The Lord is Near

It’s been a while since I’ve written anything here. As you may know, I’m on a three-month sabbatical and I’ve spent roughly the last two weeks walking the Camino de Santiago (Portuguese Way). On May 27, we reached the Cathedral in Santiago! I even received the Latin documents to prove it. I may have a few more reflections on this experience at a later date. It was a rich and rewarding one in many ways and I’m still sifting through a few stories along the way. What follows is a bit unpolished as it is gleaned from some handwritten journal reflections over the last few days.

The experience of arriving at the Cathedral itself was an interesting one. We had only left ourselves around 7 km or so to walk on the last day so we could arrive around mid-day and have a good chunk of the day in the city. I had an early flight to catch the next morning (more on that later) and I didn’t want to stagger in exhausted at four or five pm and then have a quick turnaround the next morning. So, it was around 11:30 am when I rounded the last corner of the tight city streets and emerged into Obradoiro Square which represents the last official footsteps of the Camino.

I’m not sure what I was expecting from this moment. Some kind of transcendent experience? A euphoric high from completing a long journey? Some rush of relief or religious ecstasy? Turns out it was none of these things, really. The Cathedral itself kind of snuck up on me. We entered from a side street and when we entered the square, the building immediately visible to us was the Pazo de Raxoi, a palace which now serves as a government building. It’s an impressive building, to be sure, but not the kind that takes your breath away. I walked a few more paces and then gradually began to look to my right. And there it was. The Cathedral. And it was a spectacular piece of architecture and aesthetics and religious devotion. But there was no reaction for me, really. Perhaps I am an emotionally stunted human! One of my travelling companions told me he teared up a little in the square. I found myself wishing I could say the same! We had, after all, walked a long road together. Surely, I could muster up some rush of endorphins to ratify and punctuate all that we had been through to get to our destination!

But no. There was to be no moment for me. It was nice to be done, to say that I finished the Camino de Santiago Portuguesa. To be in a beautiful European city square bathed in sunlight. To see the evident joy and friendship in the square. To encounter new friends from around the world that we had met on our journey. And that was about it.

I always feel at least a little conflicted in the presence of magnificent European cathedrals and all the various accoutrements of Roman Catholic piety that go along with them. The aesthetics are stunning. Truly. It is visually spectacular to see these spires that stretch Godward, to think of all the human creativity, skill, intelligence, and religious devotion (and forced labour, no doubt) that went into these structures over the centuries and millennia. These are monuments to faith. At the same time, I suppose I remain just enough of a Mennonite (however poorly and conflictedly) to wonder, “What does any of this have to do with Jesus of Nazareth, the humble teacher, the friend of sinners who had no place to lay his head, who had no earthly possessions? What does it have to do with the preacher of the Sermon on the Mount who called the poor, the meek, the lowly ‘blessed?’” I am hardly the first person to struggle with this tension, I know. And I certainly won’t be the last.

We attended the Pilgrim’s Mass later in the day after wandering around the shops and bars and cafes and gift shops in the city square. The Cathedral was packed for Mass. We decided to split up and see if we could find single seats somewhere. I couldn’t. I ended up sitting against a stone pillar way toward the back. Occasionally I stood up, craning my neck around others to try to get a partial view. I saw and heard (and understood) little of what was going on. I ended up leaving early. It all felt somehow, I don’t know, “off” to me. It didn’t feel particularly spiritual or holy or reverent to be among thousands of people with their phones in the air, gaping at the ornate surroundings, hoping they would get a chance to see the swinging of the botofumeiro, this enormous bowl of incense that is sometimes launched through the air, filling the cathedral with incense, symbolizing purification and the prayers of the saints rising to heaven (and which now only happens if a generous patron ponies up €500). I couldn’t connect any of it with the Jesus I know and love. This sounds arrogant and small and provincial and un-ecumenical, I know. I can see this as I look at the words on the page. I’m simply saying how I felt.

I left the service early. Missed the swinging of the botofumeiro (I saw a video from a friend later—it was impressive!). I went and sat by myself in the city square. I people watched, booked a cab for my trip to the airport in the morning. I listened to the bagpipes which are always playing in a stairwell just off the square (I learned a bit on this trip about the Celtic connections to the Spanish region of Galicia!). I didn’t recognize many of the tunes, but the music was nice to listen to. Just as the Mass was drawing to a close, I recognized one song: This is My Father’s World.

I thought about all the wonders I had seen on my long walk—all the oceans and trees and waterfalls, all the rocks and roots, the verdant hills, all the beautiful architecture and creations of human hands, the goodness of the food and the coffee and the wine, the gift of good companions for the journey. I thought about a few of the lines from the song and said a simple prayer of gratitude for the previous two weeks:

This is my Father’s world
He shines in all that’s fair
In the rustling grass I hear him pass
He speaks to me everywhere.

He speaks to me everywhere. Yes, he does. He truly shines in all that’s fair.

The next morning, I was off to Zürich, Switzerland to take in the events around the 500th anniversary of the Anabaptist movement (and to reunite with my wife!). I was feeling tired and not particularly excited about a long day full of talks and exhibits and tours. For some reason, I didn’t feel like walking much. 🙂 But my fatigue quickly lifted at the sight of friends (some I expected to see, others I did not). And of course, Zürich is beautiful city to wander around in. We saw the apartment where the first believers’ baptisms were said to take place, the spot in the river where Felix Manz was executed by drowning (this was the “creative” way they punished some early Anabaptists—a baptism to end all baptisms!). It was surprisingly moving to see the plaque and to think about what had happened five hundred years ago.

The highlight of the day was the worship service at the famous Grossmünster Church where the great Reformer Ulrich Zwingli had served as pastor. How incredible, I thought, that this hugely significant church in the Reformed world was now hosting the very group that they had zealously persecuted five hundred years earlier. There were representatives from the Reformed Church on hand to offer statements of ecumenism and reconciliation. At one point, leaders of the Mennonite and Reformed churches washed each other’s feet which was quite powerful. The Lutheran Church was also there (a representative of the Mennonite Church and the Lutheran church used oil to make the sign of the cross on each other’s foreheads), as was a cardinal from the Roman Catholic Church who read a statement from Pope Leo himself. It was incredible to see these representatives of churches who had visited such violence on the early Anabaptists now offering warm words of repentance and reconciliation, of mutuality where there was once only enmity. I felt a tear or two trickle down my cheek.

Later in the service, we sang a Taize song called “In the Lord I’ll Be Ever Thankful.” We sing it often in our little church in Lethbridge and it’s one of my favourites. The acoustics in the church were, of course, incredible, and the sound of a thousand Anabaptists from around the world lifting up their voices to the God who had walked with them through half a millennia was something to hear (and to sing).

In the Lord I’ll be ever thankful
In the Lord I will rejoice
Look to God, do not be afraid.
Lift up your voices
The Lord is near.

I was surprised that the trickle of tears had now become a steady flow. Truth be told, I had expected the Pilgrim’s service in Santiago to represent the high point of my time in Europe and the time in Zürich to be a bit, I don’t know, less impressive, less spiritual, less something. My experience was exactly the opposite of what I expected. I thanked God for holy surprises. And I marveled at the glorious truth that the Lord is, indeed, near. The Lord is always near.