Lessons of the Camino. Part 1

On this day one year ago, I walked into Santiago de Compostela. I have been writing a series of reflections on my experience. This one is the first part of “10 Lessons Learned from the Camino.”

1.     Less is more. To walk the 500 miles from St. Jean Pied de Port to Santiago de Compostela, I had everything I needed in my backpack. To walk that kind of distance, a person really needs to take very little. I had the clothes on my back and extra pair of clothes in the pack. I brought a lightweight sleep sack and a tech towel. I thought about everything I needed and did not bring extra. In little towns and villages, I refrained from buying things that I would need to carry with me, except for chorizo. Loved chorizo. I learned that I could live with less, and I didn’t miss it. I could be happy detached from material things. Around 300BC, Aristotle wrote that there were four levels of happiness. The first and most basic level was happiness attained from the material world and physical pleasure. This was a happiness that was fleeting and temporary. It does not last nor sustain. It was not a “bad” thing, but something that could not truly satisfy the human heart. Letting go of the material, and even the feeling of needing “stuff” was liberating. Everything I needed, I had in my pack, and in my heart. 

2.     Walk your own pace. There will be fast walkers and there will be slow walkers. There are people who are strong and those who are not. The journey to Santiago is not a race, but rather, a pilgrimage. There were times I felt pressure to keep up with the people around me. I enjoyed their company and wanted to walk with them, even if they walked at a faster pace than I. There were other times I wanted to show other pilgrims I was strong enough to keep up, because it was a matter of pride. When I was struggling up a mountain, breathing heavy and taking breaks, and a seventy-year-old pilgrim happily passed me saying “buen camino!” my pride was hurt. Surely, I could keep up with him. No, I couldn’t. There were other times where my friends were stopping but I felt I had to keep going. I struggled with wanting the closeness and comraderie of friends on the road or following my own path. Pride and comfort challenged me, and slowly I had to learn to walk my own pace. It can be exhausting to follow the crowd. I had to learn that walking my own pace was learning to be okay with who I was. At times I am strong. At times I am weak. At all times, I am me. Learning to embrace who I am with my strengths and weaknesses, and being honest about myself, has helped me to love myself for who I am. 

3.     Allow silence. Many of us are uncomfortable with silence. As a musician, dj, speaker, husband, and father, my life is constantly surrounded with noise. Growing up in a busy and noisy household, it was rare to find silence and when it arrived, I didn’t feel comfortable with it. One of the great gifts of the Camino is silence. Walking along the Way, a pilgrim is bound to meet others and strike up conversations. Some people commit to fasting from their electronics or listening to music, others do not. But even then, there will be moments of silence. In the silence, my mind wandered. I pondered deep questions. I wrestled with things that I had long hid away. I confronted my guilt and anger, my hurt, and my joys. Eventually, I allowed a deep silence to reside in me. A silence I did not need to fill with questions, or thoughts, or feelings. I allowed that silence to move me deeper into myself, to a place where I was no longer uncomfortable, but rather, at peace. Some see silence as an absence – an absence of sound. As Cardinal Sarah, a leader in the Catholic Church has said, “silence is not an absence. On the contrary, it is the manifestation of a presence, the most intense of all presences.” In walking in silence, I realized that silence is the language of God. When we quiet ourselves to enter into deep silence, we realize in silence that God speaks, and God is constantly speaking. It is no wonder that the prophet Elijah heard God not in the thunder or the fire, but rather in a quiet, whispering sound. Embracing deep silence allows us to hear the heart of God, who is ever near, and ever present.

4.     Siesta. I’m from the United States, where productivity is a value, maybe second to freedom. While I have embraced the idea of a nap here and there, most of my life my mentality was “go, go, go!” I once was offered a missionary post in the Caribbean, but I turned it down because I thought, “life is too slow and the pace too relaxed down there!” What was I thinking?! Walking the Camino a curious thing would happen when arriving in a town in the afternoon. After walking all morning, I would usually arrive in the town I was going to stay in between 1-3pm. At 3pm in all of Spain, stores and bars close for Siesta, to open up again around 7pm. At first I rejected this idea and was upset. How can anyone get anything done?! It took me a week or so to get used to the idea of Siesta, a period of rest. Soon I began to enjoy it. Instead of exploring the town or doing something “productive,” I would shower, hand wash my clothes and put on my other outfit, and then siesta. Glorious siesta. Rested and recharged from an hour or more of napping and regrouping, I was ready to explore once again. The body needs rest and fuel. Self-care takes many forms, but siesta is built into the soul of Spanish culture. Once I rejected it, now I wish I could have it again. Take a siesta. Seriously, more siesta needed.

5.     Second Bar Rule. In Spain, a bar is more than just a bar like in the United States. It is a restaurant, café, and bar all in one. They are open early for breakfast, and throughout the day, except during siesta. One of my favorite parts of the Camino was to wake up before the sunrise and start my walk. After about 5 – 10 kms it would about time for breakfast. I would stop at a bar and order a café con leche. This wondrous elixir is Spanish coffee with steamed milk, and it was amazing. Truly better than anything I’ve had here. A lot has been said about why it is so good, and I won’t get into those details here, but trust me, it is incredible. I would usually couple that with a tortilla Espanola, usually just called “tortilla,” which is a potato omelet. Walking into town, not being the fastest walker or earliest riser, the first bar was usually busy, and often took a long time to get food or use the bathroom. It wasn’t so bad because there were usually many pilgrims around to get to know and chat with. After the waiting and the resting, and the chatting, I would finally start walking again and a couple hundred meters down the road there would another bar, almost empty. Usually that bar had an awesome looking menu, a clean bathroom, and owners who were waiting for pilgrims to arrive; the pilgrims who were all at the first bar they saw. I made it a rule of mine to always go the second bar, because I never knew what I would find there. A different menu, a surprise, different sets of pilgrims. My second rule, in conjunction with the second bar rule, was never go back. So if the town only had one bar, well, the second bar was in the next town, which was usually only 5-10 kms away. I had so much fun with the second bar rule and never regretted it. The point hit home when I did not follow the second bar rule. Starving, after a grueling morning, I came upon an open bar a little outside the town of Hospital de Obrigo. Me and a few others thought about stopping but discussed the second bar rule. But we were hungry and decided to stop. It was fine, with nothing to write home about. Then we walked on. We came upon a medieval bridge at the entrance to the town. It was one of the longest bridges on the Camino and it was part of the inspiration for the story of Don Quixote. We took pictures and read the legends of that beautiful bridge. As we walked across it, at the end of the bridge I saw a bar with an amazing view of the bridge and a lovely menu. The second bar. I should have followed my own rules. Always wait for the second bar. 

Walking in Darkness: Faith over Fear, or faith and fear together?

Stage 16: Fromista to Carrion de los Condes

19.3 km

So one thing I wanted to do was walk at night. Compostela means “field of stars” so I wanted to experience it myself. I woke up early: 3AM and went for a walk under the stars.

It was.... okay.

I had been planning a time when I could safely walk by myself through the night and not get lost. I had gotten lost here and there, not because the Camino is difficult to navigate, but because I am easily distracted and have a poor sense of direction. It mostly happened through the big cities, early in the mornings, where I was sleepy and the arrows eluded me. The Camino is remarkably well marked by the faithful yellow arrow, directing the pilgrim on the path. Just look for the flecha amarilla.

The Way from Fromista to Carrion de los Condes follows the main road. A few years ago a gravel path was built, parallel to the main road, which makes it easy to navigate, even in the dark. As it is in the Meseta, the grain growing plateau of Northern Spain, it is mostly flat. There also is not a lot of shade in the Meseta, so walking at night would be a welcome change of pace to the scorching heat I had been experiencing the past week.

So the stage was set for a perfect night walk. Nice, straight, flat, well marked, easy path in the cool of night, guided by the stars. I would join the ancient pilgrims in their journey toward Compostela, guided by nature and reveling in God’s mysterious ways.

Darkness is not dark for you, and night shines as the day. Darkness and light are but one. Psalm 139: 12.

I did see stars, constellations, the Milky Way, planets, satellites, and even a shooting star.

But I was also afraid.

I wasn’t sure where I was going all the time. It was really dark. All the sounds scared me. Every sound made me think that something was going to jump out and bite me! I had to turn my headlamp on, so I could see where my feet would go. When I would turn on my headlamp, I could see the road more clearly, but swarms of bugs would be attracted to the light. I would look to my left and right, and sometimes, see glowing eyes in the bushes, reflecting the light through the dark. I had to choose between walking in the complete dark, or being able to see with bugs and possible animals staring back at me, attracted to the light.

It was cold. I left in the morning in my usual pilgrim outfit: Shorts and t-shirt, plus my lightweight jacket. I had been walking in 90+ degree heat every day. I was not used to this 50 degree cold. I fished out every piece of clothing and began to layer it on. I contemplated wearing my sleeping sack.

I had these romantic dreams of walking under the stars. Maybe “stopping” or “camping” under the stars is romantic. Walking; not so much.

Along the path I walked, intermittenlty flipping the headlamp on.

I made it safely and am now waiting for a place to open so I can siesta.

The experience made me think about fear.

What am I afraid of? Truly afraid of? Is it really the one that scared me when I was a kid? The dark? Or is it more?

Maybe it is uncertainty that scares me. The fact that I have no real idea what is out there. I don’t know if there is a monster in bushes or a mouse. I don’t know what my future will be, if I will remain at my job, or how my kids will turn out.

Maybe it is the lack of control. That in all reality I have power over very little. Just over myself and my choices, and that is questionable at best.

Maybe it is vulnerability. I am afraid to be exposed, to be known, without controlling everything around me, that maybe I am not what I thought I was. I believed it was adventure and it turned out to be a nightmare. And I chose it!

I don’t really know actually, but also, I made it. I walked under my own two feet into the village ahead of all the other pilgrims. I accomplished something I really wanted, even if it wasn’t what I totally expected. I lived through it, laughed about it, and even took a nap after.

So fear may always be present. It is something I cannot get rid of, but it doesn’t have to stop me, either. I can walk with fear, befriend it even, and know that it doesn’t have all the power. With fear and courage I walk. Both feet together. I experience great and awful things, together. And it continues. The Camino still teaches.

Earlier today I was sitting having a fresh squeezed orange juice at a bar/cafe and a woman sat down. She turned out to be a spiritual director and Jesuit sister. I had no idea there were Jesuit sisters. I took advantage and got a free spiritual direction session

I shared with her my Camino experience. It was something else. I mentioned this morning’s walk and the past two weeks. What I have come to realize is the most predominant feeling I have felt is being “surrounded.” Not by people, but by love. When I left home, I left with all this support and kinship. People were loving and supporting me. And then other people began to send me prayer requests. Serious things, vulnerable things, deep things. I felt their trust in me. It is an honor to carry them with me. It is a honor to walk with these prayers and the people who entrusted them to me. In each step I feel that trust and vulnerability and fear and hope. And I walk. That is the feeling that overwhelms me when I sit in church and pray, or climb a mountain and pray. That I am surrounded, entrusted, and loved. That somehow, God is at work, in me, in this, in us. I know it is true because I feel it, even more than the sore feet.

So thank you. Thank you for believing and walking in fear and hope. We are doing this together.

From Puente la Reina to Villamayor de Monjardin

I stayed in Puente la Reina last night in the albergue Estrella Guia. It was the first private albuergue I slept in. It cost 10 extra Euros and I was worried if I made this a habit, I would be out of money quick. But the Brazilian owners were lovely and the beds were like futuristic pods, complete with curtains and personal outlets. The problem was, it was 90 degrees at night and we had to keep the windows open and that meant little bugs flitting around all night. I stayed with my quick Scottish friend Randolf.

That morning we left before 7am and had a quick walk, trying to beat the heat. We arrived in Estella a little before noon and my partner decided to call it a day and check out the city. Estella is the ancient home of the kings of Navarre and there are many museums and shops to look at. It is a lovely town, but my heart was set on banking some more miles so I could take a rest day later on. I decided to walk on, even though it was really tempting to stay.

As I walked down the cobbled paths I looked to my left and saw curving stairs going up towards an ancient looking building. It was the church San Pedro de la Rua, a beautiful Romanesque style church. Romanesque churches, built solidly with thick walls, and high ceilings, but not filled with flying buttresses or with many stained glass windows, have always been my favorite. Perhaps influenced by the Abbey at Cluny, these simple stone structures draw they eye forward and upward towards God.

It was hot at noon, and I was happy to walk into the cool church San Pedro. Very little of it was open to exploration. Different parts were roped off and I was hot and tired, and not entirely sure how to ask how to look around. The cool grey walls and beautiful main altar called to my interior soul. Sweating and weary, I found an empty pew near the front of the church, put down my bag and walking sticks, took off my hat, knelt down and began to pray.

It had been five days of walking. Five days since I began to live a dream twenty years in the making. I was exhausted, hot, and tired. I felt the love and prayers of my family and all those who supported me and helped me to get here. The cool air brushed against my soaked technical t-shirt. In that almost empty ancient church. I wept. Loudly.

I can’t say exactly what I was feeling then. It was a mix of things. A dream realized. Love and gratitude. Exhaustion and pain. My feet. The sum of life was before me, all of my victories and all of my massive failures. I cried and cried, and cried some more. I was loud. Uncomfortably loud. It was overwhelming. I was here not because I willed myself to be here, not because I made it all happen on my own. I was here because I was loved and sent here by those who loved me. I was living an answered prayer.

Have you ever felt an overwhelming love like that? One that doesn’t make sense? Well, I did. And I was grateful. All I could muster in between the sobs was “thank you.”

Well, someone heard me. I felt a hand on my left shoulder. I grabbed my buff and wiped my face and looked up to find a young man looking at me. He asked if I was all right. I replied that I was and I thanked him. I gathered myself, calmed down, said some prayers, and grabbed my stuff. I wandered around the church a little longer, savoring the cool and laughing to myself that I cried so hard. The young man, who at this point seemed to be shadowing me, walked up to me and asked if I was a pilgrim. I showed him the shell on my backpack and he sweetly said, “would you like to join me and my friends today?”

I thanked him but said I wasn’t sure what my plans were and I felt a little embarrassed about my display of emotions. He said “please, at least meet my friends.” I told him I would be happy to see him on the road.

He left me to it, and walked away, and I continued to laugh to myself and wonder where on Earth this road would lead me.

I felt the heat at the door before I saw the light that blinded me out of the dark church. I walked halfway down the steps when I saw the young man again and heard him say, “there he is, the one I was telling you about.” He ran up to me and invited me to meet his friends. Together they were three. He introduced his friends and they told me that they were high school students from Poland and their friend from the church was a devout Catholic who talked them into walking this pilgrimage. The other two were along for the ride, but open to what they would discover. Their plan was to walk to Santiago and then hitch hike all the way home. They thought they could do it in about three weeks.

It would take me twice that.

They invited me to walk with them again, and again I was hesitant. Their leader replied “how often is it that four seventeen year olds walk to Santiago?!”

They thought I was seventeen! God bless them. Again, sweet internal laughter soothed my soul.

I played a game often on the Camino. The “guess my age” game. Now, it is difficult to tell any adult’s age, but most everyone I ran into would guess mid to late twenties for me. Not too bad. I’ll take it every time. They would be shocked when I told them that this pilgrimage was a dream of mine for twenty years and that I had recently celebrated my 40th birthday.

I was happy to meet them and said if we see each other on the way, I would love to walk with them, but I was going to sort myself out here in Estella for a bit. We went our separate ways and I found a gas station convenience store on the road out of town, bought some chorizo, bread, and a liter of water, and readied myself for the next part of the journey.

Walking out of town I ran into the Polish trio and I thought this must be God’s will; that I become a seventeen year old once again and walk this pilgrims path with these energetic and positive young people.

On the Camino, as you walk, you chat. So we walked, and chatted. We walked by a blacksmith at a forge, hammering away at iron. He was selling all sorts of beautiful metalwork. I bought small iron shell pendant with the St. James cross. I have never taken it off since that day.

Together we came to the town of Irache with the famous “Fuente del Vino,” the wine fountain that gives free wine to pilgrims, donated by the bodegas of the region. I put out my shell and poured some wine into it and had a drink. It was warm and red and a pleasure. My companions filled their bottles.

We walked on and I soon realized I would not be able to keep pace. I told them not to slow down on my account and that I would be stopping at the next town for a cold drink. About seven kilometers from Estella, we parted ways and I sat down for a Coke at a bar. It was hot outside. It had to be close to 98 degrees and the next part of the route was up another mountain. I readied myself, fortified by the ice cold Coke and the desire to find where I would be staying for the night.

It was here in this cafe that I met the only other Filipino person I would see on the Camino during my entire time walking. She was a grandmother from California, the Bay Area, I believe. She was walking with a friend from Church and they dedicated their walk to the souls in purgatory. My walk was dedicated a little closer to home, with daily intentions for people on my list, but those in purgatory are good too.

She was old and it was hot, and her friend and I both worried she would not make it. She really reminded me of my aunt. We are probably related. United in Christ and in pilgrimage for sure.

So I walked with them up the mountain, looking back often and waiting, until finally they waved me on said “walk your own Camino.” That is part of the camino too. Every person has to walk their own. I passed two ancient Mozarabic arches, not too common for this part of the country, and a cool story I will not recount here is part of that monument. Some bikers happily passed me as I panted up the hill and took a rest in its shade.

Thoroughly exhausted and wishing I looked for an albergue in the last town (there wasn’t an albuerge there) I tiredly walked on in the heat. There was a lot of looking down at my feet as I was feeling the heat and climbing the path. When I did look up, I saw, jogging down the road, my young polish friend coming toward me.

“Aires, I came back to find you! We found an amazing albuerge in the next town and we asked if there was room for four more, and they said there were four beds left. I ran back to come find you, because you MUST stay with us!”

This young man reserved a place for me, and came back to find me. Together we walked the last part of the path into the town of Villamayor de Monjardin.

He wasn’t kidding. This was an amazing albuerge. Albergue Hogar de Monjardin is run by Dutch Christian volunteers. When I arrived, they warmly welcomed me and put out a seat for me. Not only that, they brought out foot bath so I could soak my feet. It was amazing. Pilgrims were sitting and sunbathing and chatting. It was an Oasis, full of hospitality and genuine love and care. I was so happy.

They had a dinner for the pilgrims that was home made and on my plate was rice! I hadn’t had rice since I left home, and this was such a welcome gift. I nearly wept again, in exhaustion and gratitude. Even the smallest details, the littlest things, resounded with meaning. I ate happily and genuinely enjoyed the company of the pilgrims staying together.

That night, they had a prayer service, where a missionary, who I believe was also Dutch, came to share a word and message. I came to the service but don’t remember if I fell asleep or was just in a waking dream. The day filled me. All of the little graces along the way murmured in my heart. I was at peace. I felt close to God.

That night, some pilgrims chose to run up the mountain to an ancient run down castle at the top. I opted out. I had enough walking for that day. I also made friends with two college students from Denmark who were on pilgrimage to Santiago. What bonded us together? All of us were playing Pokemon Go!

That night, after hand washing my clothes and saying my prayers, I laid my head down on my pillow and slept a restful sleep. It was a perfect Camino day.

The Camino

It’s been a month since I’ve returned from accomplishing my biggest dream, walking the pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela, aka The Camino. Coming home was a bit too easy, to fall back into the routines and daily rigamarole that fills my life. I have to intentionally remember what I learned and apply it to my daily life.

Now that I’m back, over the next few months, I will revisit and reflect on the lessons of the camino and post them. When I walked, I used a variety of methods to convey my thoughts (Polar Steps, Instagram, and Facebook) but I will coalesce them all here on the blog.

I’m probably going to repost the original posts and then write reflections to pair with them. I am really looking forward to traveling the camino again through reflection. I hope you will join me! Perhaps one day we will walk the camino together. As one sign on the way reminded me, “remember, you were always on the camino.”

So here we go, back on the camino.

The Pilgrimage

About 20 years ago I read the book “The Alchemist” by Paulo Coehlo. 

Back then I wasn’t an enthusiastic reader and but I fell in love with this book – about a shepherd boy named Santiago who was on a mission to find a treasure.  After reading that book I became a huge Coehlo fan, and I’ve read almost everything he’s written.

I ran across one of his books early on in my Coehlo obsession, called “The Pilgrimage.” It was an autobiography of Coehlo’s experience walking a pilgrimage to a place called Santiago de Compostela. He was searching for a treasure—a sword. 

To be honest, it’s a weird book, but I was enamored by the pilgrimage he took – walking from the Pyrenees mountains in France and heading west to the city of Santiago de Compostela on the western coast of Spain. It is an 800km walk.  The pilgrimage is known as the Camino.

This legendary pilgrimage has been around for a thousand years. Routes across Europe lead to the “starfield of St. James” on the northwest coast of Spain. Millions of pilgrims throughout the ages have walked the hallowed paths, from St. Francis, to Napolean, Rolan, El Cid, to countless, unnamed others throughout history. Saints and sinners alike have sought what the Camino offers, and ending in the Cathedral of St. James to touch the bones of the apostle.

Coehlo’s book gave me the seed of an idea, which started me on a path to research the Camino. In grad school, I wrote my final paper on the Camino. I researched its history and dreamt of what it would be like to walk it one day. It became a bucket list item for me – my greatest dream.  

But, like dreams sometimes do, it was put on the shelf when I got married, went to grad school, and started a family. Every so often I would talk with my wife about the Camino and what a dream it would be, but that it was something I could do after the kids grew up or we retired.

For my 40thbirthday, my wife honored me with a “Fortnight for Forty” a series of 14 gifts leading up to my birthday. Gifts are my love language and I felt so loved as she gave me fun and random little gifts in the two weeks leading up to my birthday. On my actual birthday, she gave me book. It was a guide book for someone doing the Camino to Santiago de Compostela, and with it a letter telling me that this is my year to check off the biggest item on my bucket list.

After hemming and hawing for many weeks and carefully planning the kids’ summer activities, I am so happy to share that my dreams are indeed coming true! I will be undertaking the Camino Frances this summer, beginning at St. Jean Pied de Port at the base of the Pyrenees mountains in France, then heading west for 500 miles until I reach the bones of St. James in the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela.

I invite you to be a part of my pilgrimage. I will be walking for at least 35 days, and I would love to pray for you and bring your prayer intentions with me, every step of the way, to the all the churches, monasteries, and ultimately to the apostle himself. 

If you want to support me and my family in this pilgrimage, please pray for me as I walk, and for Aleah and the boys as they hold things down at home. Feel free to contact Aleah to support her as well! If you feel inspired to support my pilgrimage by donating or helping me to purchase some equipment for the trip, I will include a link to some remaining things I hope to buy on an Amazon list called “Camino”. https://www.amazon.com/hz/wishlist/ls/1N6L2WTFYO6PA?ref_=wl_share

Thanks so much for all your love and support.  Onward!  Ultreya! 

 

 

The Significance of Being Insignificant

I love theology. It is fun and inspiring to delve deep into the mystery of God. After all, God gave us a mind that we can use to know God's presence in our lives.

The other day in my freshman theology class, we began studying St. Thomas Aquinas' five proofs for the existence of God. 

I gave this scenario: I have a friend who is an atheist. We are good friends and I care deeply for this person. Since I believe that having a relationship with God is a good thing, I want to share this with my friend and help him to move into belief. But my friend is resistant to belief in God. My friend wants me to prove that God exists.

Prove that God exists? Easy! Check out the Bible - it is full of the miraculous stories of God and God's great love. 

"But I don't believe in your Bible," says my friend.

Ok. Well, look at the Church. It is a beautiful reminder of God's presence in the world. 

"But I don't believe in your church," says my friend.

So my task, as with St. Thomas, is to show a reasonable argument that God could exist without the benefit of religion, the Scriptures, or the church. What do we have left? We have what all humans have, our minds and hearts. If God created us, then we should be able to reason our way to God with our minds. 

St. Thomas Aquinas laid out five beautiful and effective arguments to show the reasonability of a God. 

The first proof is the argument from motion. Basically, everything is in motion, from Earth around our sun, to the universe expanding, to the subatomic level of protons and electrons. Everything that is in motion must be set in motion by some force. It is sometimes called The Unmoved Mover.

What force so powerful could set our universe and all of creation into motion? We call that force God.

So I get this far in our explanation of the proof of the Unmoved Mover that we call God, and a student asks me a question. It turns out that this student is an atheist and is struggling to understand the idea of a God, but is caught off guard by this reasonable explanation. And then this student asks a crucial question.

"Mr. Patulot, I might be able to buy that nothing can cause itself, and that everything in motion must be set in motion by something and that something is what we call God, but if God is so powerful and created the entire universe, why would that God care about my personal sin?

What this student was asking was "why would God care about me?"

Now that is a great question.

If God is indeed real, and has the power to create the universe and set it in motion and create it in such a way that is so interconnected, complex, mysterious, and beautiful, why would that all powerful thing care about me?!

And yet, what the scriptures tell us is that God does care about us. Not just in a general way, but in a specific and personal way. God knows our names, knew us before we were born, knows the number of hairs on our heads. God cares about us so deeply and personally that He became one of us, suffered, and died for us. For me. For you. 

That is the crazy part of the story and we believe it to be true. Yes, God is so amazing and powerful and created the universe and everything in it. And that same God that created our galaxy and placed each star in the sky loves each one of us individually. Loves us deeply. Longs to be with us. 

A friend of mine once said that God paints the sky with beauty every morning in the hopes that we might notice it. It is God's pleasure to love us. That is our God - all powerful and ever close to us.

For God to care about us is like for me to care about an individual lego piece in a bin of my kid's legos. It is like me caring and naming each grain of sand on the beach, on every beach, on every ocean in the world. That kind of love is ludicrous. 

That is God's love for us. For you and I.

We are insignificant in the light of the universe. We are less than specks of dust floating in space, and yet, we are the beloved of God. We are worth loving, and worth fighting for. We are worth painting the most beautiful portraits for. We are worth living and dying for. 

God is the Unmoved Mover, the one who set the world into motion. And yet, I'd like to imagine that God is also a Moved Mover. God is moved by His love for us, because that is God's true nature. When we speak of God, we can imagine a creator and an unlimited power, but the truest idea of God is that of Love. God's love for us moves God's self to count our hairs and hold us in the palms of his hands. God's love moved God's self to become flesh like us, through Jesus, and share in our life, and redeem us so that we could live with Him forever.

Why would God love such an insignificant thing like me? Because that is who God is. And I am forever grateful for it.

AP

 

 

a tiny whispering sound

On Sunday I heard one of my favorite verses from the Old Testament. It's one of those stories that you hear and say "dang! that's good. Where is that from again?"

So in good Bible quoting style, I open the scriptures to 1Kings, chapter 19. Here we find the prophet Elijah hiding on the top of a mountain. 

On a giant tangent, when I received my first communion in second grade, I remember standing in the line waiting to head into the church, and my 2nd grade crush was standing next to me and asked me this question, "Aires, do you like my hair up or down?" Now, my young self had no idea what she was talking about. Up or down? What does that even mean? Unsure of myself, I said "down?" She reached up to her hair, and took it out of the bun and shook her hair out. It seemed to cascade down in slow motion. I remember thinking "whoa." Yea, I don't know what that is, but I like it.... 

Her name: Elijah. 

I digress.

So the prophet Elijah is hiding in a cave because his enemies would have him dead. So he stayed in the cave and waited for the LORD to appear. There was a strong wind, an earthquake, and then fire, but God was not in any of those things. 

FIRST off, if even one of those things happened to me, I would be freaking out. But my man Elijah had all of these happen to him successively, while hiding in a cave. That would have broken me. But I am not the great prophet. 

So Elijah in his wisdom knows that those amazing and terrifying events are not God and he continues to wait. His patience and faith is rewarded, because sure enough, God does come, in the form of a whisper. In the presence of this whisper, Elijah hides his face because even the thought of being face to face with the whisper of God is enough to shake the man to his core. 

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This Sunday I attended mass at my wifey's work and the deacon was preaching on the readings. He did a skillful job of weaving Sunday's powerful readings of encountering God with the challenging and disturbing events that happened over the weekend, where white supremacists and Neo-nazi's, emboldened by our current political environment, rallied in Charlottesville and the result was the death of an innocent woman, injuries to others, and a country divided on the issue of race. 

At times I feel powerless against the rising tide of hatred and bigotry that is growing and being emboldened in this country. As a person of color, as a person who has faced discrimination based on nothing more than my skin color, I find this so disturbing and disgusting. It feels like a huge wind breaking rocks, an earthquake, and a fire, all rolled into one. And God is not in these things. 

The deacon brought us back to the reading from 1Kings 19. God is in the tiny whispering sound. At times, our actions to create positive change in the world feel meaningless in the face of structures of evil and injustice. So what can we do? We can imitate the God who loves us and made each of us in his own image; every single one of us. We can listen to the whisper, and be the whisper. 

Violence begets violence. Anger begets anger. I can get angry at the injustice that I perceive in the world today. and that anger will only birth more anger within myself, and may spread to my children, and those I minister with and to. Instead, I need to respond the way Jesus has called me, how he has shown me. I need to step out onto the water with him, and do the impossible with him. I need to answer in love, as he did. 

Bringing love into the world, by small acts of kindness, by truly journeying and listening to the other, by trying to understand and break the cycles of sin and despair is to whisper into the loud and angry shouting of hatred in the world. 

The challenge is not to lose ourselves in these trying times, but rather be even more of our true selves. We are called to be God's children, to share his light. Though we are shaken by the events of the weekend, and we mourn for those who have lost their lives, and see hatred and anger around us, we are called to bring light and healing to those situations. 

A wise person once said (because I can't remember who actually said this) that pain that isn't transformed is transferred. If we can meet our brother and sister and meet their pain, hopefully we can be part of the transformation of that pain. If not, then all of us will be effected by this pain. 

So my whisper into the world today is here in this post. I do not wish to transfer my pain to you. I pray that instead it is transformed into a deeper commitment to justice and love. And in that whisper, I hope to meet God. 

AP

 

The gift of a name...

A few years ago I went with my dad to a business dinner. He introduced me to different business associates and as I shook their hands, he would say, "this is my son, Aries." He pronounced my name "AIR - REES" like the Greek God. As I shook their hands I would say, "Hi, Aires (pronounced Iris), nice to meet you." Around the third time this episode occurred, my dad looked me in the face and stressed the pronunciation to my face "AIR - REES." 

Why didn't he tell me that earlier?! For my entire life I have been pronouncing my name one way, and on this particular night, my dad decided to change it all up. I probably would have preferred being called Aries for my entire high school life. It sure would have made life so much easier back then. And don't even let me tell you what name I use for a coffee order...

I was actually named after a doctor from Dublin, Ireland, who worked at the same hospital as my mom, and lived in the same apartment complex as my parents when they first immigrated to the states. He helped my parents get acclimated to this country, showing them how to ride the bus, and get around Seattle. In gratitude, my parents named me after him. I guess he had a pretty heavy Irish accent. Between his Irish brogue and my dad's Filipino accent, who knows how my name is actually said!

Pope Francis, in 2015, said

"Children, once born, begin to receive, along with nourishment and care, the spiritual gift of knowing with certainty that they are loved. This love is shown to them through the gift of their personal name, the sharing of language, looks of love, and the brightness of a smile. 

In this way, they learn that the beauty of human relationships touches our soul, seeks our freedom, accepts the difference of others, recognizes and respects them as a partner in dialogue... such is love, and it contains a spark of God's love!"

To receive a name is to be shown love. Even our name contains a spark of God's love. 

My prayer for all of us today is that when we hear our name, we are reminded of the loving care with which our name was given to us, and in that small but profound act, we find the living presence of love.

Coincidence? I think not!

Recently I gave led a workshop on Modern Day Catholics for the CFC-YFL National Conference. It was a great workshop with a bunch of awesome and inspiring young people. 

The entire week before giving that workshop, I was on a little family vacation in Arizona. My family - my wife and 3 boys, my mom and dad, and my brother, his wife, and his kiddo were all on this trip through the desert. Our ultimate destination was the Grand Canyon, a place I have been a few times with friends, but never with my family. 

I remember driving through the Grand Canyon with a couple of my missionary buddies years ago when we were on a cross-country road trip that began in New Jersey and ended in Los Angeles. In every state capitol we passed, we stopped and prayed for a renewal of God's spirit to enter into the place we had passed. I remember standing at 4 Corners, the place where four states meet and praying there with my friends. It was truly a powerful experience. Stopping in the Grand Canyon with these great friends of mine and being in awe of God's power and beauty was a definite highlight.

On this trip my family decided to stay in Sedona, AZ and make that home base for the Canyon. Sedona is an amazing place, a town nestled into the Red Rocks of Arizona. It was beautiful, inspiring, and unbelievable hot. Like 115 degrees of heat. I felt like anything over 100 just felt hot, especially to a Northwest guy like myself, so it didn't really bother me. We took in the sights, tried to hike a little bit, and swam in the pool a lot. 

In one of our adventures in Sedona, we went to this chapel built into the rocks called Chapel of the Holy Cross. It is an awesome structure, a tiny chapel built into the rocks. While it is a Catholic Chapel, on the day we visited there were people of all stripes and creeds visiting the Holy place It was obvious that this beautiful church spoke to our basic human desire for the Holy. I was inspired (and also very sweaty).

A few days later I was back home in a nice cool 95 degree Pacific Northwest day, about to lead a workshop for the YFL. Their conference was at the same campsite I first heard the word of God spoken to me as a teenager. It was the place where I went to my first retreat in my life, where I listened to people my age speak passionately about God, and where I began my faith journey.

As I stepped into the conference hall, I looked at the logo of the conference and what did I see? A drawing of the Chapel of the Holy Cross from Sedona, AZ as the backdrop of the event. 

Chills.

God has brought me hundreds of miles away to encounter Him in the beauty of the desert. God brought me to that conference to encounter him the beauty of his children. 

You know what I spoke to those energetic and charismatic young people about? Sharing their faith with joy. Because years and years ago, in that same holy ground, young people shared their joy and conviction with me. 

Often times in the Gospels Jesus says "those who have eyes to see will see." God wants to give us the eyes to see him today. Maybe we'll travel with our families hundreds of miles away. Maybe we'll drive across the country with our friends. Or maybe we'll be in the comfort of our own home and communities, but God is definitely at work right here and right now.

If we have the eyes to see, we are going to experience something wonderful. 

Let us be renewed in our joy - the joy of our first hearing of the Gospel, and the joy of being able to proclaim that message today with our lives.