CAMINO de SANTIAGO

Early Christian history recounts that James, son of Zebedee and beloved apostle of Christ, went to Spain shortly after the crucifixion. Here, in these first days, he established o ne of the first Christian communities. He returned to the Holy Land around the year AD44, suffering death as a martyr. Legend then has it that his bones were miraculously transported to Galicia, the North Western province of Spain where they were discovered around the year AD812. From there, after leading a Christian army in a battle against the invading Islamic Moors, St James was carried to Santiago de Compostela (“Sant Iago” = Saint James). A breathtaking cathedral was built in the 1100’s to house his relics, where they still are today.

The Camino de Santiago (The Way of St James) has attracted pilgrims since then from the whole of Europe. Millions came by foot from every nation, traversed the path, arrived at the cathedral, embraced the statue of St James and placed their hand in the imprint worn into the stone by generations before them. When you walk into Santiago there is a sense of history and belonging and an overwhelming sense of arriving.

Elisabeth and I, in a group of eight, walked parts of the Camino last month. The path from St Jean Pied de Port in South West France follows some 500 miles over the Pyrenees, down to Pamplona, over the Meseta to Burgos, to Leon and over the mountain ranges finally to Santiago de Compostela. Experienced walkers, carrying their heavy rucksacks, complete this walk in 30 to 40 days. We completed 120 miles in 14 days, supported by a minibus and with time to visit some of the innumerable artistic treasures en route.

Let me tell you about the mountain village of O Cebreiro. We arrived there after a full day’s hard walking over the mountains from Villafranca. 1300 metres high, and cut off by snow in the winter. Legend has it that an old shepherd defied the biting cold and snow to cross the pass to attend mass, the only person in the congregation on that foul night. The priest, tired and disillusioned, grumbled at having to perform his duty, when suddenly the voice of Christ pronounced: “I too have come to hear Mass said this night, for I too am a shepherd.” The chalice used that night can still be seen in the Church and pilgrims meet at Mass every evening on their way through.

We too went to Mass. It was a sunny but cool evening and there were about 40 pilgrims in the Church. The priest was a strongly built man with white hair, in his 50’s. His presence seemed to fill the Church and when he left the altar to share the peace with the congregation, his huge calloused hand expressed the strength and trust of the place. A mountain man who shared the life of his people. At the end of the Mass he invited t he congregation to join him round the altar so he could give us the pilgrim’s blessing. Looking around, he asked for someone to read the prayer in Spanish, then in French, then German, then Italian. Then finally English, and I found myself standing at the altar, praying on behalf of all pilgrims, in their search for truth, today, in the past and for those to come. It was an unforgettable privilege to pronounce the name of St James in O Cebreiro.

There is one big eating place in the village, with long tables and benches.  We felt a special fellowship that evening with simple food, and locally produced wine.

The following morning the sun was high, dispelling the cold night and the mist in the valleys below us. It was as if we were in a ship, saved from the world. As it got warmer, we started our long walk towards Santiago, leaving the welcome of O Cebreiro for the unknown ahead.

Christopher Davies