I’ll be on sabbatical from April 1st through July 8th, with 60 days walking the Camino de Santiago. During this time, I’ll be journaling and blogging, and I invite you to join in the conversation. On Sunday evening each week–beginning Easter Sunday–I’ll post a journal prompt on my blog. I will need to approve your first comment, but afterward, you will be free to comment as you like.
Please comment below. When I return, we’ll combine some of your journal entries with mine and produce a printed journal of our adventure.
WEEK ONE PROMPT
Today, we celebrate the Resurrection of Our Lord. Through this great act of love, how will you live into this new life that has been offered to you?
In a conversation with C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien said, “We have come from God, and inevitably the myths woven by us, though they contain error, will also reflect a splintered fragment of the true light, the eternal truth that is with God.” Within our legends and myths, there is a certain amount of truth. The same is true with what I would like to share today—a combination of facts, myths, and legends, and it all begins in the year 43 B.C. We can read about it in the Acts of the Apostles.
“Herod the king laid violent hands on some who belonged to the church. He killed James the brother of John with the sword, and when he saw that it pleased the Jews, he proceeded to arrest Peter also.” (Acts 12:1-3a) The Apostle James, brother of John and son of Zebedee, was martyred by beheading. It is from there that our legend begins.
Following his death, his followers, wanting to provide a proper burial for him but also wanting his body to be kept safe, took it to the coast, where they boarded a stone boat. The boat had no rudder or sail but was guided by an angel, which took it on a long journey across the Mediterranean, through the Strait of Gibraltar, and up to the northwest corner of Spain.
At this same time, a father was throwing a huge wedding party for his son. There was food, drinks, dancing, and games. One of the games played was abofardar—the men, riding horses, would take a spear and hurl it into the air as high and far as they could, then, charging forward, they would attempt to catch the spear before it hit the ground—very safe. The groom’s turn came, and he gave the spear a mighty throw. However, he was so focused on the spear that he paid little attention to where his horse was going, and he plummeted into the sea and disappeared. There was high tension as the crowd watched and waited for him to surface. Finally, he did. A way out from shore, the groom and horse popped up. Fortunately for them, there was a boat directly beside them. It was the stone boat carrying the body of the Apostle James.
After rescuing the groom and the horse, it was discovered that they were both covered in scallop shells. The followers of James on the boat saw this as a miracle, so the scallop shell became a symbol of all who were saved by coming to St. James.
Following these events, the body of St. James was secretly buried and essentially lost for almost 800 years until a hermit, Pelayo, noticed strange lights in the sky. Following the lights, Pelayo came to a field where he discovered the hidden tomb. He informed his Bishop, who, with several others, went to investigate and were able to determine that it was, in fact, the remains of the Apostle. A church was built over the tomb, and later a cathedral. The city that grew up around it that supported the pilgrims who came to venerate the saint was named Santiago de Compostella. Santiago is translated as St. James, and Compostella means “field of lights.” For the last 1,200 years, saints and sinners, lay people and clerics, rich and poor, popes and kings, have made the pilgrimage to pray before the remains of St. James the Great—one who was so very close and dear to Jesus.
The pilgrimage is called the Camino de Santiago, the Way of St. James, and the starting point for many is Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port, which means St. John at the Foot of the Pass—the pass is the one that takes you over the Pyrenees Mountains, from France into Spain. On April 10th of this year, I will rename this town Jean-Pied-de-Port—John at the Foot of the Pass (unless, of course, I’m sainted in the next month, then I’ll keep it the same.) The French Way, the route I will be taking, is the most popular and the one pilgrims have walked for 1,200 years.
I’ll take more time and make more stops, but there are traditionally 31 stops along the way, and early on, pilgrims would make the journey there and back, so with the Cathedral counting as their destination, you would have 63 stops. As they did not have the benefit of GPS and a well-marked trail, early pilgrims relied on various maps, one of which was created by the Templars. That early map has evolved into a game still played today (and one our kids will have the opportunity to play while I’m away)—The Royal Game of the Goose. Thus enter Albert the Goose. Why a goose?
It was the Templars who were charged with protecting pilgrims as they made the pilgrimage, and so it was the Templars who made the original map. Looking at our game board, you will see many of the squares have symbols in them. The meaning of most of the symbols is lost. Still, the labyrinth could represent physical and spiritual growth, a well might represent a lousy day, and a bridge—although it may be a specific bridge—can also represent a spiritual crossing. And then there is the goose. For the Templars, the goose represented wisdom, and throughout the Camino, if you keep your eyes open, you will see a goose carved in the base of a statue or a distinctive goose track in various locations. There are also towns with “Goose” in their names: Villafranca de Montes de Oca, Castrojeriz (city of geese), El Ganso, Ocón, Puerto de Oca, Manjarín (man of geese). (Source) While I’m away, Albert will also be traveling, and you may find him at your front door looking for a place to rest.
In the very early days of the Camino, there were tens of thousands of pilgrims, but the numbers waned due to wars and other issues. Eventually, it nearly fell out of use, and in 1979, only twelve people completed the walk. However, popularity has increased dramatically. Last year, which was considered a holy year, over 442,000 individuals walked a Camino.
To officially walk a Camino, you must walk at least 100km (62 miles). From St-Jean, where I’ll start, it is 800km (500 miles), and last year, of the 442,000, about 23,000 made that distance. For each, regardless of the distance, the shell—like the one attached to the groom and his horse—has become the symbol of the Camino de Santiago. It is what designates a pilgrim—they attach one to their pack or hat—and it is what marks The Way, with signposts, wayfaring markers, and various marks in the road.
Finally, the Camino de Santiago is a physical exercise—putting one foot in front of the other for 500 miles—but more than that, it is a spiritual exercise. It is a journey of the soul. It is a way of letting go of all except the most necessary and, hopefully, along The Way, discovering that all you truly need is God and a few items you can carry on your back. As I walk, I hope to declutter my mind and my soul, and just as I might leave some gear that I don’t use along the way, I hope to leave the clutter and discover that life is far simpler than we make it.
I will be on the Camino for 60 days, and I’ll be out for fourteen weeks. I will be very out of touch, but I will pray for you every day. As I’ve told several people, St. Matthew’s was around for 125 years before I got here, so I know you’ll be just fine and in very capable hands. I encourage you to participate in the events and activities that have been planned. In the process, you might just discover the spirit of the Camino and find The Way opening up before you.
Let us pray (this is the traditional pilgrim’s prayer that was written in the 12th century):
O God, who brought your servant Abraham out of the land of the Chaldeans, protecting him in his wanderings, who guided the Hebrew people across the desert, we ask that you watch over us, your servants, as we walk in the love of your name.
Be for us our companion on the walk, Our guide at the crossroads, Our breath in our weariness, Our protection in danger, Our refuge on the Camino, Our shade in the heat, Our light in the darkness, Our consolation in our discouragements, And our strength in our intentions.
So that with your guidance we may arrive safe and sound at the end of the Road and enriched with grace and virtue we return safely to our homes filled with joy. In the name of Jesus Christ our Lord, Amen.
St. James the Greater, pray for us. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us.
When Czech and German immigrants came to Texas in the 1800s, many settled in the central part of the state and named their towns after the places they’d left—Praha, Schulenburg, Dubina, Fredericksburg. These thriving communities prospered by working hard, helping one another, and praying together.
In an effort to make their new churches feel more like the ancient Gothic structures of their homelands, these early settlers painted the walls, altars, and arches of their simple wooden sanctuaries in colorful patterns and clever tromp l’oeil images. These buildings came to be known as the Painted Churches of Texas. Thankfully, they have been preserved and stand today in honor of those whose artistry and devotion created them. (Source)
St. Mary’s is considered the Queen of the Painted Churches located in High Hill
St. John the Baptist in Ammannsville (aka: the pink one)
Today, I had the opportunity to take a small group to Oklahoma City to visit the Blessed Stanley Rother Shrine. Blessed Stanley is the first American Martyr in the Roman Catholic Church and an Oklahoman. Below is a history taken from the Archdiocese of Oklahoma City’s website. (Source) The pictures are ones I took.
Stanley Francis Rother was born March 27, 1935, in Okarche, Oklahoma. The oldest of the children born to Franz and Gertrude Rother, he grew up on a farm and attended Holy Trinity Catholic Church and School. He worked hard doing required chores, attended school, played sports, was an altar server and enjoyed the activities associated with growing up in a small town.
While in high school, he began to discern the possibility of a vocation to the priesthood. He was accepted as a seminarian and was sent to Assumption Seminary in San Antonio, Texas. He completed his studies at Mount Saint Mary’s Seminary in Emmitsburg, Maryland, and was ordained a priest on May 25, 1963. Father Rother served as an associate pastor for five years in Oklahoma.
He sought and received permission to join the staff at the Oklahoma diocese’s mission in Santiago Atitlan, Guatemala. He served the native tribe of the Tz’utujil, who are decedents of the Mayans. Although he struggled with Latin in the seminary, Father Rother learned Spanish and the Tz’utujil language in Guatemala. He celebrated Mass in their language and helped translate the New Testament.
Father Rother was surrounded by extreme poverty among the Tz’utujil, who were living in one-room huts growing what they could on their small plots of land. He ministered to his parishioners in their homes; eating with them, visiting the sick and aiding them with medical issues. He even put his farming skills to use by helping them in the fields, bringing in different crops, and building an irrigation system.
While he served in Guatemala, a civil war raged between the militarist government forces and the guerrillas. The Catholic Church was caught in the middle due to its insistence on catechizing and educating the people. During this conflict, thousands of Catholics were killed. Eventually, Father Rother’s name appeared on a death list. For his safety and that of his associate, Father Rother returned home to Oklahoma. He didn’t stay long, though, as he was determined to give his life completely to his people, stating that “the shepherd cannot run.” He returned to Santiago Atitlan to continue the work of the mission.
Within a few months, three men entered the rectory around 1 a.m. on July 28, 1981, fought with Father Rother and then executed him. His death shocked the Catholic world. No one was ever held responsible. The people of Santiago Atitlan mourned the loss of their leader and friend. They requested that Father Rother’s heart be kept in Guatemala where it remains enshrined today.
In 2007, his Cause for Canonization was opened. In June 2015, the Vatican in Rome voted to formally recognize Oklahoma’s Father Stanley Rother a martyr. The determination of martyrdom was a critical step in the Archdiocese of Oklahoma City’s Cause to have Father Rother beatified, the final stage before canonization as a saint.
On Dec. 1, 2016, Pope Francis officially recognized Father Rother as a martyr for the faith. He is the first martyr from the United States and the first U.S.-born priest to be beatified. The Rite of Beatification was held on Sept. 23, 2017, in downtown Oklahoma City – an event attended by more than 20,000 people from around the world.
Prayer for the Canonization of Blessed Stanley Rother
O God, fount of all holiness, make us each walk worthily in our vocation, through the intercession of your Saints, on whom you bestowed a great variety of graces on earth. Having graced your Church with the life of your priest and martyr, Blessed Stanley Rother, grant that by his intercession this humble flock may reach where the brave shepherd has gone. Grant that your Church may proclaim him a saint living in your presence and interceding for us. Through Christ our Lord. Amen.
And God created Dog….
The floor tiles were made in Guatemala and dried outside. Throughout the building, you can see the tracks of the animals that passed by before the tiles were set.
It was going to be a lot of walking and train time if it turned out to be closed again, but I made my way back to Belém because I wanted to have a proper visit to St. Jerónimos Monastery. I was not disappointed.
As is the case with most of my train rides, I missed my stop. [insert eyeroll] Most trains have either a scrolling sign or announce the stops; I’m guessing the one on my train was out of service. I told myself when I got on, ‘It’s the third stop. Get off there.’ But it did not look right, so I remained on the train and… yep. It was the right stop. Got off at the next made my way to the other side of the track to catch the returning train. After ten minutes of waiting and no sign, I stepped off the platform and said, “Taxi!” Four minutes and 6€ later I was deposited at the front door of the monastery. It was worth it.
By the time I arrived, most of the other tourists were at supper. I didn’t have it to myself, but when you can capture a photo like this…
There are two self-guided tours: one through the church and another through the cloisters. I began with the church.
Construction began in 1502 and was one of the reasons why the church in Batalha was not completed: there is only so much stone and so many stonecutters. The king decided that after 129 years of construction at Batalha, they had had enough time to complete.
None of the churches are brightly lit, but this was by far the darkest, between fewer windows and electrical lights.
The last entry into the monastery side is 5:30 p.m., and I timed it perfectly.
St. Jerome is most often pictured with a lion. This painting greets you at the top of the stairs leading to the second story, and the proud lion sits at the corner of the inner courtyard.
The Golden Legend says…
One day toward evening, when he was seated with the brethren to hear the sacred lessons read, a lion suddenly limped into the monastery. The other monks fled at the sight of the beast, but Jerome greeted him as a guest. The lion showed him his wounded foot, and Jerome called the brothers and ordered them to wash the animal’s feet and to dress the wound carefully. When they set about doing this, they found that the paw had been scratched and torn by thorns. They did what was necessary, and the lion recovered, lost all his wildness, and lived among the monks like a house pet.
I posted the legend elsewhere, and someone commented that the legend of the lion is based on Jerome’s temper which he had a difficult time containing. It is easy to see that in the story as well: his life of prayer, cloistered with the other monks, tamed his temper and his soul.
Today is my last day in Portugal and I’ve no plan. I still haven’t ridden one of the trolleys, but with such long flights coming up tomorrow, I’m not too interested in spending the day sitting. Maybe I’ll just walk out the door and see where my feet take me.
I forgot to make a New Year’s resolution. I think it will be to travel at every opportunity I can.
I walked about fifteen minutes to the Barrio Alto Hotel where I met my guide and travel companions. There were eight of us in all—myself, an Armenian couple now living in Las Angeles, a Chinese couple now living in Michigan, and a family of three from Buenos Aries, Brazil (the history of Portugal and Brazil is closely knit together.)
From there, we drove north (our driver averaged 95 mph in the Mercedes van) to Fatima (about an hour). Along the way, the guide explained to us (first in English, then in Portuguese) the significance of the site, the apparitions, the three shepherd children, and all. It is fascinating to hear, even if you are familiar with the story.
When going to Fatima, it is not about the buildings. It is about the location and the events that occurred there. The buildings came much later. The first picture below shows the actual location of the apparitions and the original place of worship that the Virgin Mary asked to be built. The second, the church, was built later as the site grew in importance and more pilgrims arrived. There is now a third church, which is more like an auditorium, that will hold 8,000. I was glad that the Pilgrim’s Mass was held in the first church.
The Vatican has not yet revealed all the messages that were given but have officially declared the apparitions to be valid; this is primarily due to the fifth apparition: the Virgin Mary asked that six individuals be brought on that day so that they could be healed. When the day arrived, there were at least 40,000 in attendance and 500 to 1,000 were healed and… all reported that the sun danced in the sky. I encourage you to read more about this miraculous event.
From Fatima, we travelled to Batalha (means battle) the site of a great battle and the location of the Monastery of Saint Mary of the Victory. Construction began in 1386 in thanksgiving for the victory at the battle of Aljubarrota between the Spanish and the Portuguese (these people still don’t like one another, and our guide tells us that anyone who says differently is lying.) There are some fantastic circumstances regarding the battle, but in the end, 6,000 Portuguese defeated 36,000 Spanish in about forty-five minutes. I would probably have built a church myself. At the far right side of the church you see columns that appear to be incomplete… they are. After 129 years of construction, the government said, “Enough,” and put the resources elsewhere.
A note on paying your artist: the one who crafted the horse and rider (general who led the battle) was never paid properly, so the artist made a few “mistakes” in creating the horse. 1) both left feet of the horse are off the ground. Guess what happens when both the left/right feet of a horse are off the ground. 2) It is a male horse that has three of what it should only have two and none of what it should have one. I’ll let you sort that all out.
Moving indoors…
It is as though they were attempting to enclose heaven itself in such a dramatic space. The acoustics are incredible as the sound bounces off the ceiling (106 feet) and around the columns.
Other images…
On each stone, you will see certain marks. These are the marks of the stonecutter. No mark = no pay. When a stone has two marks, it means that it was cut by an apprentice under the tutelage of a master.
I shared lunch with this delightful Armenian couple who insisted on paying for mine. I protested, but he gave me a look that informed me I would not “win” the argument, so I said, “Thank you.”
Nazaré was next. It is known for its waves and the last three world records surfing have been attained here. Most tourists come for the huge waves, but as our guide explained, it is only about five days out of the year that the massive ones (120+ feet) come in. It was still spectacular.
If you think that the name, Nazaré, sounds remarkably close to Nazareth (my Armenian friend pointed this out), then you would be correct. A wonderful legend. You can find it here.
And then we were off to Óbidos (I’ll never get the hang of the language, but it doesn’t sound like it reads.) It is a well preserved example of early life in the region and is surrounded by the castle walls. It became a part of the queen’s dowry, so she would dictate the color that all the houses must be painted, which was white, but the owners had the option of color for “framing” the house.
You are allowed to walk along the top of the wall and you do so at your own risk (definitely not OSHA approved!) By this time of the day, I was pooped out, so I did not take my chances in going all the way around, but the view…
The van was quiet for the ride home. All of us, including our guide, had a very full day. When I returned to the apartment, I had a couple of boiled eggs and a piece of bread, then put my feet up.
Today, I spent a good bit of my time simply roaming the streets, watching people, and enjoying vacation time without rushing about. It was good, but I did have one place on my list that I was not going to miss: the ruins of the Convent of Santa Maria do Carmo (founded in 1389).
Most churches are well preserved, even if they have been struck by earthquakes/fire; however, some have reached a stage where nothing more can be done except stabilize the remaining structure and save whatever else is possible. Carmo is such a place.
“The Great Lisbon Earthquake” struck on November 1, 1755, at 9:40 a.m. In Lisbon, it is estimated that 30,000-40,000 people were killed in the quake and tsunami that followed. 85% of the city was destroyed. The royal library—some 70,000 volumes—was lost. Countless works of art were buried under tons of rubble or consumed by the fires that followed and have not been seen since. A loss on many levels, then… you pick up the pieces.
Since the earthquake and through the years, the church has stood as a minder of the tragedy the city experineced, and has also become a museum for treasures that were recovered. And lets face it, every museum should have a couple of mummies sitting around.
Afterward, I stopped for a while in Rossio Square, and after the influencers moved aside to let the rest of us in, I was able to capture a few images of the fountain.
I finally came across one of the funiculars. This is the Elevado da Glória, and it climbs a hill that is a 17.7% slope. You don’t want to walk it!
And, of course, I had to stop and eat: Pinóquio. My timing was perfect. When I arrived, there were several tables free, but for the next hour, there was a line of at least 20 individuals waiting to get in (I did not know that it was a popular place when I arrived. I was just hungry.)
I enjoyed the Prawn Cocktail, Seafood Pasta (lobster—I don’t think there was much, clams, shrimp, and pasta in a thin broth. Very good! This was served with 1/2 bottle of Maria Joaquina red wine and some sparkling water. I finished up with a very yummy café and Creme Catalão—think creme brulé on crack. It was a delicious meal.
Every inch is used for floor space and more tables, so you are essentially having your meal with the people sitting next to you. In this case, I was sitting next to two young Russian men. Well, they were speaking Russian, so I’m assuming here, and for whatever reason, I got it in my pointy little head that these were some of the fortunate young Russian men who were able to escape and avoid military service in Ukraine. I didn’t ask.
Following such decadence, I decided it was time to stop for prayer, so on the way back to the apartment, I stopped once again at St. Dominic’s (the church that was gutted by fire) and prayed a rosary.
Like Rome, being in these places where the saints have prayed for centuries is a truly remarkable feeling.
After doing a bit of complicated math, I discovered tonight was the night that I once again needed to do laundry. It is not that I’m out of clean clothes, but you have to figure in drying time, and I wasn’t up for hair-drying my clothes again or packing a bunch of wet clothes home, so here I am.
Tomorrow… tomorrow is a very full day. I’m finally headed to Fatima, and there are three other stops on the tour. The weather is perfect. It’ll be a remarkable trip.
If, while in Portugal, you need to tell someone to “Get lost!” You say to them, “Vai pentear Macacos!” “Go comb monkeys!” That may work in a sermon someday.
I had no plans on getting out today and I didn’t get very far, maybe about 60 steps to a delightful restaurant: Tandoor – A Taste of Punjab.
I enjoyed a bright yellowed Garnele Korma. I looked that up before I went because I know that sometimes Indian food can get more than a little spicy. The korma is a mild dish; despite the look of the picture, it was lightly curried, and the shrimp were perfectly cooked. It was served over a very long grain white rice. The Cobra beer was also a first. I can recommend it and I’m not a big beer person.
I’m having a great time trying new foods while I am here.
Candle in a Cave 