Tour Saint Jacques

The "Tour Saint Jacques" (Tower of Saint James) rises well above the trees on the right bank of the Seine river in Paris. It is all that is left of a church that was built long ago on the site where pilgrims gathered to begin their journey to Santiago de Compostela. The inscription at the base of the tower traces this tradition back to the tenth century, when news first spread through Europe that the bones of Saint James the apostle (Santiago) had been laid to rest under a field of stars (Compostela) in western Spain. As we sat beside these words etched in stone, a deep feeling of connectedness came over me. I likened it to the feeling pilgrims have when they place their hand on the marble pillar of the cathedral in Santiago de Compostela in the same place where millions of others have put theirs over the centuries. For us, seated at the base of the tower in Paris, these companions could not be seen. But, it was enough to know that we were now joining the endless procession of those who have gone before us and those who will come after us on this road. Buen camino, peregrino!

Simple Pleasures

As I enjoy my morning croissant at the Cafe du Rendez-Vous in Paris, I feel like announcing to the people all around me that this is what a croissant is supposed to taste like- perfectly crusty on the outside and wonderfully soft in the middle, with just the right amount of butter. I don't do this, of course, because I would just be preaching to the choir. To others in the cafe, a croissant such as this is the only thing one would expect. I'm sure that they would all agree that it is nothing to blog home about. It's just a croissant. C'est tout! But, to me, it is the highlight of my morning. Fellow pilgrims would understand. Very often, the highlight of a pilgrim's day is a simple, small thing that is common to others but special or new for us. And, learning to say that this one thing is enough for each day is the key to every journey we make in life.

The Wind Blows Where it Wills

In the second leg of my pilgrim journey, things did not go according to plan. It had to do with "the volcano who must not be named." When I arrived at the airport in Boston, the electronic reader board reported that all flights to western Europe were "delayed." When I asked for more information, I learned that everyone was waiting to see which way the volcanic ash cloud would blow. And, as Jesus himself said, "the wind blows where it wills, and no one knows where it is coming from and where it is going." (John 3) My first thoughts were of my scheduled rendez-vous with my daughter in Paris. But my worries were nothing compared to the man beside me. He was responsible for a group of about twenty people who were just starting their journey. Like Moses in the wilderness of Sinai, he could see that his anxious travelers were already longing for the fleshpots of Boston. To his credit, he remained calm as he explained to them that he no idea when they would leave or how they would find a new connecting flight in Paris. Remarkably, his non-anxious presence was contagious. I watched as the group adjusted to this new reality, accepting the fact that these were circumstances beyond everyone's control. Like pilgrims of every time and place, we all took a deep breath and waited- waited to see which way the wind would blow and how it what effect it would have on our plans. This is only the second stage of my journey, and, already, I have been called back to two of the most fundamental realities of life: 1. I do not journey alone. 2. I am not in control. When the person at Gate 8A finally got on the PA system to make an announcement, I was also reminded that life can often bring unexpected surprises. Those of us who arrived early were being put on another flight which was actually expected to get to Paris ahead of our current schedule. Que Bueno!

The Middle Seat

When given the choice, I will never pick the middle seat on an airplane. It isn't just a question of comfort. It is also about independence. My first pick is always the window. Beside it, I can gaze out and let my mind and spirit enter another environment. Knowing that no one will bother me when they want to get up and use the bathroom, I can also settle in and try to get some uninterupted sleep. My second choice is the aisle. It does connect me a bit to the needs of my neighbors, but I also know that I won't bother them if I am the one who needs to get up. And, psychologically, I just feel less boxed in. So, what am I being taught when my seat assignment for the first leg of my Spring pilgrimage is right in the middle of row 29 on the flight out of Seattle? As the plane takes off, I reach for a favorite book and read Father Murray Bono's opening words about journeys such as this. He recalls that pilgrimage is not about "I" but about "we". I am forced to admit that the middle seat is perhaps the most fitting place for a sojourners such as I. Seated between two strangers, I remember all the people I have met along pilgrim paths like the one I am about to take to Santiago de Compostela. I remember what it feels like to walk through people's back yards and down the main streets of their towns and villages. And, above all, I remember what it feels like to be interdependent- to rely on others along the road and to freely share resources and wisdom with people who were complete strangers only minutes before. So I settle into my middle seat as I begin my journey, knowing that this is a fitting metaphor for all of life and for all of my encounters with the world around me.