Seeking

Over mountains, hills, and plains;
Through the valleys and country lanes;
Crossing the rivers swelled with rains;
I go seeking.

In the morning, cool and dry;
When it's hot and the sun is high;
Though malice fills the pregnant sky;
I go seeking.

Hungry and tired and sore to the bone;
Anxious and lonely and longing for home;
Eternally grateful for each kindness that's shown;
I go seeking.

Asking the Spirit to show me the way;
Begging Him, pleading: "Teach me to pray!"
Afraid that my strength will soon start to fray;
I go seeking.

Teach me your wisdom, my fire, my dove;
Loosen my tongue with words from above;
Fill me with Faith, with Hope, and with Love;
I come seeking.

I'll cross the mountains, the desert, the sea;
Searching for you as you've pursued me;
Never stopping nor resting till I "rest in thee."
I'll keep seeking.

A Final Word

           Well, as I sit writing this I’ve been back in the U.S. for two weeks and I’m still struggling with how to communicate with people about my pilgrimage.  I knew before coming home that it will likely take a long time, years maybe, before I really understand what I experienced this summer.  But as I mentioned in one of my first blog posts, there’s a big difference between knowing something in your head, and knowing it from experience.  And now I inevitably and continuously face that dreaded request: “Tell me about your trip!” 

            Not that I blame anyone for asking, of course.  The people who love me and supported me through this adventure naturally want to know about it, and I want to tell them.  I want to share everything with them: the ups and downs, the struggles, the joys, the moments that changed my life and the moments that showed me where it still needs changing.  But how can I put all of that into words?  Impossible.  I suppose this is how the writers of the gospels must have felt, for my pilgrimage was nothing less than an experience of Christ.  His Power and Love permeated my every step and breath along the Camino, and that’s not an easy thing to express.

            I suppose the best way to start is with the lessons I’ve learned.  First: Abandonment.  “The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom do I fear? The Lord is my life’s refuge; of whom am I afraid?” (Psalm 27)  God loves us more than we can imagine, and He is in control, so what is there to fear?  When my bag was lost and I was stranded in Toulouse (where every hotel in the city was booked solid) I had a place to stay because one of my old roommates was spontaneously invited by a priest to go to Calcutta for two months where he met an English speaking woman from Toulouse.  Before I even knew I was going on the pilgrimage, God was preparing a shelter for me. 

            Second: Suffering is made easier when we see it as an opportunity to offer something back to God.  The beauty of Christ’s passion is that it gave suffering the possibility of being redemptive rather than meaningless.  When we unite our sufferings to the passion of Christ they can be extraordinarily powerful, even the little ones.  And when we accept those sufferings willingly, rather than grudgingly, we also accept Christ’s strength to bear them and a burden can be transformed into thanksgiving for the opportunity to offer even a small sacrifice back to God for the intentions of someone we love.

            Third: Humility, humility, humility.  Pride isn’t everyone’s primary vice, but it sure did a number on me.  It trapped me in old resentments and grudges, told me I wasn’t good enough unless I could measure my relationship with God in some observable way, made me afraid to get into difficult conversations about the faith because I might be humiliated or teach someone the wrong thing (which is a legitimate concern of course, but not an excuse not to try).  Most importantly it focused my attention on me to the extent that I forgot that I don’t have to be the savior of the world.  Praise be to God, we’ve already got one of those.  Pride puts me and my efforts in the center, while humility allows Christ his rightful seat in my heart.  Pride says I have to do great things to make up for my great sins.  Humility says I can never make up for my sins, I can never show God how much I truly love Him…but He sure does like the macaroni picture I made Him.  Because it’s not about what I can do, it’s about what He has done.

            Fourth: Mary is ridiculously awesome.  I think if I talk much about this I’ll just be repeating what I said in my post from Lourdes, so I’ll keep it short (but if you haven’t read my Lourdes post, “Holy Mother of God”, check it out).  Mary is a perfect person, one of two such people to ever walk the earth, and the other one was God.  She loves perfectly, she guides perfectly, she reigns perfectly as Queen of Heaven.  Like any good mother she nourishes us, nurtures us, protects us, teaches us, guides us, and wraps us in her loving arms.  As St. Louis de Montfort says, she is the easiest, surest, and shortest path to Christ. 

            Fifth: No pilgrimage is undertaken alone.  I may have been the only one to walk 1,000 miles this summer, but I am not the only one who traveled from Arles to Santiago.  I was accompanied by everyone who supported my pilgrimage, both financially and in prayer.  I was accompanied by the girl who told me she prayed a rosary for me every day of the trip, and had never prayed that many consecutive rosaries before.  I was accompanied by friends who offered up masses for me and family who prayed for my safety and well being every day I was gone.  I was accompanied by relatives of friends and people I’ve never met who found my blog and contacted me to tell me that it helped them grow in their own walk with Christ.  I was accompanied by all of you, whose thoughts and prayers were with me, constantly petitioning God that I might find what I was looking for.  All of you who desired to share in my journey in some way, through the blog, by prayer, by your financial support, or by calling my parents for the latest news, were with me in Santiago.

            I can never thank you enough for making this pilgrimage a reality for me.  It has changed my life, it has changed my relationship with God, it has changed me in a fundamental and not yet understood way.  I am a better man today than I was three months ago.  God willing, I will be a better priest, a better servant of the Church, for having made this journey.  And I can tell you that I desire to be a priest now more than ever.  I want that more than I want anything else in the world.  I pray one day that too will become a reality, and that I will serve you all in such a way as to be a fitting thank you for your generosity to me.

It is finished.

     How did this happen?  It seems simultaneously like it was yesterday and ages ago that I began this adventure.  1,000 miles in 62 days.  It almost seems like a dream.  I woke up around 6:30 on July 24th to the sound of a group of Catholics praying Morning Prayer in the lobby (not a bad way to wake up).  Almost everyone else was already gone.  I packed up my bag and took some extra time to pray Office of Readings and Morning Prayer, I wanted to make sure I started the day off as prayerfully as possible.  Because I was so late leaving the albergue, I was pretty much alone for the first couple hours of my walk, which was a nice surprise after the hundreds and hundreds of people I was surrounded by the day before.  When I began I felt a strong since of awe, knowing it was my final walkñ but that soon gave way to impatience as the kilometers seemed to stretch on and on and on.  (In reality, it was one of my shortest hikes of the whole trip.)  By the time I reached Santiago I was feeling exhausted (I really hadn't slept much in a few nights).  And it was rather frustrating to discover that once I reached the city, it was still another 45 minutes before I reached the Cathedral.
     When I finally reached the main plaza I tried to feel something, some sense of completion, but it just wasn't there.  I entered the cathedral just as they were beginning mass which was quite fortunate, but frustrating due to the crowds of people milling around constantly the entire time.  Right after mass I went to the Apostle's tomb to pray and thank him for bringing me so far.  Still I felt nothing.  So, exhausted and hungry, I got my compostella and went in search of a place to stay for the night.  After some initial failures to find anything I decided I needed to eat and rest, because I was just too dang tired to think straight.  This whole time I was trying my best not to feel anxious about finding lodging.  I kept reminding myself how often and generously God has provided for me on this trip and just kept saying, "I trust you Lord, whatever you want, but please give me a place to stay."  But I still felt anxious, I really didn't want to sleep on the street.
     I got lunch at a great little kebab place and as I was leaving I ran into an America named Michelle who was born, wonder of wonders, in French Lick, just about an hour from my hometown.  It turns out she knew of a great little pension that she had stayed in the night before and thought they had a room left.  So I walked, very quickly, to the place and, praise God, they had a room left.  As soon as I was sitting in the room I just started laughing I was so relieved and offered up prayers in thanksgiving to God for taking care of me once again.
     Now I revisted the cathedral, with no worries about what was going to happen next.  The crowds had died down quite a bit, the church was much quieter, I was much quieter.  And I started to feel it.  I went to the statue of St. James behind the high altar and knelt and thanked him for all his help.  I went to the back of the church to see the column with the handprint from all the millions of pilgrims who have touched it upon ending their pilgrimages.  Just to stand in that spot and know that so many have stood exactly there in thanksgiving and awe was amazing.  As I walked back up towards the sanctuary the "finished-ness" of it all hit me, and every few steps I would begin to laugh and cry simultaneously.  Lastly I stopped in the adoration chapel and knelt before Christ my Lord, who called me on this pilgrimage, who guided me and protected me along it, who drew me closer to Himself through it, and who strengthened me to finish it well, and I laughed and cried (as quietly as possible of course) and said "Thank you."

     I was blessed to meet up with several of my "camino friends" for dinner that night.  It was a wonderful little reunion.  We shared stories, talked about how our hopes for the camino had been fulfilled or what we think we'll be able to take back with us.  One woman asked me about when I decided to be a priest and I got to share my vocation story with the group.  It felt good to be able to share my story, including some of my experience in Lourdes, and try to communicate as sincerely as possible my passion and excitement and ridiculous desire to be a priest.  I can only hope that if I can communicate my passion sincerely it may serve to help others examine their own faith, and draw closer to God.
     After dinner I went back to my room and prayed and journaled, and just tried to process, not only that day, but the entire trip.  It was over.  My two month long pilgrimage was over.  Thank you Lord for the Camino, for prayer, for scripture, for strength, for solitude, for community, for friends found and left behind, for your grace that has permeated every step of my pilgrimage and every second of my life, for bringing me to seminary and (hopefully) for calling me to be a priest...for everything.  Thank you.  Glory be to God! The Camino is over, the pilgrimage continues.

More Pictures!

Meseta wheatiness.

Well, I can't turn the picture, so tilt your head.  It's awesome.

150km in 3 days.  This is the look of an exhausted man...with a beer.

I got to walk with these guys for a few days, there are a few Americans in the mix.

Near O Cebreiro, fantastic mountain-ness.

Cool pilgrim sculptures are all over the Camino.

100km to go...bring it on.

Unbelievable

     I'm sitting in an albergue 20km from Santiago.  Let me repeat that.  I'm sitting in an albergue TWENTY KILOMETERS FROM SANTIAGO!  How did that happen?  I am half a day away from the destination I've been working towards for the last 65 days.  I have walked in the heat, in the rain, in the cold, in unreasonably strong wind.  I have walked over mountains, through muddy valleys, down stony paths, on the highways, on country roads (often littered with the signs of cattle), on cobblestone streets (the worst kind to walk on quite frankly).  I have walked through two countries without speaking the native language.  I have walked for twelve hours at a time, covering foolhardy distances while being jovially called insane by other pilgrims.  I have spent nights alone, feeling homesick.  I have spent nights with others, sharing meals and memories.  I have spent nights in huge dorms wishing the teenagers that just started walking would shut up and go to bed.  I have been opened to God through prayer, through loneliness, through community, through the healing waters of Lourdes.  I have been frustrated by closed churches, by museum churches, by masses that omitted rather important parts of the liturgy.  I have seen the beauty in simple churches, in churches that seek to minister to the people in the most basic and beautiful ways, in the Eucharist held for the faithful to adore.  I have been angry, sad, afraid, anxious, and overwhelmingly overjoyed.  I have walked a thousand miles to kneel at the tomb of St. James, to fall down at the feet of Christ my King, to thank Him for His abundant blessings and all the ways He has shown Himself to me this summer.  After 65 days of laughing and crying and everything in between...I'll walk into Santiago before noon tomorrow.  How will I react? I have no idea.  It almost doesn't seem real.  All the planning, all the prayers, all the support from everyone back home, all the walking, and walking, and walking... all for Santiago, all for tomorrow.  Unbelievable.

The Meseta

This is a few days late, but it took several tries to get this video to upload.  Enjoy!

Back On Schedule

     If I had to choose a theme for my pilgrimage experience thus far it would be: Don't Worry.  It seems at every turn God has been teaching me this lesson in new ways.  When I first arrived on the Camino Frances in Puenta la Reina I calculated that I needed to walk an average of 30km a day to make it to Santiago in time for the Feast (July 25th).  So, I immediately made my plan and said "tomorrow I'm going to walk 40km." I figured I'd try to make up the distance as quick as I could so I could slow down and walk with the same people for awhile into Santiago.  Well, it didn't work out.  I proceeded to attempt to make long days for the next week or so and for one reason or another they never worked out (getting stuck at the post office, being unable to find an atm, etc.). 
     Well, the silver lining is that I got to spend several days with Pierre (whom I met a few days before Puenta la Reina) and Charlie, Chris and Heather (all from Texas).  I love these guys, they're great, devoted Catholics (Charlie is entering the Francsicans in September!) and just fun to be around.  Plus, I got to spend July 4th with other Americans, which was a nice way to celebrate.  But I must admit my embarrassment.  After dinner on July 4th I gave a rather awesome toast about how I was grateful to have spent a few days with everybody and was sad that I would be leaving them behind as I increased my distance to make the Feast (teary eyes filled the room, it was terrible, you should have been there).  And then the next day we all had dinner together again.  And the next day.  And the day after that.  It became a running joke that every night I would say "Goodnight guys, I'm sorry I won't see you tomorrow."  Well, finally in Burgos I left them all behind (after 5 days of trying).  They all took a day off in Burgos, so as long as I walked somewhere that day, I would leave them behind.
     A day before Burgos I accepted that I wasn't going to make the Feast.  I said, "God, I want to make it for the Feast, but if that's not what you want than so be it.  I know that Your plan is far better than mine, and I only want what you want for me."  And then God gave me wings...metaphorically speaking of course.  When I left Burgos I felt great.  I had a ton of energy, my legs and back felt strong, I felt like I could walk forever.  I did 30km out of Burgos and decided that I felt so good the next day I was just going to walk as far as I could.  Well, the flat ground of the Meseta, cool temperatures, and God's grace helped me cover about 50km (31 miles) that day.  And I still felt good.  So the next day I did 47km.  And I was tired, but I realized one more day like that and I'd be on schedule.  So I tried again.  I woke up early (and I was dead tired) and I started walking.  It was tough.  I was exhausted, my legs were sore, my knees were feeling strained, I just wanted to stop.  But I kept praying and I kept walking.  And I walked 54km (32miles) in 12 hours.  I couldn't believe it.  90+ miles in 3 days.  It was insane, it was foolish, and it was done.  I was back on schedule.
     So maybe God wanted me to enjoy the few days I had with my new friends.  Maybe God wanted me to more fully abandon myself to His will.  Maybe He wanted to give me an opportunity to rely fully on His grace.  Or maybe (as my dad suggested oh so long ago when they lost my bag in Toulouse) He just wanted to see how badly I wanted it.  I don't know.  But God gave me the strength I needed, when I needed it, to accomplish what I wanted, and what He wanted for me.  He always has, He always does, He always will.  He never fails to provide for me far more abundantly than I could ask for or imagine.  So why worry?

Pictures!

Hey everyone! I was hoping to get more photos up than this, but this computer has been alternating between freezing up and refusing to read my camera.  So, I hope you enjoy these few snapshots of my pilgrimage!

Three fellow Camino pilgrims and I before the candle procession at Lourdes.  Jacquelynn, next to me, was just beginning, the German couple were just ending.

Good news everyone! France is looking for him too, we'll find him in no time.

On my way to Somport.

Yeah! I'll tell you one thing right now, I did not miss the gite in France and have to cross the border for directions the night before this picture was taken.  Nope, didn´t happen.

I'm basically there.

Fellow pilgrims that I got to watch the Eurocup final with.  

One of the hallmarks of the Camino: The fountain on the right gives out water. The fountain on the left gives out wine.  Good wine.

España!

     I finally made it to Spain! And good news, all the letters on the Spanish keyboard are in the same place as the English keyboard! Bad news: I got so used to the French keyboard that I keep messing up some of the letters, darn it France!  This is going to be a short blog tonight because I've got a lot to get done in a short amount of time.  I crossed the border via the Somport pass a few days ago and have stayed in Jaca, Arres, Sanguesa, Monreal, and am now holed up at Puenta la Reina, where my camino meets up with the main route, the Camino Frances.  In other words, after a long trip with lots of solitude (beautiful, beautiful solitude) I'm now surrounded by lots and lots of pilgrims.  But it's good, a new experience, it's like starting a brand new pilgrimage!  

     I'm running a little behind schedule, so it's looking like I'm going to be pushing it to reach Santiago by the 25th, but I'm going to give it my best shot and see what happens.  God will get me there if that's when He wants me there.  As St. Therese of Lisieux said: "Everything is grace." My transition to Spain was more difficult than I thought it would be.  I had gotten used to the way things worked in France, and even without knowing the language I knew how to take care of what I needed.  Now it's a whole new system, and they eat dinner even later! (Seriously, like 8:30 or 9:00, it's crazy.)  But I'm getting adjusted all right and before too long I'll have a new system of broken Spanish down.  In the meantime, you'll have to wait for pictures because everytime I come to a computer I forget my camera cord and I can't get the SD card reader to read my card (makes it seem kind of useless to me).  But rest assured, I'm still going through mountains and they are beautiful, I know you were worried about that.  Thanks for your concern.  Seriously though, thanks for all your prayers, I'm getting closer!  Buen Camino!

Holy Mother of God...

There are two basilicas behind me.  Not one...two.

     I'm in Lourdes!  Honestly, I had no idea what I was getting into when I came here, I just knew that it was one of the biggest Catholic pilgrimages in the world and that it was too close to my route to pass up.  So I boarded a train from Pau and rode the 30 minutes to Lourdes thinking I would spend 24 hours here and then head back to Pau to continue my pilgrimage.  Wrong.  So first of all a little geography:  Lourdes is large, there are something like 5 million pilgrims a year, so there are lots of hotels and shops and whatnot.  And then there's the Sanctuary, or as I call it, The Complex.  Within a surrounding wall is the Grotto, where our Blessed Mother appeared, 3 basilicas, a church, and at least a dozen chapels, plus a bookshop and all that stuff.  It's Catholic Disneyland, except without all the commercialism.  It's amazing.

The Grotto where Our Lady appeared;
 with the Basilica of the
Immaculate Conception built on top of it.

     So my first stop inside The Complex was the Grotto (I mean really, where else?).  I didn't know what to expect there.  Honestly, I felt a little bit like a fake.  I don't have a great devotion to Our Lady, though I'd like to, I don't know a lot about Lourdes or St. Bernadette, I didn't even know what I was looking for on this pilgrimage yet!  If I descended into the waters that flow from the miraculous spring, what healing, what miracle would I be seeking?  I didn't know.  And then I arrived.  I looked up and saw the statue of Our Lady of Lourdes sitting in the very place where she appeared.  And I began to cry, I didn't even know why. I sat on a bench to pray and I looked down and saw a tile in the ground that marks the place St. Bernadette stood and prayed during the apparitions.  And I began to cry again, and I didn't know why.  I watched person after person file through the grotto, passing the spring; touching the walls, kissing the walls, rubbing the moisture from the walls on their hands and faces.  And I began to cry, and I didn't know why.  (At this point you may be noticing a pattern.  I cried a lot yesterday.)
     I prayed a few decades of my rosary there and then went to visit the Basilica of Our Lady of the Rosary. It's amazing, go to Lourdes and visit it.   They have 15 large murals around the perimeter, one for each of the original mysteries of the rosary.  After praying and visiting for a bit I got lunch so I could get some change to purchase a candle for the grotto.  So I went back to the grotto, and this time I was one of the people filing through the lines.  I touched the walls, I saw the spring, I blessed myself with the water that dripped down.  I went outside the grotto to where the candles burn.  To the place where a lot of candles burn... a lot of candles (get the picture?).  I prayed for Our Lady to show me what I'm looking for, to break through my blindness and help me see what it is that I really want from all this; and I placed my candle with all the others, lifting our petitions up to the Lord in the hands of our Blessed Mother.

The view from my window.  Ridiculous.

     After placing my candle I went to the baths, where pilgrims come to wade into the waters of the blessed spring, seeking healing of one kind or another.  I waited.  I waited with the broken in body and soul, with the old and the young.  I waited and I prayed for Mary to show me what I'm looking for.  And she did.  I want to pray.  I want to feel the Holy Spirit inside me, living in me in a new way, in a life giving way.  I've been desiring this for over a year but had given up on it, believing that I wasn't holy enough, or that it just wasn't God's will for some reason.  I gave up on believing that God wanted to bless me with the very best of gifts.  And I cried, and I knew why.  I cried and I realized that I had been seeking the Holy Spirit in the wrong way.  I wanted to perform great miracles, to do great deeds of faith, to be a canonized saint... I wanted the gifts of the Spirit to make me great.  Pride is a cunning enemy.  For we absolutely should desire great holiness, we are all called to radical holiness; but I wanted to gain glory for myself, and not for God.  Why the desire for canonization?  To give me honor.  And so I prayed: I brought my pride before God and Our Blessed Mother and asked them to smash it.  Let someone else do the miracles, they would only increase my pride.  Let someone else do the great deeds, just teach me how to pray, just teach me how to love.  And I cried.  And I entered the waters... which were absolutely freezing!  I had trouble breathing, that's how cold they were.  So much for praying while I was in the waters, but God's grace was accomplished nonetheless.
    After the baths I prayed for a bit in the Adoration chapel before mass.  After mass I went to the Reconciliation Chapel and received the sacrament of Confession from a young priest from Denver (he's the one that gave me that bit about radical holiness, he gave me great advice).
   Lourdes is a powerful place.  You feel the power as soon as you enter the Sanctuary, it's everywhere, but especially at the Grotto.  You get a sense of awe, a sense that something special is happening here; a sense of power and of grace flowing freely; and for me, at least at first, a sense of something like sadness, an emptiness, a poverty of spirit that I couldn't yet recognize but could feel.  It's an amazing place, go there, see it, experience it.  Let God heal your broken heart, by drawing you further into His, through the gentle and powerful arms of the Father's most Beautiful Daughter, the Holy Spirit's most Worthy Spouse, and the Son's most Blessed Mother, given to us as our Mother, and loving each of us as her most cherished child.

Introducing...

Isabelle: the guardian angel of American Pilgrims!

Isabelle and I after ice cream and a sight-seeing in Toulouse

     The last two days in Toulouse have been extremely relaxing, and I count myself very blessed to have had the opportunity to stay here (for free) and catch my breath for a bit before hitting the trail tomorrow.  Isabelle has been great, she absolutely bends over backwards to make sure I'm comfortable and that I have what I need.  She's always thinking of friends that she can call that could give me a ride out of the city (which I decided against) or people that speak English so that I wouldn't get lonely while she was at work (which I also turned down: sleeping is as good as conversation in my opinion).  She even connected me with her friends Marc and Claudia (an American) the day I came back to Toulouse so I'd have somewhere to go until she got off work.  She took some time off work today to make sure I saw all the important things in the city (read: churches) and I tell you I was not dissapointed! There are some marvelous churches in this city, even if many of them need some repairs.  The high point today was the Cathedral of St. Stephen (St. Etienne in French).  It's a very strange building, which is kind of made up of two juxtaposed buildings because the church which was meant to replace the original was never finished.  Regardless, it's beautiful, and the high altar is about a billion feet tall (okay, probably 60) and made of almost solid marble, with a huge sculpture of the stoning of St. Stephen front and center.  Very, very cool.

Me with Isabelle's friends Marc, Claudia, and Jean-Claude

     But when I first blogged about all the struggles of my first few days on pilgrimage I promised a reflection on the blessings to go with it.  So, a bit overdue, here is the reflection straight out of my journal, written two days after I left Toulouse and began walking from Arles:

*****

     I've already written about all the trials of my first few days traveling to Santiago.  But about the graces and consolations, I don't think I can fully express them in words.  In the afternoon of the day I reached Toulouse I went numb.  I had already mentally accepted that my pilgrimage was over and that I was going home a failed pilgrim.  I took the bus to meet Isabellem; exhausted and despairing I waiting for her outside a laundromat.  As soon as I met her I felt a little better; just to have someone to talk to and a place to stay, a place of safety, was a comfort.  At her aparment Isabelle arranged for me to meet an English speaking priest, Fr. John Christopher, the next morning.  While she ran errands I was able to shower (which always makes a traveler feel more human) and email Mom and Dad and Fr. Rick to update them on my situation.  Afterward Isabelle took me out to dinner.  Since I don't speak French and we were having "menus" (a three course meal with options for each course) I told her to get me the fish option.  My first taste of French cuisine!  It wasn't great.  The first course was raw salmon, which lost it's exoticness pretty quickly.  Second course was some unidentified kind of fish which also didn't taste very good.  But dessert was grand!  Strawberries and cream with an extremely good strawberry ice cream, so good! 

     The best part of the meal however was talking to Isabelle.  She told me her conversion story and that she is searching for her vocation, possibly to the Carmelites!  It was amazing.  She is a woman filled with the supernatural joy that only comes from grace.  When I told her I was a seminarian I thought she was going to pop she was so excited!  Simply being with her and seeing that grace flowing through her refreshed my soul greatly.  Granted that I was in an extremely stressful and vulnerable situation, still, the grace was powerful.

     The next morning I met Fr. John Christopher and he offered me a room in the rectory for a few nights.  Around 10am he took me to the airport to ask about my bag and lo and behold, they found them!  I couldn't believe it!  By 11am I had my bag and was headed back to the rectory.  I emptied it, made sure everything was there, and laughed like a fool the whole time.  Then I slept.  Like a rock.  I slept from 1-5 with a short break for lunch and afterward I felt great!  Oh to be well rested!  When I woke up I went to vespers at a nearby monastery; the chanting was so beautiful it brought tears to my eyes.

     The graces given to me in Toulouse, from the time I met Isabelle on, were overwhelming.  The encouragement from friends and family to persevere gave me strength when I had none and the consolations from God gave me comfort in a time of darkness.  So my pilgrimage began.  

"Don't be disheartened.  I have seen you struggle.  Today's defeat is training for the final victory." - St. Jose Maria Escriva, The Way #263

*****

How easily disheartened I am.  How quickly I lose faith.   How quickly I give in and cry out "I can't do it!"  And how overwhelming is God's grace is to those who suffer through adversity, those who have just a little bit of patience.  Praise to the God who always watches over His children, and provides abundantly for their every need.

Practical Matters

Not comforting.

     Hey Michael, where are you? What does your average day look like? What are you eating? Where are you? Have you met any other pilgrims? Where are you now? Well I'm glad you asked!  Three weeks into my pilgrimage I suppose it's about time for an update on all the practical things.

Mountains!

Far over the Misty Mountains cold...

One of the bridges near St. Guilhem le Desert.

 






   






     So far I've come just over 400 kilometers or 250 miles from Arles to Toulouse.  I'm staying with Isabelle again for a day or two to rest and let my body recover a bit before heading back out.  My progress has been a little slower than I expected for two reasons: first, I didn't have time to train before starting out so these first few weeks have served as my training; second, since this route isn't as popular it isn't built up as much as the Le Puy route so I often don't have a choice of what town to stay in (or, more accurately, my choice is to walk 20km or 45km in a day...my max so far is 36).  Plus I spent a week crossing the southern tip of the Massif Central mountain range, it's difficult to cover much horizontal distance when you're climbing 3000 feet in the morning and descending the same altitude in the afternoon.  But the landscapes were breathtaking!  Anyway, now that I'm out of the mountains and my body's stronger than it was my speed should pick up a bit.

     So far my average day has started at 6:30, though I've gotten up at 5:30 on a few of the longer days. First thing when I wake up I pray the first two offices of the Liturgy of the Hours (the Office of Readings and Morning Prayer).  After prayer I eat breakfast, which always consists of bread and jam, sometimes orange juice, and some fruit if I'm lucky. (Side note: I have yet to meet a french person who isn't overly suprised that I don't drink tea or coffee.  It's kind of like that scene from My Big Fat Greek Wedding when the they tell the family that the guy doesn't eat meat.)  After breakfast I pack up and get on the road by about 8:30.  As soon as I'm out of the town and not worried about missing trail markers and getting lost I pray a rosary.  I try to find a good scenic spot around noon to stop for about 30 minutes for lunch, Midday Prayer, and to stretch my back and legs.  At 3:00 I pray the Divine Mercy Chaplet, usually I'm still hiking, but sometimes I'm already at the gite (pilgrim's shelter) or (even better) have come across a church at the right time to pray the chaplet there (that's only happened once).  Whenever I pass a church I check to see if it's open (usually not unfortunately) and if so I take the opportunity to set my pack down and sit before the Blessed Sacrament for a few minutes.  I get to the gite between 2:30 and 4:30, pay, get my credencial stamped, shower, and wash my clothes.  All of that takes about an hour and half.  Once I'm settled in I go out to find a baker and a grocer to get stuff for dinner and the next day's lunch.  Sometime between 5 and 6 I'll pray Evening Prayer, and if mass is available (usually around 6:30) I'll go to that.  I eat dinner around 7 (pasta, sauce, meat if I can find it; it's easy, quick, and keeps your body moving), either alone or with other pilgrims if they're around.  After dinner I'll journal for a bit and figure out where I'm going the next day, maybe read a little if I have the time.  then it's Night Prayer and bed by 9:00.


     I've been fortunate to meet several other pilgrims along the way; though there aren't nearly as many as there will be when I join the main route through Spain.  I've met a couple German guys and several French pilgrims who have spoken English and been able to help me along the way.  Even just having familiar faces when I arrive at the gite at night is extremely comforting; and the probability of sharing a meal with each other is higher when you've been seeing each other for a few nights.  I've only had 2 or 3 communal meals but they've all been great experiences.  Finding out where people are from, what they do, etc.; getting adfvice on what's coming up... asking them what the heck is on my plate and why everyone is eating cheese that any civilized person would clearly say has gone bad. (I'm trying, but I don't think I'm going to leave France with a taste for it's cheeses.)  The fraternity has really been fantastic, and several times the Lord has brought another pilgrim into my life just in time to guide me through something I couldn't have figured out on my own.  Pilgrims come into and go out of each other's ways often, staying at the same places for a few nights, and then parting ways, maybe to meet again, maybe not.  It's often a little sad to say goodbye to a pilgrim whom you don't think you'll see again, but you never know... perhaps at Santiago.

Felix, Aurelian, and I in Montpelier.

Two French pilgrims that I traveled with for about 2 weeks.

Abandonment

     Well, my pilgrimage has been under way for about a week and a half now (or 2 weeks if you consider the day I left the States) and I must say...pilgrimage s hard!  You know, there is a big difference between theoretical knowledge and practical knowledge.  Theoretical knowledge is how I know that parenting is hard; practical knowledge is how my parents know exactly how hard parenting is.  While I obviously knew beforehand that this journey would be difficult, there was no way for me to know on a real level how hard it would be. So after 12 days I can tell you: my body hurts, my pack is too darn heavy, I'm always tired (and I'm tired of being tired), I'm always hungry (and the French don't eat dinner until 7...at the earliest!), and traveling to a new place every day while carrying everything on my back gets old pretty quick.  I must say that the worst part is not having mass in my own tongue.  I can figure out the key parts of the mass, but forget about the homily!  It is much more difficult than I had anticipated not to have acces to a full participation in the Eucharist.  I think that this will be a long summer.
     All that being said, it has been an amazing 12 days.  I've been traveling through the mountains for the last 4 or 5 days and the landscape has been absolutely breathtaking.  Even yesterday when it rained I got to see the clouds rolling in over the mountain tops.  I've encountered new plants and animals, eaten new foods (duck in wine sauce, be jealous Nick) and been constantly surrounded by God's glorious creation.  And God's providence has gone before me every step of the way; from the gite operator who told me about the trail markings (imagine that: they mark this trail that hundreds of people walk every year...who woulda thought?) to the two English speaking companions (French and German) that I had for a couple days last week on my way into and out of Monpelier.  Every time I've encountered a difficulty, God has provided for my needs.  So the first lesson of my pilgrimage? Abandonment.  It's a scary concept.  How do we abandon ourselves completely to God's providence?  Well I don't know yet.  But I'm going to keep trying.  Because one thing is certain: even though I don't always like God's plans right away, and even though they sometimes involve hardships, they always, always, always bring abundant graces into my life.  His love is unfathomable; His mercy inexhaustible; His grace unbeatable.  I might not perfect it, but I'm going to keep trying to let go, to abandon myself to God's will.

The best laid plans of mice and men...

...are often smashed to pieces in front of you right before a big guy punches you in the face.  Sometimes straightforward prose gets to the heart of things better than poetry.  For anyone who has been following via Facebook you already know that the last few days have been a little rough on me.  A storm in Chicago closed the airport and delayed my flight from Louisville. When I arrived in Chicago my flight to London was long gone.  They rerouted me through Boston to London but couldn't sort everything out so I was told I'd have to sort it all out in Boston and London as I got there. When I got on the plane to Boston there was a man apperently booked for the same seat. I was told he was on the wrong plane and I was given the seat. Shortly thereafter they reseated him on the flight...in an exit row seat...I'm taller than him.  In Boston the agent at the counter was able to sort things out and print my boarding passes for my last two flights.  By then it was around 6am on Monday and I was 12 hours in.  So on to London! I arrived about 9pm (instead of the original 9am), missing my original flight to Toulouse of course, and found my way to the rectory where I was staying the night with a friend of my pastor.  I got 4 hours of very restless sleep worrying about missing my flight in the morning because the metro doesn't start running until 5:30; though I was able to shower, which by that time was a good thing for everybody.  In the morning I tried unsuccessfully to take an early bus but was fortunately able to grab a taxi who took me to the central station where I could take the express to the airport (a plan which he suggested because it would be cheaper). He then began to give me background history on some of the things we passed (he actually had a second job as a tour guide) and then discounted my fare so that I could pay with the 20 pound note I had rather than with my credit card (also his idea, not mine).  The flight from London was fine, the agent at the gate checked on my luggage and assured me it was on the flight, and I was finally off to Toulouse!  And then they lost my bag.  Mentally, physically and emotionally exhausted I was stuck in Toulouse.  They had no idea where my bag was and I was really afraid that my pilgrimage was going to be over after only three days.  Praise be to God my friend Robert had put me in touch with his friend, Isabelle, in Toulouse. I may be a bit biased, but I am fairly certain she's a saint. All the space I've used to write about about all the bad things I could double with all the good.  Isabelle fed me, let me shower (ever noticed how much travel makes you stink?) and gave me a place to sleep (praise the Lord!).  Today the nightmare is over.  Isabelle hooked me up with Fr. Christopher, originally from Canada, who is letting me stay at the rectory tonight. This morning my pack arrived from London and tomorrow I take the train to Arles.  Praise be to God for His the providential care He has shown for me through this ordeal.  I still have a lot of processing to do before I am ready to share all the beautiful things I have experience here (unless you want to read a 40 page rambling account of what has happened, but I think one of those is enough for this blog); but I will try to get that post up the next time I have internet access.  All I can say now is thank you from the bottom of my heart to all of you for your prayers and encouragement through all of this. You're words gave me strength when I wanted to quit.  My adventure continues, alleluia!

What exactly am I doing?

About this Blog

Welcome!  I'll admit right up front that I'm not much of a blogger, but I'm going to try to make this worth reading.  The purpose of this blog is to chronicle my experiences along the Way of St. James this summer, a collection of medieval pilgrimage routes spanning across Europe and ending at the tomb of the apostle James the Greater in northwest Spain.  Beginning in Arles, France I will walk nearly 1,000 miles over the course of 10 weeks.  To all of you who supported me and made this possible I can only say thank you once again.  The amount of support I've received has been incredible and has reaffirmed for me that this is God's will for my summer.  I don't know how often I'll be able to update this blog along the way since I won't have regular internet access, but I'll try to take advantage every chance I get to let you all know how things are going.  And with that, I'll leave you with my somewhat facetiously chosen theme song for the summer.  Enjoy.