farmland. Cows bellowed and geese honked, donkeys brayed and dogs barked. I saw a man out in his side yard chopping wood, his German shepherd sitting nearby, neither of them seemed to mind the rain.

I did get lost. Once. The Camino markers are pretty clear here in Galatia, but, well, I missed one. I was only about ¼ of a mile off the track, however, when our driver Jose Marie and guide Ignazio came by in the van and got me back on the right track.

One peregrino said to me, “There is no shame in getting lost in the rain. It happened to me on a sunny day. Twice in one day on another summer day. You are doing well. This is your Camino. There is no right way. There is no wrong way. There is just your way. You do your Camino your way and let others worry about what it means to be lost – or found.”

Tomorrow, we begin the last 100 km of The Camino and prepare our hearts and minds to enter the great city of Santiago on Saturday, the 20th. This city has been the destination of peregrino for a thousand years.

I’ve been thinking about “lost souls” and destinations and being where you are supposed to be when you are supposed to be there. 

I am taking inspiration from this poem by Jan Richardson:

This is not

any map you know.

Forget longitude

Forget latitude.

Do not think

of distances

or of plotting

the most direct route.

Astrolabe, sextant, compass:

these will not help you here.

This is the map

That begins with a star.

This is the chart

that starts with fire,

with blazing,

with an ancient light

that has outlasted

generations, empires,

cultures, wars.

You cannot see it all,

cannot divine the way

it will turn and spiral,

cannot perceive how

the road you walk

will lead you finally inside,

through the labyrinth

of your own heart

and belly

and lungs.

But step out
and you will know
what the wise who traveled this path before you
knew:
the treasure in this map
is buried
          not at journey's end
          but at the beginning.  

Amen. 

I am filled with gratitude that you have stayed with me this far, encouraging and supporting me and praying for me.

Thank you.

Day 6: Soto del Barco to El Pito (10 KM / 6.2 miles)

We began today’s pilgrimage in Soto del Barco, towards the towns of Era and Muros de Nalon. Outside the town of Muros, we were able to view Aguilar Beach – a gift from Costa Verde and a feast for the eyes and emotions.

We continued up to the village of El Pito where we rested before driving to the village of Cudillero, a lovely fishing village where we had lunch. Then, we went to the Figueras to reach Ribadeo by boat – the traditional route of the peregrino and will spend the night at the Parador of Ribadeo, right in front of the sea.

I don’t think I’ve yet had enough time to process all of what happened today. Earlier this morning, I learned of the death of the Rev’d Dr. Charles Rice, Episcopal priest, theologian and brilliant homiletics professor at the Theological School at Drew University in Madison, NJ.

Charles was the quintessential Southern gentleman, emphasis on gentle. He had a very quiet voice and a quiet laugh, but you never forgot when he spoke and when he laughed. I especially loved how his eyes focused or danced as he listened deeply to you.

I’ll miss him. I found myself praying for him but what came up was a memory of the Portuguese version of The Hail Mary. I remembered it in the youthful singsong way we said it as kids when I said the rosary with mia Voa (my grandmother) every morning at six. That would be A.M.

I found myself getting lost in that prayer, keeping rhythm with my steps and the click-clack sound of my walking stick. There, out in the forest path, all alone.

Except, of course, I wasn’t. It felt like a mighty cloud of witnesses joined me as I prayed and stepped and moved my walking sticks. All the saints were chanting it with me.

Suddenly, from out of nowhere, I opened my mouth and found that I had started singing that wonderful South African hymn, “We Are Walking In the Light of God.” I felt suddenly lighter and freer, like the whole 6 mile walk that I had fretted over would be a piece of cake. And, it was.

When I finished my walk and came to the checkpoint, I heard one of the peregrino ask another, “Did you hear that choir singing? Wasn’t it wonderful? I wonder where the church is. Oh, it must be that church over there. What a great choir!”

I walked over to them to inquire what song they heard the choir singing. “I don’t know,” answered one as the two looked at each other quizzically. “It was something about walking in the light of God.”

I know you think I’m crazy, but somehow, I wasn’t at all surprised.

Then, we traveled to Fingueras where we were boarded a boat for Ribadeo, a beautiful seacoast town with magnificent views of the ocean and lovely homes that are part of this fishing village.

This is the traditional route of The Camino. Pilgrims take the boat across the way and continue on the route to Santiago.

This is the last of the coastal route, the last time we will have such amazing views of the ocean. The rest of The Camino is inland until we get to Santiago and continue to Finesterra.

And, it promises to rain all day tomorrow, Sunday, and into Monday.

Never mind. Today was more than sufficient for the day. Let me tell you what happened.

Once we landed, the van met us to take us for a special treat to see The Natural Cathedral. Unbeknownst to us, our guides had planned the trip carefully so we could be there at low tide, the only time the beach and Cathedral are available to walk along.

I’m hoping I can upload the pictures and video so you can get an idea of what it is like. If I can’t, please wait a few days and return to check it out. I’ll try to add them when the WiFi is better. It will totally be worth it. Promise.

So, what I saw was the kind of Cathedral only God could create. There are HUGE rock formations with caves that were created from before time.

I went in one of them with a small group of other pilgrims but suddenly, I turned around and I was all alone. I had been studying some carving in the side of the rocks. I don’t know where everyone went but I was quite alone.

I felt a small wave of anxiety and looked at my watch. Our guides had been pretty emphatic – the tide would start to come in at 2:30, and, when the tide came in, it would come in quickly. It could be dangerous, they said. So, start to leave at 2:15.

My watch said 1:50 pm. Plenty of time. And, I could see the exit. So, I relaxed and, in fact, started to giggle a bit. I felt like a little kid left alone in a cathedral. Any minute, I expected the Dean to walk in and shoo me away.

Instead, I think God showed up. Suddenly, there was this great light, streaming down from an opening way, way, way above my head. I was absolutely awestruck. The light was very bright but not blinding. There was this absolute stillness in the cave that was so filled with peace and love it made me weep.

I looked up and a few of the peregrino were looking into the cave with absolute amazement and awe. We looked at each other across this shaft of light and then, just as suddenly as it arrived, it made its departure.

None of us really knew what we had experienced but we knew it was Holy. It was not something that words – in any language – could contain. So we nodded and bowed to each other and left silently, reverently, forever changed.

I’m sure you’re thinking, “Okay, she’s lost it. She’s taken one too many Aleve. Or, maybe the air is thin at that altitude.”

I’m speaking the truth to you. And, I know this much to be true: my hands are trembling as I tell you what happened to me today.

I know there are more amazing things to come over the next five days, but you know, if The Camino ended right here, right now, I would be deeply grateful and richly satisfied.

It’s raining now, softly and gently on the ocean. It had been thundering and lightening as I was writing this.

I don’t know what that was, actually.

I just know there are no coincidences.

I can’t express my gratitude that you are willing to experience this with me. So, I’ll just say what the Spanish people say: Gracias a la vida!

Amen.

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