15 years after my Camino: walking together

Every June becomes for me a special time to remember and ponder my pilgrimage journey across northern Spain on the Camino de Santiago.

This year is no different, except for the number... I find it hard to believe, but it’s our 15 year anniversary! 

But let me start at the end, in Santiago, and make my way back to the beginning. 

When Pat and I arrived in Santiago de Compostela, I remember standing in the plaza in front of the cathedral in awe at ourselves, feeling more than a little disbelief that we had made it. 

For weeks that felt like years, Pat and I walked the Camino de Santiago… stepping beyond the blisters, the pain, the exhaustion, the heat, the blisters, the swollen knees, and did I mention blisters—and we did it together.

I don’t want to take away from the many friends – and even my husband – who have walked part or all of the Camino by themselves. But I do believe that, just as it is true in life, there’s a level of surrender to the Camino that can only be experienced when you commit yourself to walking it with another person. 

Perhaps that's why Jesus sent out his disciples two by two...

When you are walking with someone day in and day out for weeks, it doesn’t matter how close you are or how much you like each other. Ultimately, sharing the Camino with another is always both a beautiful encounter, and a downright grueling challenge!

Pat and I were no exception.

When she hurt, I hurt. When she needed a break, I took a break. When I felt discouraged and pissy, she felt discouraged and pissy. When walking with blisters made me cry, she cried with me. When the heat overwhelmed her, we both stopped walking.

Looking back at that month of June and what we accomplished together FIFTEEN years ago, it was no coincidence that Pat and I would arrive in Santiago and kneel at the altar together on the beautiful feast of Corpus Christi.

Like the oneness we experienced as we held up and encouraged each other day by day, every time Pat and I received the Eucharist together—something we were blessed to do almost every day of our Camino pilgrimage — we also became one in and with Him who was, is, and always will be our strength and our Lord.

In a very real way, the Eucharist was our food for the journey—and what held us together.  

Like the Camino itself, the Sunday that Pat and I walked into the Santiago de Compostela Cathedral together was one of the most Eucharistic experiences of my life, one that has become even more significant now that Pat completed her earthly pilgrimage and is waiting for me at the Heavenly Banquet.

Pat's tombstone, with the final Camino shell pointing down

la fé celebrada: #MyMigrationStory

As National Migration Week comes to an end, a final reflection.

As a young Cuban refugee growing up in the neighboring island of Puerto Rico, I was keenly aware of all that made me different. In spite of speaking the same language, my schoolmates teased me for my differences in speech.

Like refugee families from other cultures, ours was a multi-generational home shared with three grandparents. Our family spent a considerable amount of our time and energy taking classes and attending events meant to remind us of our native culture, lest we ever forget what made us Cuban—and why we were refugees.   

It was an unsettling time for all the adults in my life. This meant that I attended five different grade schools and lived in five different homes—one not corresponding with the other.  

I was a perceptive child, more aware than most of the inner struggles of those suffering around me. In a very real way, I felt my parents’ anguish over the family and friends left in Cuba. I ingested my grandmother’s nighttime tears and loneliness. I experienced my grandparents’ uprootedness and displacement.  

In the midst of all this inner suffering and external displacement—and perhaps directly because of it—my sense of place, belonging, and peace became deeply rooted in the Catholic faith.  

Unlike most people’s experience, however, this sense of being claimed and chosen was not attached to one parish—but in a very real way, to the Church universal. Walking into a church. Celebrating the liturgy in unison. Receiving the Eucharist with mis hermanos, my brothers and sisters in the faith. This was, and is, home to me. 
  

In truth, there’s no substitute for the basics. Honest, daily prayer. Reclaiming the graces of the Sacraments. Approaching faith and tradition with a willing heart. Reclaiming the liturgy, and especially the Eucharist, as our home—the source from which “all its power flows.” 

Only if we put the events of our lives—past, present, future—in contact with the Word of God and the Sacraments will those events become signs of God’s presence in and for our lives. 

Only if we recommit to daily private and public prayer can we “rediscover the content of the faith that is professed, celebrated, lived and prayed.” 

Do we dare live our lives with such certainty?

[ This reflection, “Faith Celebrated,” was first published 

in the August 2013 issue 

of St. Anthony Messenger magazine ]

why la Inmaculada and the Eucharist will always be connected for me

"‘Well, if it's a symbol, to hell with it.’ That was all the defense I was capable of but I realize now that this is all I will ever be able to say about it, outside of a story, except that it is the center of existence for me; all the rest of life is expendable.”

 ~Flannery O’Connor, on the Eucharist

"Our Creator gave us life, and the Eucharist to sustain our life... [W]e cannot love God unless we love each other, and to love we must know each other.  We know him in the breaking of the bread, and we are not alone anymore.” 

 ~ Dorothy Day on living out the Eucharistic communion

Today marks a great, lovely feast.

Yes, it’s the beautiful feast honoring the Immaculate Conception of our Mother Mary.

And on a personal note, it’s also the anniversary of my First Communion at Colegio de la Inmaculada, an all-girls Catholic school in Santurce, Puerto Rico, named after today’s feast.

Unlike most girls’ white First Communion dresses, thanks to the Spanish nuns that ran our school, we dressed like mini-nuns, veil and all. Each of us wore light grey “habits,” with a white cord belt securing the cloak around the waist. 

At the time I didn’t know any better. But decades later, my girls certainly found my photos hilarious.

When asked about my experience with the Eucharist today, I find myself filled with awe and humility. Receiving the Body of Christ is what makes me and keeps me Catholic, and it’s the reason I get myself as often as I can to daily Mass.

The older I get, the more I "get" that the nuns at La Inmaculada were not simply celebrating the school's feast day with our First Communion. In a very genuine way, they were connecting the dots for us--knowing it would take us a life-time to embrace the Mystery... Mary, the Immaculate vessel that brought brought the Son of God into this world... and opening up myself to receive Him who is Mercy-made-flesh. 

The Eucharist connects me and commits me to the Body of Christ, local and universal. It heals me, restores me, and reminds me daily of Christ’s great love for me. And at times when my husband and I have found ourselves divided, broken, and suffering—it was the Eucharist we received that kept us together, one in Christ.

Over at the Catholic Education Resource Center, author Jim Forest tells a beautiful, touching story about Dorothy Day that describes perfectly how I feel about the Eucharist--and how grateful I am to the generous Hijas de la Caridad de San Vicente de Paúl who introduced me to it:

"Pleased as [Dorothy Day] was when home Masses were allowed and the Liturgy translated into English, she didn’t take kindly to smudging the border between the sacred and mundane. When a priest close to the community used a coffee cup for a chalice at a Mass celebrated in the soup kitchen on First Street, she afterward took the cup, kissed it, and buried it in the back yard. It was no longer suited for coffee — it had held the Blood of Christ. I learned more about the Eucharist that day than I had from any book or sermon. It was a learning experience for the priest as well — thereafter he used a chalice."

[an edited version of this blog post first appeared here on 12/7/12]

walking the Camino, why two is better than one

Twelve years ago, on the great feast of Corpus Christi, my dear Pat and I walked into Santiago de Compostela—finally completing our pilgrimage across northern Spain.

 

I remember standing in the plaza in front of the cathedral, in awe at ourselves, feeling more than a little disbelief that we had made it. 

For weeks that felt like years, Pat and I walked the Camino de Santiago… stepping beyond the pain, exhaustion, heat, blisters, and swollen knees—and we did it together.

Not to take away from the many friends – and even my husband – who have walked part or all of the Camino by themselves, but much as it is true in life, there’s a level of surrender to the Camino that can only be experienced when you commit yourself to another person. 

Perhaps that's why Jesus sent out his disciples two by two...

When you are walking with someone day in and day out for weeks it doesn’t matter how close you are or how much you like each other because, in the end, it will be both a beautiful encounter, and a downright grueling challenge!

Pat and I were no exception.

When they hurt, you hurt. When they need a break, you break. When you are discouraged and pissy, they feel discouraged and pissy. If walking with blisters makes you cry, they cry with you. When the heat overwhelms them, you both stop walking.

Looking back at that month of June and what we accomplished together twelve years ago, it was no coincidence that Pat and I would arrive in Santiago and kneel at the altar together on the feast of Corpus Christi.

Like the oneness we experienced as we held up and encouraged each other day by day, every time Pat and I received the Eucharist together—something we were blessed to do almost every day of our Camino pilgrimage—we also became one in and with Him who is our strength and our Lord.

In a very real way, it was our food for the journey—and what held us together.  

Like the Camino itself, the Sunday that Pat and I walked into the Santiago de Compostela cathedral together was one of the most Eucharistic experiences of my life, one that has become even more significant now that Pat is waiting for me at the heavenly banquet.

Pat's tombstone, with the final Camino shell pointing down