Walking the Camino Episode 5: Of Hips, Knees, and the Unhurried Grace of God

Dear reader, once again I must begin by waxing theological about the Camino, because frankly it insists on being theological whether you like it or not. This morning, hundreds of pilgrims set out from Arcade. Some were off like a shot — I suspect they were hoping to get to Santiago in time for lunch. Others, like David and me, adopted what might charitably be called a “measured” pace. We are of an age, you know. Our pace is less sprint and more polite shuffle, the sort of gait you’d adopt if walking behind royalty or carrying a very full cup of tea.

And that, I realised, is just fine. The Camino — like the walk of the baptized life — is not a race. Nowhere in the Gospels does Jesus say, “Blessed are the swift of foot, for they shall inherit the first shower at the albergue.” We are called simply to make progress, each at our own pace, and preferably without collapsing in the ditch.

We were joined this morning by Rob, the genial Welshman we’d shared dinner with last night. He walked with us for an hour before, I suspect, our pace proved spiritually edifying but physically intolerable. Off he went, striding into the distance to find someone with knees that bent at a more agreeable speed. And that, too, is a Camino truth: some companions walk with you for a lifetime, others for only a short stretch. Accept both as gifts.

Grace also has a way of appearing in many forms along the trail. Today it looked like Gopeekha from Hawaii and Marissa from New York, whose laughter could be heard half a kilometre ahead — a sound that makes the heart glad even before you see the faces. Grace was Sarah from Ireland, who, upon learning I was a priest, decided to discuss her faith with me over coffee. It was the cool breeze that found me when I was walking alone. It was the pilgrim who pressed a bag of fresh peaches into my hands at a café. On the Camino, as in life, grace comes in many disguises — and sometimes we are called to be the disguise for someone else.

But back to the day. Though our stage was a mere 13 km, those kilometres were of the “uphill both ways” variety. My arthritic hips lodged their usual formal complaint at every incline, while David’s knees began composing a letter to Amnesty International during each descent. This naturally required us to stop at every café we found — purely, you understand, for the sake of fellowship and not at all for the café con leche.

At one such stop we met Sarah from Ireland, and two pilgrims from Denmark who asked about the Chapel of St. Martha, where, they told me, priests are often pressed into service to celebrate Mass for the pilgrims. I explained that I was Anglican and therefore unlikely to be asked, which led to a brief but efficient theological summary involving ordination of women, clergy marriage, and marriage equality. Sarah, still sipping her coffee, simply said, “Well, I’m Roman Catholic, but I have to say I agree with your church on all of those.” And thus another spirited Camino conversation was born.

Later, we ran into Gopeekha and Marissa again near the day’s fork in the road. A local had told us earlier, “To the right — shorter, but all on the road through the city. To the left — one kilometre longer, but through the woods, beside a lovely stream.” Without hesitation they said, “The woods, of course.” It was clear they, too, had learned the great truth of our ill-fated industrial detour: shorter is not always better.

We are now at our beautiful hotel in Pontevedra with several hours before dinner — which in Spain, of course, is served sometime between sunset and the Second Coming. Tomorrow’s walk is mercifully flat, but stretches for 23 kilometres. Pray for us, dear reader, as we will pray for you — though perhaps at a slightly slower pace.

Follow along on Instagram @renewablespiritual.

Prayer for the Unhurried Grace of God

Gracious God,
You have set before us a path to walk,
and You know the measure of our steps,
the strength in our legs, and the pace of our hearts.

Thank You for those who walk beside us—
whether for a few moments or many miles—
and for the laughter, kindness, and conversations
that refresh the soul as much as any rest or drink.

Teach us to welcome grace in all its forms:
a cool breeze on a steep climb,
a kind word from a fellow traveller,
or the joy of shared silence along the way.

When we grow weary,
remind us that this pilgrimage, like the life of faith,
is not a race to win, but a journey to share with You.

Bless our steps tomorrow, O Lord,
and let our walking be both prayer and praise,
until we arrive at the home You have prepared for us.

Through Christ our Companion,
Amen.