We Walked Past the Den of Thieves
I read a post this evening that aroused in me lovely, if not melancholy, sense of nostalgia. Ashley passed through the National Cathedral, and found that "despite it's beauty, grandeur and OPULENCE, (she) felt nothing spiritual whatsoever." She "felt dirty and disgusted walking through that place" and "so incredibly sad, simply because it's a shame to see something built for a specific purpose (to inspire) and fail miserably in doing so."
Her remarks reminded me of my time in Spain, and I commented, saying:
"A friend and I walked El Camino de Santiago, a pilgrimage route that runs from all over Western Europe, coalescing into the Royal French Road which leads to the route's final destination, Santiago de Compostela. Our intentions were devotional, though neither of us were Catholics at the time.
The journey was strange. Walking between 20 and 40 kilometers a day, every day, for a month is a necessarily acetic experience. And the physical toll we endured displaced most of my desire to pray, to reflect, and, frankly, to be cordial, or even civil, with my companion. We made friends that we will never forget, even though we remain out of contact. We glimpsed the mystery of Providence, and discovered out of our relative poverty the meaning of hospitality and generosity. We learned not only to endure deprivation, but to respect it, and maybe even love it, a little.
It changed us in many ways, the walk, and, although we knew it then it would take years to learn how, and to try to grasp the meaning of it for our lives.
And this peculiar experience, at once mundane and profound, was unmistakably teleological, and it seemed the goal, naturally enough, was the Cathedral, Santiago de Compostela.
But when we finally arrived, one of the first things the came to both our minds was, 'this is a den of thieves.'
There were so many 'pilgrims' who hadn't broken a sweat to arrive, and to us they couldn't seem genuine, not then.
There was no Mass at the high altar, but in a chapel on the side. The area was enclosed by sound-proof glass with a sign that read something like: RELIGIOUS SERVICE IN PROGRESS; PLEASE BE SILENT. It was like they were monkeys in a zoo, and the tourists were being reminded not to feed them peanuts.
There were things for sale, Scallop Shells (a symbol of the route), walking sticks, t-shirts, and Rosaries.
I wanted to see St. James. I was not one to venerate a Saint, but I had walked all that distance and his memory was infused with the experience. There was a long line, packed by tourists and pilgrims, and the movement of the queue was continuous. It was as if we hadn't arrived. We walked 800 kilometers to see Santiago, and didn't stop at his bones; we walked right past them, and shortly thereafter, out the door.
A den of thieves, we thought.
I would moderate that now, but what we felt was not right, not holy, and neither of us would care to see that church again.
And like you, I found peace in a simpler, humble place.
And, ironically, I have since converted to Catholicism."
There was an upside to Ashley's story, however. Upon leaving the Cathedral, she found a "garden, completely unlike the rest of the area, (which) almost looks neglected, despite being very well manicured. And therein lies the appeal of this place. Despite being overshadowed by one of the most overwhelming buildings in the city, it stands alone, complete separate..." She says that "here, I found peace and much sought after connection to something greater than I. Just in the smell and feel of the wind, the close cropped grass or the hedges, there I felt my insignificance yet utter importance for the first time in a long time. To say the least, it was kind of amazing."
And from this she draws the conclusion, "I slowly work my away towards being somewhat a pantheist. Help me."
To which I reply; "It is not a platitude to say that God made the garden in which you encountered something...amazing. And it is not pantheistic to recognize, coming out of a sense of opulence and spiritual aridity, in the cool January wind, something God-like smells."
God bless Ashley, who can count on one hand how many people address her by her full first name on a regular basis.
Her remarks reminded me of my time in Spain, and I commented, saying:
"A friend and I walked El Camino de Santiago, a pilgrimage route that runs from all over Western Europe, coalescing into the Royal French Road which leads to the route's final destination, Santiago de Compostela. Our intentions were devotional, though neither of us were Catholics at the time.
The journey was strange. Walking between 20 and 40 kilometers a day, every day, for a month is a necessarily acetic experience. And the physical toll we endured displaced most of my desire to pray, to reflect, and, frankly, to be cordial, or even civil, with my companion. We made friends that we will never forget, even though we remain out of contact. We glimpsed the mystery of Providence, and discovered out of our relative poverty the meaning of hospitality and generosity. We learned not only to endure deprivation, but to respect it, and maybe even love it, a little.
It changed us in many ways, the walk, and, although we knew it then it would take years to learn how, and to try to grasp the meaning of it for our lives.
And this peculiar experience, at once mundane and profound, was unmistakably teleological, and it seemed the goal, naturally enough, was the Cathedral, Santiago de Compostela.
But when we finally arrived, one of the first things the came to both our minds was, 'this is a den of thieves.'
There were so many 'pilgrims' who hadn't broken a sweat to arrive, and to us they couldn't seem genuine, not then.
There was no Mass at the high altar, but in a chapel on the side. The area was enclosed by sound-proof glass with a sign that read something like: RELIGIOUS SERVICE IN PROGRESS; PLEASE BE SILENT. It was like they were monkeys in a zoo, and the tourists were being reminded not to feed them peanuts.
There were things for sale, Scallop Shells (a symbol of the route), walking sticks, t-shirts, and Rosaries.
I wanted to see St. James. I was not one to venerate a Saint, but I had walked all that distance and his memory was infused with the experience. There was a long line, packed by tourists and pilgrims, and the movement of the queue was continuous. It was as if we hadn't arrived. We walked 800 kilometers to see Santiago, and didn't stop at his bones; we walked right past them, and shortly thereafter, out the door.
A den of thieves, we thought.
I would moderate that now, but what we felt was not right, not holy, and neither of us would care to see that church again.
And like you, I found peace in a simpler, humble place.
And, ironically, I have since converted to Catholicism."
There was an upside to Ashley's story, however. Upon leaving the Cathedral, she found a "garden, completely unlike the rest of the area, (which) almost looks neglected, despite being very well manicured. And therein lies the appeal of this place. Despite being overshadowed by one of the most overwhelming buildings in the city, it stands alone, complete separate..." She says that "here, I found peace and much sought after connection to something greater than I. Just in the smell and feel of the wind, the close cropped grass or the hedges, there I felt my insignificance yet utter importance for the first time in a long time. To say the least, it was kind of amazing."
And from this she draws the conclusion, "I slowly work my away towards being somewhat a pantheist. Help me."
To which I reply; "It is not a platitude to say that God made the garden in which you encountered something...amazing. And it is not pantheistic to recognize, coming out of a sense of opulence and spiritual aridity, in the cool January wind, something God-like smells."
God bless Ashley, who can count on one hand how many people address her by her full first name on a regular basis.
posted by Eric at 11:46 PM
1 Comments:
Luckily the two of you had enough common sense not to jump off of high places which led you to the end unlike somebody else who didn't quite make it.
On a similar note, when I was living in Vancouver in 2002 my favourite spot was the cathedral downtown and the almost hidden garden right next to it for just about the same reasons. During the day there are at most five people inside the building and I could slip in during the afternoon (or during Gregorian chant on Sunday evenings) and ask over and over again to make my life just about the way it is right now, in fact.
However, that den of thieves impression was precisely why we didn't go to church during the first years after becoming Christian, was it not? We'd try going into one every once in a while but it was about the opposite of what we had felt from whatever we had read and discussed - DeMello, Lewis, etc. How was it that you were able to take that and work it in with an already established church with its own atmosphere?
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