Abbey-Roads2

Today is the feast of St. James the Apostle, my baptismal patron.  His relics are enshrined at Compostela, Spain, a pilgrimage destination for centuries.  The early Franciscans walked from Assisi to Compostela, as did all medieval pilgrims, and as many contemporary pilgrims continue to do.

While living in Assisi in 1976, I decided to imitate the early Franciscans, resolving to go to Compostela in poverty, although I had enough money to take the train to Lourdes, and I walked or hitch-hiked the rest of the way to Compostela.  (I wasn’t concerned as to how I got there, since it was on my way to Fatima and Avila.) 

I stopped at Garabandal on the way, staying a couple of nights with a family there.  I think I met one of the seers, but I can’t recall her name.  I have always been open to the apparitions at Garabandal, although, as at Medjugorje, there were troubling aspects associated with the claims.  Nevertheless, Fatima has always been enough for me - I never thought Our Lady needed to “continue” her messages from Fatima - at least for me.

When I arrived at Compostela, the Friar in charge of the poor pilgrims refused to believe I was an American without funds, yet reluctantly gave me hospitality.  It was truly a Franciscan experience, similar to what St. Francis describes as “perfect joy”, because the Friar treated me with contempt and mocked me as a “poor American” in front of other pilgrims every chance he got.  I didn’t mind, as I had come only to venerate the relics of St. James, and I would have been happy to sleep out doors if I had to - in fact, I did so at other places on occasion.  I never asked or begged for money, yet kind pilgrims often gave me money, or invited me to share their family meals.

At Compostela, I met a lovely French family who insisted on driving me to Ponteverda, at the Spanish/Portugese frontier, where Sr. Lucia once lived as a Dorothean sister.  They had taken their son on pilgrimage as he prepared to enter seminary that fall.  They were monarchists, and ultra-traditional Catholics.

They shocked me with some of their “conspiracy” theories concerning Vatican II.  (I suspect they would be SSPX people today.)  The father believed in the “Secret of LaSalette”, a dubious, dire prophecy concerning our times.  At the time, this family impressed me as “pre-Vatican II”, yet today, they would seem rather normal.  It was my first close experience with die-hard trads, and it was all rather disturbing - the father was always negative - the son let me know that he thought his parents were a bit extreme, which made the trip more bearable.  (The family liked me, claiming I looked exactly like their eldest son, who had been killed in a car accident.  They were very sweet people.)

Anyway - that was my “walking” pilgrimage to Compostela - and I did not receive a certificate.