Villatuerte, Navarre to Grañón, La Rioja
The next 5 days, 120.73 kilometers, 74.85 miles
Theme Song: A Place to Be by Nick Drake
Churches
I entered the Iglesia de Nuestra Señora de la Asunción with the best intentions – I would get a quick rest for my legs and a break from the blazing sun before the last stretch into Estella. I would get a quick rest for my mind in the quiet church – meditation and a quick prayer for openness and blessing. And I would get to visit a church I haven’t seen before.
I walked through the massive wooden doors partially blinded by the transition from the bright skies and the dark inside of the old (1200 AD) church. On the way to my pew for rest and devotion, I noticed a Franciscan pilgrim, a Mexican pilgrim, and two Korean pilgrims doing what I intended to do.
My eyes still weren’t adjusted and my evangelical-protestant feet weren’t accustomed to the kneeling bench. I tripped and tumbled into my pew, I don’t think there were any vile exclamations on my part, but…my metal water bottle flew from my hand as I broke the fall. That thing hit the hardwood floors and created a racket that is probably still echoing through the rafters.
All the devotees turned to see what the fuss was about, what was this noisy incursion?? I whispered an apology. Sorry, lo siento. But the stage was set – seconds after, one of the Korean pilgrims knocked her walking poles off her pew. Clatter, crash. Disturbed looks now in her general direction, how dare she. Then the Franciscan disturbed his large wooden walking stick, it slid and scraped against the pew and hit the floor. Scrape, clatter, bang. With chaos reigning inside the church, the old lady volunteer decided to walk and talk in full conversational tone. The Mexican pilgrim decided his devotional time was ruined, and so left. The Franciscan was close behind. I chuckled at the chain of events and left, too. It’s hard to pray in a place like this…
When I was young, younger than before, I never saw the truth hanging at the door
When I was a child, the church was a normal place to be. Then when I was ‘of age’, I left. Then came back when the kids came along, we needed all the help we could get. Then I spent a decade or more working in the church. Then I left, again, settling into a state of apathy towards the institution.
And now I’m older, see it face to face…
My apathy has faded (is fading) over the years thanks to some good theologians and several walks on the Iberian Peninsula. Now, I never miss a chance to go into one of these old buildings.
And I was greener, greener than the hill…
When the weather is mild and countryside green with spring and the skies the bluest blue you can imagine, I go in the church with praise. It is a real gift to walk in this place.
Now I’m darker than the deepest sea…
And though it’s a gift to walk around this place, still my mind sometimes goes to dark places…homesickness, tired of the sun, too much coffee, too little coffee, too many people, too few people, existential crisis, and just tired of being here. A church is the place to be. Silence. Darkness. And images of people that have been through it, too. The quiet rest and reminder heals.
And I was strong, strong in the sun…
Most days are good, though. I feel like I could walk forever and I don’t want to stop. Then I remember that maybe this is the best time to stop, when things are going right. I need a place to be, to give thanks for strength and health and opportunities.
Now I’m weaker than the palest blue…
There are moments on the journey when I’m weaker than the palest blue. For me, weakness on the Camino comes from 30-kilometer exhausted legs, or from the hot sun, or from the cold rain and wind.
The quiet, empty old church is the best place to be for a moment of rest – a place to sit, shaded from the sun and insulated with thick stone walls, or sheltered from the wind and rain. I’ve always like the image of a church as refuge and I like it when I find them with open doors.
My favorite church is the little hermitage on the outskirts of Rabé de las Calzadas. It’s juxtaposed between the ostentatious cathedral of Burgos and the yawning Meseta.
The little one room church is probably the most simple along the Way. What separates it is the faithful nun at the door – she welcomes the pilgrim, stamps credentials, prays with touch, and sends you off with a pat on the shoulder and gentle Buen Camino. No exclusionary questions, no conditions except to leave the path and walk through the open doors.
It is a beautiful place to be.
Pilgrims and Prophets 