I’m still readjusting to a regular schedule after returning from leading a wonderful two-week pilgrimage for Oasis Ministries for Spiritual Development. We walked from Ponferrada to Santiago de Compostela on the Camino Frances in Northern Spain, and during our travels I’ve been thinking about this post.

I want to preface this by saying that I’m an extrovert and so I genuinely enjoy connecting with people wherever I am. It could be chatting with store clerks or strangers in line, greeting people while on walks or hikes, or even joking with receptionists or call center folks on the phone. Often times, as the saying goes, new people are merely friends I haven’t met yet.

But this is often small talk and only rarely leads to deeper conversations. However, conversations seem to flow more easily while on pilgrimage (and not just because we traveled as a group).

While people have a host of reasons for walking the Camino, some religious or spiritual and some secular, there is an incredible openness that exists on the path and in albergues (hostels), hotels, cafes, restaurants, bars, etc. Everyone is seeking something and this seems to establish openness and vulnerability as fundamental pieces of the walk. This doesn’t mean that everyone is spilling their story everywhere or to everyone, but that you can have different types of conversation or a different quality of conversation than you might normally in daily life. And it’s important to note that it is no minor miracle that this happens in spite of language barriers and socio-economic, racial, ethnic, or cultural differences.

The transitory nature of the Camino also helps. Traveling somewhere new, there is a sense that you might not ever see these sights or these people again, so what’s the harm in being fully yourself, sharing what’s on your heart? After all, if I say something vulnerable that may or may not be received by the hearer and then I run into them in Starbucks or at the local high school football game, I may feel a sense of embarrassment or shame creep up, even if it’s only in my mind. But if I share something and then I or the other person walk on, we may or may not see each other moving forward. Even if we run into each other again, we can always take the option of just walking in contemplative silence without the expectation or pressure to engage!

But there’s something else at work here – a genuine willingness to meet new people and to hear their stories. A comment or joke about the weather or difficult terrain, or a question about how the laundry works or about when the waiter might come by, can open up conversation. Shockingly, the conversation often flows into deeper waters without even asking the other person’s name. It’s not a sign of disrespect for the person – it’s just that there’s an emphasis on the ability to get into the heart of the matter without needing the formalities up front. Before you know it, you’re talking about why you’re here, what’s been good, what’s been challenging, your anxieties, how you’re noticing things about yourself, or your feelings about the pilgrimage drawing to a close…

And surprisingly, the person listens and responds with their own tender stories. Somehow reciprocity and patience are predominant. Somehow there’s no judgment – just a pause to consider how your responses might vary, and how together, you might offer each other food for thought. There’s plenty of time to ponder what has been shared and received as you walk to the next village. The next step might be to wonder to yourself: “why did that particular story come up? Or, why did I feel the need to share that right here, right now?”

Sometimes, relationships are formed from these conversations and you rejoice meeting your new friends as you travel from village to village, introducing each other to an ever-widening circle of fellow pilgrims. You form a loose-knit community or even a “Camino family” from various corners of the globe, united in your humanity, traveling step-by-step together. As you walk, you realize it’s not just the Camino you’re traversing, but the road of life with all its complexity – joys and delights, challenges and pains, confusion and chaos, hopes and dreams…

Arriving in Melide, we came across this sculpture by Canadian artist Timothy Schmalz (he did the sculpture of “Homeless Jesus” as well). The sculpture is called “Be Welcoming” and is inspired by Hebrews 13:2: “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it.” Depending on how you look at it (your perspective or point of view), it depicts an angel or a homeless person. In a wonderful subverting of expectations and, perhaps, our prejudices, the sculpture poses questions and invitations: is it the angel or the homeless person who has a hand open and outstretched, ready to receive, or ready to offer something to the viewer? Who exactly is a messenger of God here? Are they always one and the same?

It makes me ask, do we view our interactions with strangers as potential impositions or burdens, or do we view them as potential gifts or graces?

Perhaps it’s always a mix of both.

In regular life, even with my outgoing nature and tendency to wear my heart on my sleeve, there’s still a defensiveness that I carry with me that probably makes me hesitate more in welcoming others and in baring my soul. On pilgrimage, expecting the holy to break in and to be revealed, that defensiveness takes a backseat to awaiting with anticipation. I am ready to see, hear, and receive in a way that comes only fleetingly in daily life. As I reflect on this, it seems this shift is solely in my attitude and my expectations.

So what if I adopted this pilgrim expectation, awe, and openness in my daily life? Would I – or any of us – discover with shock and delight that there were fellow pilgrims and messengers of grace all around us?

I suspect we might.

In this increasingly divided world, I long to discover the difference it would make to actually try out this pilgrim perspective in everyday life. May we meet each other on the road…

Below are some pictures from our pilgrimage that captured this sense of community for me!

© Annabelle P. Markey