Pilgrim's Mass

I sleep for at least 3 hours. It's wonderful. I have reached the age where I LOVE naps, mostly because I do not sleep all that well at night anymore, even when not sharing a room with 15 or 20 other people making strange noises in the night. So, a good nap is really a blessing. I wake to afternoon falling, and decide to wander around the small bit of Roncesvalles that I can see. First I go to the tourist information office, which is just to the left of the stone terrace in front of the hotel as I exit. It's pretty small and of course, all literature is either in French, Spanish, or German. I begin to get a feel for what it must be like for someone in America who doesn't read (or read well) English. Already I am missing the ease of reading anything that comes across my field of vision.

After a brief visit and look at a few maps, I walk back across the terrace and down the stairs to enter the cathedral. I push open the doors and go in quietly. The first thing I notice is that it's pretty dark--enough light to get around by, but not much else. There's a sign across from the door that reads, in Spanish, "1 Euro to illuminate the church". I think I'll pass for now. Some of you who know me well know I rather enjoy wandering around in the semi-dark. I wander the church in quiet. There are a few other pilgrims there; we are all quiet, walking slowly around. The main altar is a little different from many older churches that I have been in--there is no crucifix, but a beautiful wrought silver Madonna and Child. Then, as I wander some more, I find an alcove devoted to St. James. The statue is simply dressed in a white robe, complete with his pilgrim's hat and staff with water gourd attached. At this moment, I feel a great affinity for the saint. I forget about his other, Spanish, name--Santiago Matamoros, Killer of Moors. I see only a simple wanderer, unencumbered by worldly cares or possessions, walking forward in faith. This, I think, is what the Way is all about, walking ever forward in faith, and trusting that Spirit will take care of you in whatever form IT chooses to appear.

After I muse for a while, I turn to complete my circuit around the church, and realize that there are several older men walking back and forth, carrying books, altar cloths, etc. The altar is being prepared for the Pilgrim's Mass later. I also need to sign up for my pilgrim's meal at the restaurant where I had coffee this morning, so I make my way out of the church and up towards the restaurant. I make my reservation for after the mass, pay my 8 Euros for dinner, and go out to head back to the church. On the terrace, I see Eileen from Kerry, Ireland, who I had met earlier in the day. With her is Simon from Edinburgh, who is feeling a little "dicey" about going to the mass as he is not Catholic. I tell him that I am not either, but wouldn't miss the service for anything. So, along we go.

As we go back into the church and find seats, I realize that there are voices that seem to be chanting or speaking some sort of liturgy in Spanish. I can't really make out what it is, though it might be a Hail Mary or Our Father. I look around trying to find the speakers. I realize they are the older men I had seen earlier readying the altar. They are all dressed in black, just sitting at various different places on the left side of the church. Although they are speaking and not singing, their voices mingle together to weave a pattern of sound that echoes throughout the entire building. The waves of their vocals wash over me, it's entrancing, comforting. Then, after about ten minutes, they are done, and get up and walk out off to the side of the altar. The church is rapidly filling up. I see Ingeborg, one of the German ladies, further up in the pews, kneeling, and then Rita is in front of me, offering me her VERY firm German handshake. It's good to see them both again. At length, there's movement up front, and the men from earlier return, this time in priestly vestments. Of course! The men preparing the altar were the priests. I don't know why this didn't occur to me before--I had just thought they were "helpers".

The mass begins. Not being Catholic, I'm not quite sure of the order, especially since the service is in Spanish, but I'm in the minority, so I just watch and follow along. There are responsive readings, prayers, Scripture readings, then the Host is blessed. This part, at least, is familiar. The faithful move forward to take Communion, and I sit with Simon, quiet and just bask in the peaceful atmosphere. Then it is time for the Pilgrim's Blessing.

Moving forward with all the pilgrims, we go towards the altar. The priests begin their blessings. They speak in Spanish, French, German, Russian, Polish, English, Korean, Japanese, and several other languages that I cannot identify. Afterward, I hear that the reason the pilgrim's office in Roncesvalles asks for your nationality is so that the priests can give your blessing in your native language. I find that very amazing. Then we are finished. Blessed and fortified, I head to the restaurant for dinner.

The pilgrim's meal is served in a separate room, tables of four filling the space. As I go in, I see Mirren, a Spanish woman that I met at Orisson. She and I look around and see two empty seats at a table where a young couple is sitting. We ask if the seats are taken. No, and we sit and make introductions. They are Carlis from Sweden and Adrianna from Massachusetts. They had met while working in Denmark this summer, and had only recently decided to walk the Camino. It's nice to have a conversation in English, although I work on speaking Spanish, too, for Mirren. Dinner is a lovely, thick bean and vegetable soup, followed by fresh-caught trout and the ubiquitous fried potatoes. Everything is cooked to perfection. The soup is hot and comfortable, the potatoes crispy, the fish well seasoned and fall off the bone tender. It's a simple, but perfect, meal. For me, I feel like finally I am beginning my Camino. I am looking forward to setting off alone in the morning and seeing where the day and the path will take me.

After our postre of yogurt, Carlis, Adrianna and I sit outside for a little while. It's getting cool in the evenings--they complain of being cold, but I welcome the cool after the cloying humidity of previous days. We chat for a bit, but then it cools down even more, and we say our good nights. I figure at their age (in their early 20's) and rate of walking that I will probably never see them again, but for a brief time, we have made our Camino connection. I head back to my quiet hotel room, to sleep in a "real" bed for the last time until I don't know when. At last, I feel totally ready for whatever may come next. It's a good feeling to go to sleep with.