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.