Pilgrimmage to Santiago

St. John Paul II said, "For the Church, pilgrimages, in all their multiple aspects, have always been a gift of grace."

I do not make it a point to go on pilgrimages just for the sake of it. I had been advised by priest friend to not reduce a pilgrimage to religious tourism. I want a pilgrimage to be something great, an experience I will reflect and meditate on for years to come. I have been to Lourdes and Lisieux, France, among many other sites. I always had a reason to visit these places. One pilgrimage that was worthwhile for me was a visit to Santiago de Compostela.

Places are rarely what you expect. Such an observation is admittedly a bit cliché. I had been desiring a trip to Santiago de Compostela for so long, and now I finally had a group ready to go. We met in Leon, Spain, and began our trek from that point. I was not in the best physical shape, despite months of training in preparation for the trip. I had come to Santiago with the intention of looking for something – and hopefully finding something. I had planned meticulously, but the unexpected can catch even the best planners by surprise sometimes.

There I was, standing in the middle of the Camino trail, ready for the first day’s 30 km hike. Why was I making this journey? Some people do it for eco-tourism, some for exercise, and some simply go to fill up their time. It was not until I started walking that I really began to understand the meaning of my presence there. Along the route I met so many people, each with a story to tell, and each with a personal reason for coming. I noticed, too, that they were in better shape than I. Each morning I would get up early, tank up on coffee and tortilla, then make my way out the door of the hostel and onto the path. The daily treks were gruelling. I wanted so often to stop and sleep. I was plagued by doubt and fatigue, and that lead to bickering with the group I was hiking with, but I trudged on, despite a persistent urge to quit and go home.

At one point, I encountered a large hill, steep and daunting. How would I climb it, since I was already struggling on the mostly flat terrain of the Camino? The hill, I knew, was crowned by a town called O Cebreiro, and my group was already nearing it and fading from my view. I knew had to get there, too, but my legs were numb. As the afternoon descended towards evening, it appeared I would be stranded on the taunting slope of a hill I could no longer climb.

“Through the troubles of our earthly pilgrimage we find God.” (St. Augustine)

I gave up and dropped to the ground. Cows from a nearby field moved close and I feared they would trample me. Out of nowhere, two people appeared and helped me up. They walked with me up the hill to the small village and accompanied me to the hostel. They even paid for my dinner. Angels, it seemed, had appeared from nowhere and strengthened me.

The next morning, I was re-energized. Going back down the hill wasn’t much easier than climbing it, but I was motivated again. I continued my trek, but now I noticed a widening distance from the group I had originally met. Sometimes, it seems, we need a degree of solitude to really appreciate an experience. And for me, Santiago was one such experience.

As I boarded the Air Canada flight home, exhausted, and made my way to the seat, I thought of that day on the trail. The hill. The exhaustion. The cows. The sense of impending defeat. I peered out the window as I buckled the seat restraint and awaited takeoff. Emotions swirled. My trip had not gone as planned. There had been tensions. There had been struggles. There had been, improbably enough, cows. But as my plane began its own journey down the runway of Barajas Airport, I was surprised by the feeling of deep satisfaction. And I knew it was the good fruit of a grace I had received on that lonely hill, a mercy given to me in the flesh of two fellow pilgrims, each with his own struggles, each with his own sins, but all of us sustained by the same divine love.