I was filled with apprehension the morning of our first day. Would I be able to walk 14 miles over uneven terrain from Sorria to Portomarín ten months after a hip replacement? But you never are sure until you try. 

I was with a group of 20 from all over the United States whom I had just met two days before. Each person was interesting as we swapped stories of our lives and our faith and what had brought us to the Camino, most for the first time. I knew why I had come: it was a life-long dream since I was raised Catholic, and have always enjoyed being outdoors. My favorite Gospel is St. John’s, so a pilgrimage to Santiago where the relics of his older brother St. James are stored, is inspiring. And, as I approach retirement within the next few years, I feel a need to discern what that looks like, particularly in how I can best serve God.

We walked some together but then also apart. Fourteen miles is a long way and I found myself struggling on the hills, both upward and downward. My focus was on my feet and my walking sticks to ensure that I didn’t trip and fall.

After the first hour, I realized how heavy my burden was. Although our suitcases were moved each night to our new destination, I had a full daypack. I stopped and realized that the heaviest things I had were my Nikon Z6 full-frame camera and my REI water bottle!!! I love taking photographs and wanted to have the best record of my journey. And my refillable REI water bottle was a thinly veiled protest against plastic.

As I walked, the rain started to come. First a gentle rain and then a soaking downpour requiring rain jackets and pants and even a rain jacket for my backpack. But where I was there were no choices. I had to keep walking forward on the trail.

I was reading the Collected Works of St. John of the Cross on the plane ride to Madrid and I recognized the “dark night”. St. John calls our journey toward union with God a night that is divided into three parts like a natural night. The first part, the night of the senses, resembles early evening, that time of twilight when things begin to fade from sight. The second part, faith, is completely dark, like midnight. The third part, representing God, is like the very early dawn just before the break of day.

The expression “night” signifies the deprivation of the gratification of the soul’s appetites in all things. Just as the night is devoid of light, darkness and emptiness of all visible objects can be called a night for the soul. It is necessary for us to experience this first “night” on our quest to be reunited with God.

As I continued along the path, the rains came again and I thought the journey would never end. I recognized the dark night that resembles early evening, where things I can see, hear and feel begin to disappear in the fog. As I took each step, I contemplated what things in my life I had become attached to. They included possessions (my camera), my REI water bottle, my friends, my church, and more. It wasn’t that I had to give any of these up, but more an awareness of the things that possessed me and had become prizes in my life to acquire and hold rather than treasures to just enjoy.

One of my new walking friends is a priest from the Boston area who will be retiring at the end of the year. He shared that he and his wife are giving away all their possessions including books, CDs, furniture, etc. After traveling for six months visiting friends and family, they will decide where they want to live and what retirement looks like for them. His story caused me to ask, “What is it that I need to give up to be closer to God?” “How many “things” does it take in life to have faith?”

The next day I packed a lighter backpack. The fancy camera was back in my suitcase (my iPhone was good enough) and my REI water bottle had been replaced by one plastic, refillable one. There was no rain predicted so I shed my rain pants, too.

I continue to contemplate, “What else do I need to give up in my life that is hindering me from union with God?”

Blessings, my friend,
Agatha