It was the last day of a month-long, 800 km walking pilgrimage across Spain known as the Camino de Santiago. Every step hurt on this final approach to the city of St James (Santiago), and I felt so tired, emotionally and physically. I had met this lovely Mexican family along the way and we walked and prayed together, supporting each other. Arriving in the medieval city, we went straight to the cathedral whose 18th century facade dominates the square where pilgrims arrive. We went into the crypt to pray at the tomb of that believed to be the apostle Saint James, a moving moment.

The next day's Pilgrim’s Mass was a highlight, the place packed with walkers and cyclists from all parts of the world. I was privileged to join the priests concelebrating and to read part of the Eucharistic prayer in English. There was a tremendous sense of celebration and thanksgiving. I felt tremendously uplifted and at peace with God. It would’ve been tempting to think I had earned it after all the sacrifices, but ironically it was a humbling lesson in limits, trusting in grace and relying on others. I think I understood anew what grace and providence meant- God’s love freely given and received.

Inevitably a walk such as this involves some penitential aspects: the hardest for me was reaching my physical limits and having to get medical help. I was laid up a number of times with pulled muscles, inflamed tendons and blisters. I was reminded over and over about how we are 'incarnated spirits (John Paul II)', not only spiritual beings; how I have to respect this body that is a 'temple'; and to respect how much the body can do rather forcing it.

I had this idealistic idea in the beginning about how much I would walk each day, however, gradually I had to learn to reduce the distance to avoid damaging myself. These were hard won lessons, as my head would push me on, and yet my body would tell me clearly to stop. 

As St. Ignatius himself knew, being a pilgrim brings you closer to God as there is less to get in the way. There was just myself, the backpack and the open road (Camino); nothing but time and distance- the perfect retreat. I felt a big part of it was letting go of the securities of house and home, being alone on the road, and of trusting that God would provide. And that was, in fact, my experience.

Being on the road brought constant surprises and changes in everything from landscape, climate, people, language and culture. I went from the mountains of the Basque Country to the beaches of Cantabria, to the Irish-looking farms of Galicia. Things were always changing and new, and it asked me to be flexible and open-minded, and to find creative ways of dealing with difficulties. 

For example, in Bilbao I was down with a shin splint and rather than languish there immobile for two days, I rang a Jesuit friend who brought me to Burgos where I could recover, allowing us to renew our friendship, and fortifying me to take up the Camino in Bilbao again.

I saw God in my experience of exceptional hospitality and kindness.

At the very beginning it was a hostel manager in San Juan who went out of his way to get me information or directions; once a chemist took pity on my bad leg and gave me free medicines; another time the doctor in Bilbao didn't charge me for the consultation; in Oviedo a Jesuit brother went out of his way to help me get insoles in my shoes. And on it went, seemingly wherever I went. Other pilgrims had similar stories; pretty striking events in a world that has seemingly got so cynical, individualist and selfish. There is something in the Camino that brings out the best in everyone.

Some of this can sound arduous and harrowing, but it is almost impossible to describe the sense of joy that pervades it. There is the joy that goes with a very simple life of no luxuries, few worries except finding a hostel, meeting other pilgrims on the road or around a table for a meal where people are really talking from their heart, and an evening mass that lifts your soul.

There is the simple delight in a shower at the end of the day, a satisfied stomach, and a warm bunk- never have I found that I slept so well, ate so well, and felt so well. One thing that used to particularly touch me, leaving the hostel at 6am, was walking in the early morning mountain mists of an Iberian dawn- the sense of mystery, beauty and awe was truly humbling, genuinely edifying.

I mentioned earlier about it being the perfect retreat, as indeed it was for it has all the elements that make for one. Firstly, I was explicitly setting out to pray and reflect, dedicating this walk to the memory of my deceased brother (doing fundraising as well), and bringing the whole thing to God, the grief, the feelings, the process.

The fact that, after Jerusalem and Rome, Santiago is one of the oldest Christian pilgrimages helped enormously as well. You are constantly faced with the symbols and signs of an old pilgrim road, from the magnificent Gothic, Roman and Baroque churches, the many crosses and religious images along the way, and most importantly, the knowledge that countless thousands have walked this road before you. There is a memory written in the stones that impels you forward, directs your prayer, and brings you into contact with other pilgrims also searching.

Finally, it would be remiss to sign off without saying that the greatest grace I received was at the end of the walk, in a place called Finisterre (meaning ‘the end of the world), where pilgrims burn some of their clothing on a rocky Atlantic cape. This simple ritual, after all the walking and adventures, brought me to my knees. I felt a weight lifted off my shoulders and the healing touch of God. I came home changed.

Reprinted, with permission, from The Irish Messenger, 2012

Blog of the walk: http://tinyurl.com/6l6ca79