The Importance of Hello and Goodbye

 Impressions from the first four days on the Camino:
    It is easy to move quickly from exchanging names to things that are close to the heart. Who are you, and where are you from, and why are you here on the Camino? This last question occasionally—but only occasionally—gets a cynical answer. “You mean, why have I voluntarily traveled a zillion miles to lug around a pack that is too heavy and sleep in a crowded room with a bunch of snoring people, getting blisters on my feet and aches in my legs and shoulders?” But that cynical answer is a decoy. We are all here because of something in our heart that said, “I need to walk.”
    
Moving to the heart means we learn precious things about other people in a short time, but it is also the case on the Camino that, in a short time, we move on. Walking through a suburb on the way into Pamplona, I heard someone call out my name. On the sidewalk a group of pilgrims were eating lunch or having snacks or a midday drink. We talked awhile, then some took off; others took their place. Amidst lighter chatter serious things were shared—new jobs, relationships, career hopes. They ask me, and I say I wonder what God has for me to do in this new decade of life. One of them says this is the first time he’s heard religion mentioned on the Camino, which surprises him. But it’s there in the background, the God question, which is the Camino question.
    
Which is to say: The question of why someone is on the Camino is the question of God’s relationship to that person’s life. Of course, they may not know that is the question!
    
Although I write this on only the fourth day, it is already clear that the Camino is also about saying goodbye. Whenever we part from talking with one another, we don’t know when, or even if, we will meet again. If two pilgrims do meet again, then it is quite a surprise, and you can see in this delight of re-meeting, if you want, that every meeting up with someone is a new gift, a gift in a way unexpected. 
    
There was one fellow: I had a good talk with him for about an hour as we walked. He is a retired organic farmer. We talked about many things; I liked his wit, and also the way he would laugh bemusedly at himself. We stopped for coffee at a village, where many other pilgrims were. I said goodbye and went on. Later that day, he entered the same albergue I was staying at. It was an unexpected joy. And it gave me a chance to try to say a more adequate goodbye the next morning.
    
I have an old priest friend who never fails, at the end of a phone call, to express his affection. He will do that because, as he says, you never know whether there will be another chance to say it.
    
Hello’s are important, for God is always wanting to connect us with one another and, in our connections, to help us see the deep and true and wonderful things of human life. Goodbye’s are also important, because you never know if you will meet again on the Camino of life.
— 
    
Upcoming Good Books & Good Talk seminar: We’ll discuss Tolstoy’s story, “The Death of Ivan Ilych,” which can be found in many collections of his stories (but only sometimes is mentioned in the title). Any translation is fine for the seminar. This will be at St. Matthew’s Cathedral in Dallas at 5 p.m. on Sunday, June 14. Anyone who reads the story is invited to join the conversation.
Posted by The Rev. Canon Dr. Victor Lee Austin with

One of Those Very Religious Persons

 About 20 of us were there for come-and-go breakfast. She was from Holland, about ten years younger than I. I had learned that Dutch folk tend to learn to mimic accents; she, certainly, could pass as an American when she was speaking English to me. And it came to the question, What do you do back in Texas? “I’m a priest in the Episcopal Church—it’s part of the Anglican Communion, originating in the Church of England; I’m anglicano.” She seemed surprised. She said, “So you’re one of those very religious persons.”

Later I wondered about the “very” in that sentence. Normally, I would hear “those very religious persons” as a slight, a negative characterization, like “You’re one of those people who are crazy about the history of Dr. Pepper,” for instance; as if I were a person who spent too much time with stuff that had no importance to real life. (It wasn’t she, but there was another peregrino who had recently spent time in Waco. I asked her if she had visited the Dr. Pepper museum. The answer was affirmative.) But from my Dutch fellow pilgrim, I think there was no slight intended. She was just stunned, surprised; I’m not sure she had ever talked with a priest before.

I had mentioned being at a conference; she asked what the conference was; I said it was in Christian ethics, sponsored by the academic society, the Society of Christian Ethics. She asked what that was. I started to explain the workings of the society, but she interrupted. “No, not that; what’s Christian ethics?” 

We who are Christians can forget that there are vast groups of people who have no awareness of the meaning or the contemporary practice of Christianity; who find the idea of “Christian ethics” as impenetrable as the idea of “Christian algebra” or “Christian baking.” Ethics is real stuff, whereas (for many) Christianity is old superstitious thinking that does not connect with reality. 

Yet she was walking the Camino. She was—is—an uplifting presence in a group, with helpful ideas and a positive attitude towards blisters and other afflictions of life. And here she is, drawn to make this walk along with, in effect, representatives of the whole human race. I’ve said it before: everyone is on the Camino. Yet on the Camino most people walk past the many churches, many crosses, even though we are all walking to what may be the grave of one of the apostles who walked and talked with Jesus. 

Of course it’s not just other people who don’t get the big picture. I too am ignorant of much about Christianity, including its history on this Iberian peninsula on the southwest corner of Europe. These churches we walk past are mostly empty and often closed. In a city of five thousand people today there may be four large Catholic church buildings, each seating hundreds of people, but none ever actually seating even one hundred. An American thinks: these are redundant churches; some should be closed so that resources could be focused on preserving and building up the others. But I don’t live in a country that had church services nearly two thousand years ago. All those “extra” churches testify to a past when Christianity was very different from today, when people were different, when common assumptions could be made that are impossible now. What’s a strength? What’s a weakness? Were they better off? Are we better off? I don’t know. I wonder. I marvel.

I hope the Dutch woman gets a bit more Christian understanding as we move closer to Santiago. I hope that for all of us pilgrims.

Photo: "Where Christianity is old: This font was used for baptisms about 1000 years ago. Today it is in the church of S. Juan Batista in Granon, Spain, on the Camino Frances."

Posted by The Rev. Canon Dr. Victor Lee Austin with

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The Rev. Canon Victor Lee Austin. Ph.D., is the Theologian-in-Residence for the diocese and is the author of several books including, "Friendship: The Heart of Being Human" and "A Post-Covid Catechesis.: 

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