Over the past month, as I have walked across Spain on the Camino Francais, I have had a fun friend who has journeyed with me, Hootie the Hoot-Owl.
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People have been doing this for centuries, even before Christianity. They walk for all sorts of reasons: to heal, to nurture health, some government jobs in Spain even require you to have walked the Camino and earned your Compostela.
Day 10: The temperature is just a few degrees above freezing and it rains on and off throughout the day. Sore leg muscles and blisters make this day’s walk more difficult but step by solitary step I progress.
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We stopped for the night at a place that is built on a river; it used to be a mill so all the outdoor tables and front porch are made of mill stones.
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Our first walking day was rife with opportunity to deviate from the designated path. After a first village, we approached an opportunity, a decision, a choice.
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We are staying in León at a hotel (in an active Augustinian monastery) in the historic medieval section of the city inside Roman walls. There is a medieval festival going on right outside our monastery walls.
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I thought of the many times I had puzzled over the ancient Sunday Gospel Reading Cycle. I had prayed the cycle for many years; I found it deeply meaningful and loved it profoundly.
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Matthew’s gospel was written to the Messianic Jews of Antioch two to five years after the destruction of the Great Temple of Jerusalem and the massacre of all its priests. The Temple, its rules and priests had represented the center of their lives, and now many were certain that God had abandoned them.
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