On the great Good Way
I’ve been a pilgrim for the past two weeks in Portugal and Spain – and that place of prophetic miracle, Fatima – on the via Portuguesa. The Devil likes to play his little tricks when something good is about to happen. So before our Camino even started, the airline lost my luggage – with most of my walking gear and all my formal wear – in Rome, where I was covering the recent consistory. (The bag re-appeared at my home a few days ago, the night before I returned – infernal mockery.) One of our group discovered an expired passport right before departure, miraculously replaced in time by the interventions of several canny Catholics. But on pilgrimage, you commit yourself to dealing with whatever arises for the sake of the ultimate goal. Under the Mercy, we did.
I intended to write en route – and appreciate the messages from those of you worried over my absence. But writing about a pilgrimage – especially for someone whose everyday business is words – is not to be on pilgrimage. Even now, I’m a bit reluctant writing about the experience. Someday I may resurrect my notes here, or save them for – ahem – my Confessions. For now, though, a few reflections.
