In my early days as an English teacher, one of the books I taught in my classroom was called The Things They Carried. This short-story collection by Tim O’Brien is based on the experiences of combat soldiers in the Vietnam War. Each of the stories is from a different perspective, but all are inter-connected, detailing the literal items, emotional burdens, and life experiences that each soldier carries – the common thread being their humanity. On Sunday night last week, October 20, I found myself reflecting on this book after walking my first stage of a pilgrimage on the Camino de Santiago.
Our group of pilgrims – twelve of us total along with our fearless and fun-loving guide Marcos – gathered around at our lodging for the evening. We had just covered about 22km that first day and filled our bellies with Galician soup, pork ribs, and wine. We dreamed of foot massages and our heads hitting the pillow that night, and we had our first and only real group discussion for those coming days. During that talk, I commented on this novel and how it was amazing to me that each person I saw that first day seemed to choose different things to bring with them. Some chose walking sticks, most people had a hat, day packs, rucksacks, ponchos, sunblock, extra socks – you know, the essentials. But there were unique stories and outliers that piqued my interest; because even though we all chose to carry physical items, we were also carrying emotions. And for some, our emotions were carrying us.
As I mentioned, we didn’t talk much after that evening. The days were long, and 22km on the first day turned into 26km the second day, 29km the third, and 40km on the fourth and final leg. The travel plans we had turned into lessons of trust – trust the map, trust the trail markers, trust your body. Each day was a gradual build and everyone was arriving at different times, eating at different paces, and managing their aches, pains, and sentiments all very differently. The way in which we walked seemed to echo that of soldiers – and we even discussed that on one particular afternoon. We were imagining soldiers during WWI and WWII walking through the fields and forests of France, in rain and heat and snow, carrying everything on their backs, and managing to do it all in the same pair of rugged boots for months on end. It made the flare-up of tendonitis or knee pain seem like a small sacrifice. It helped to put into perspective how blessed we truly are, knowing that we had a nice meal and a warm bed to look forward to that evening. It helped bring to my attention the fact that I need to stop more in my daily life and meditate on that thought. In all the ways I feel like my life is lacking, or in all the things I find to be going wrong – the Camino taught me that I really do have much to be thankful for.
Scripture tells us: “In all circumstances give thanks, for this is the will of God for you in Christ Jesus.” (1 Thessalonians 5:18) It’s easy for someone to look at their life focus on the deficits. It’s easy for someone to compare. And it’s easy for someone to want more. Whether we have financial struggles, health problems, or just a general lack of excitement – there is always pasture that seems to be greener. The reality of it, however, is that it’s nothing more than an illusion. Society would have us think that we always need to strive for more, to seize opportunities, and to live for ourselves. But what do we really sacrifice by doing those things? Rather than focusing on our own self-improvement and our own relationship with God, we often choose to look outward rather than inward. We choose to focus on what we are missing rather than on what we have. We choose to ask God why he is “making us suffer,” rather than seeing something as an opportunity to align ourselves more closely with Christ. We choose to give into temptations that ultimately steal our joy and damage our relationships. And we choose to run away from challenges and things that are uncomfortable, rather than embracing the freedom in that moment to develop stronger roots.
In reading James’ epistle before we left, I clung to small bits of Scripture that I re-read during my week in Spain. And, just like the letter from St. James, the Camino ended somewhat abruptly. The Cathedral itself was massive. Walking through the ancient town to the sound of bagpipes and applause was a religious experience in and of itself. But James didn’t sign off with an “until next time …” to the Diaspora, and Santiago de Compostela didn’t say goodbye to me. And sometimes, the best lessons are just that way: open-ended enough to interpret on our own, but perplexing enough that we must ask for the help of the Holy Spirit and the Will of God to aid us in that interpretation.
I’ve thought a lot about it this past week. I’ve prayed more and reflected on and off every day about what it all meant to me and how to put it all into perspective. And the trail markers keep leading me back to the things we carried. So, why fight it? What did I carry? If you asked me, “What’s the one thing you couldn’t have lived without on the Camino?” My answer is “HikeGoo.”
I am prone to blisters and was dreadfully afraid after hearing horror stories of people with new shoes, the wrong socks, and prolonged exposure to friction after walking for so long. I bought one tube, used it twice a day, and I am convinced it saved my feet. If you asked me five years ago, I would tell you that this is perfectly analogous for some parts of my life - a “barrier cream” for uncomfortable moments. Today, I can say the same thing for a different reason. The parallel now is that I have learned to protect myself appropriately. I was able to walk through the uncomfortable moments – all 117 km of them – because I was prepared. I used the Goo, wore the right socks, and made sure my shoes were the right ones for my needs. Is this to say that I have it all figured out? Absolutely not! In fact, I still got three small blisters – all about the size of a dime or smaller – and all manageable. Nothing I couldn’t figure out, nothing I couldn’t live with, and nothing I couldn’t work through.
Now that we are all home, we begin a new Camino. The things I carried there, the burdens on my heart, I tried to leave on the trail. I decidedly left my sneakers in a hotel room in Madrid. And I brought my HikeGoo home with me. I learned that following the yellow scallop shell now that I am home looks like me being prepared, taking better care of myself, and relying on God to get me through the challenges. And I learned that those challenges, no matter how difficult they may seem in the moment, are all just different stones on the path leading me to the Kingdom.
On our last evening as a group in Santiago, we attended the pilgrim’s Mass and were in the front row as the Botafumeiro smoked and flew high above our heads. The Gospel and homily that evening were nothing short of germane. In Luke’s Gospel that night, we heard that “I have come to set the world on fire, and how I wish it were already blazing.” (Luke 12:49) Followed by the priest’s words:
“It is a privilege to ‘set the world on fire’ and to be graced with the Holy Spirit. I need you to know that the Botafumeiro is not just a spectacle for tourists to check off their lists, but a symbol of our deeds and prayers rising up to change the world. We should not let our pilgrimage end here, but take it with us along with our suffering and difficulties and remember what we conquered here was minimal compared to the suffering and beating that God took for us to become flesh and bones. All of this, just to meet us where we are as humans. And we have much to give and much to be thankful for, especially that he remains with us in the Holy Spirit and the Eucharist.”
Will I walk the Camino again? Maybe. But there is no way to go back or have a do-over for the part that has already been completed. If I did it again, it must be a new path – a new way. The reality of our faith and our life in Christ is that we can be secure in where our destination lies, but the ways in which we get there are full of variation, trust, and dependency on His grace. Today I will count my blessings and set out on another leg of my Camino. I’ve got my HikeGoo. What are you carrying on your journey?
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