Today is the feast day of St. James; this day brings back memories of the camino I made twelve years ago. The memories are mixed; the smell of the eucalyptus woods as we walked through them, the joy of meeting other pilgrims on the way, the loveliness of this part of Spain, the small villages we walked through, the comfort of the wayside signage which confirmed we were on the right track, And the joylessness of the endless road stretching ahead in the heavy rain, the acheing body at the end of the day, the wrong turns and retracing of steps, the blistered feet needing attention.
I wonder how many pilgrims- not many, I'll be bound- can say that their journey in Christ has been one of unalloyed joy, of straight and level paths in shady sunshine. For most it will have been a mix of good times and -yes- bad. Closeness to God and times of estrangement. Consolation and desolation.
But we keep on. We keep on keeping on. Part deeply ingrained habit, part because we don't know a better alternative- 'to whom, Lord, shall we go? You have the words of eternal life'. Part because it can always be better than this, part for the final promise, the beatific vision of going to God.
The journey and the destination- a complicated mix. We press on towards the mark.
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