Before I left for my sabbatical this spring, people would often say, “You’re going to walk the whole Camino!” Each time, I made a small correction: “I’m going to try to walk the whole Camino.” For many years, I had imagined making this pilgrimage along the Camino de Santiago, but I knew that wanting to walk 780 kilometres and being able to walk them might turn out to be different things.
They did.
I have come to think of my Camino as a pilgrimage of ice and fire. There were days of bitter cold and days of punishing heat, days when I felt fantastic and days when I was sick. Some days I felt I could walk forever; on others, my right knee told me I could go no farther. Along the way, buses, taxis and trains supplemented my journey on foot. At the very end, I took a bus into Santiago and walked the final two kilometres. That was my Camino.
We often tell pilgrimage stories in terms of distance and endurance, celebrating the perseverance that carries someone to their destination. But the story I tell about my Camino is one in which the distance covered matters less than what was uncovered along the way.
As the physical demands of the journey drew me into the essentials of each day, I discovered a deep gratitude for life itself. There was so much to receive, even when I could do very little. Thanksgiving became clearer as so much else fell away, revealing something that had been there all along.
As a priest, I speak often about grace: the love of God that comes to us freely, before we have earned or accomplished anything. Yet it is possible to proclaim that truth while quietly measuring ourselves by what we manage to do. The Camino gave me a very physical encounter with that grace. Listening to my body, accepting my limits and allowing the journey to unfold became part of the pilgrimage itself. God was present in the walking, the resting and the changing of plans.
As November begins, the Church celebrates All Saints and honours All Souls, and I find myself thinking about the people whose faith has helped me recognize that grace. Among them is the Very Reverend Jack Greenhalgh, who was dean of the cathedral where I served first as curate and then as vicar. Now a dean myself, I thank him every day for all he taught me. When Jack walked the Camino in his early seventies, 17 years before my own pilgrimage, his example planted a possibility that stayed with me until this year.
Jack is part of a much larger company of people who have accompanied me, encouraged me and helped me recognize God’s presence along the way. Even the most personal pilgrimage is shaped by other lives. We carry the courage, kindness and faith of others into places they may never visit themselves.
I came home with something precious. Some days I walked; some days I needed another way forward, and every day the pilgrimage depended upon what I received: guidance, kindness, shelter, food, encouragement and the company of others. The final two kilometres into Santiago were simply the steps I could take that day, and I was grateful to take them. As so much was stripped away, I found myself returning to the core of who I am, and what I found there was thanksgiving. That is what I carried home.
Whatever journey you are on, may God’s grace enable you to discover thanksgiving along the way.
The Very Reverend Beth Bretzlaff is Dean of the Anglican Diocese of Ottawa and Rector of Christ Church Cathedral.
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What I carried home from the Camino
Before I left for my sabbatical this spring, people would often say, “You’re going to walk the whole Camino!” Each time, I made a small correction: “I’m going to try to walk the whole Camino.” For many years, I had imagined making this pilgrimage along the Camino de Santiago, but I knew that wanting to walk 780 kilometres and being able to walk them might turn out to be different things.
They did.
I have come to think of my Camino as a pilgrimage of ice and fire. There were days of bitter cold and days of punishing heat, days when I felt fantastic and days when I was sick. Some days I felt I could walk forever; on others, my right knee told me I could go no farther. Along the way, buses, taxis and trains supplemented my journey on foot. At the very end, I took a bus into Santiago and walked the final two kilometres. That was my Camino.
We often tell pilgrimage stories in terms of distance and endurance, celebrating the perseverance that carries someone to their destination. But the story I tell about my Camino is one in which the distance covered matters less than what was uncovered along the way.
As the physical demands of the journey drew me into the essentials of each day, I discovered a deep gratitude for life itself. There was so much to receive, even when I could do very little. Thanksgiving became clearer as so much else fell away, revealing something that had been there all along.
As a priest, I speak often about grace: the love of God that comes to us freely, before we have earned or accomplished anything. Yet it is possible to proclaim that truth while quietly measuring ourselves by what we manage to do. The Camino gave me a very physical encounter with that grace. Listening to my body, accepting my limits and allowing the journey to unfold became part of the pilgrimage itself. God was present in the walking, the resting and the changing of plans.
As November begins, the Church celebrates All Saints and honours All Souls, and I find myself thinking about the people whose faith has helped me recognize that grace. Among them is the Very Reverend Jack Greenhalgh, who was dean of the cathedral where I served first as curate and then as vicar. Now a dean myself, I thank him every day for all he taught me. When Jack walked the Camino in his early seventies, 17 years before my own pilgrimage, his example planted a possibility that stayed with me until this year.
Jack is part of a much larger company of people who have accompanied me, encouraged me and helped me recognize God’s presence along the way. Even the most personal pilgrimage is shaped by other lives. We carry the courage, kindness and faith of others into places they may never visit themselves.
I came home with something precious. Some days I walked; some days I needed another way forward, and every day the pilgrimage depended upon what I received: guidance, kindness, shelter, food, encouragement and the company of others. The final two kilometres into Santiago were simply the steps I could take that day, and I was grateful to take them. As so much was stripped away, I found myself returning to the core of who I am, and what I found there was thanksgiving. That is what I carried home.
Whatever journey you are on, may God’s grace enable you to discover thanksgiving along the way.
The Very Reverend Beth Bretzlaff is Dean of the Anglican Diocese of Ottawa and Rector of Christ Church Cathedral.
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