Well, dear reader, my boots may be back in the front closet and my pack tucked away on its shelf, but I have come to realize that the Camino is not something you simply finish. Like a particularly catchy hymn that won’t leave your head (I’m looking at you, All Glory, Laud, and Honour), the Camino lingers. It moves into the rhythms of daily life.
Walking through Spain, I learned that pilgrimage is about more than the destination. It is about the road beneath your feet, the people you meet along the way, and the God who walks with you whether you’re crossing a medieval bridge or just the supermarket parking lot. Now that I’m home, I see the same truth: pilgrimage never really ends — it simply changes scenery.
There’s a temptation to think of life as divided neatly into “holy” moments and “ordinary” ones, as though God were only present in a cathedral in Spain, half a world away, and not in my local hardware store. But the Camino teaches us otherwise. The Spirit of God is just as present in the slow line at the grocery checkout as in the hushed silence of a chapel. (Though, in fairness, both can feel equally penitential at times.)
One thing that struck me on the Camino was how each day had its mix of delight and difficulty. Some stages were breathtakingly beautiful; others seemed to be made entirely of blister-inducing cobblestones. Isn’t that life? One day is filled with laughter and grace, another with tears or frustration. Yet in both, Christ is present. The pilgrimage of daily life is no less holy than the walk across Spain — if anything, it is the real work of faith, where love, patience, and trust are put to the test in small, hidden ways.
I remember one evening on the Camino when David and I toasted our fathers with a small dram of Scotch. That moment, as simple as it was, felt sacramental — an earthly act suffused with heavenly grace. At home, I’ve begun to notice how even a quiet walk around the block, can carry that same weight of holiness. Pilgrimage does not stop; it simply finds new routes through the ordinary fabric of our lives.
So today, I give thanks for the road beneath my feet, whatever shape it takes. Whether it’s cobblestones in Spain, the sidewalks of my neighbourhood, or the carpet in my office, all of it is Camino. All of it is life lived in the company of Christ, and in the cloud of saints who walk with us still.
And if, dear reader, you happen to hear me humming “He Who Would Valiant Be” while working, just know — it’s all part of the journey.
Prayer
Gracious God,
you call us to walk each day in the light of your presence.
Thank you for the pilgrim paths of our lives—
the sacred roads, the ordinary sidewalks,
and even the winding detours that test our patience.
Help us to see that every step is holy
when it is taken with you.
Grant us eyes to notice your grace in small moments,
ears to hear your Spirit in the everyday,
and hearts to trust that the journey never ends—
it only deepens in your love.
Through Jesus Christ, our faithful companion on the way.
Amen.
And if, along the way, I should forget that every step is holy, Lord, kindly remind me — perhaps before I trip over the cat or discover that I’ve been on pilgrimage all along to the kitchen fridge.