The most remarkable sight I witnessed while inside the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela was the arrival of a group of pilgrims who had come to join us while we were in line to hug the statue of Saint James. They looked exhausted, sweaty, dusty, and dirty, but their faces exuded that special kind of ecstatic glow, their smiles were genuinely resplendent, and there were tears of joy in their eyes. They were simply beaming. I couldn’t describe the ethereal radiance that seemed to emanate from their very core. It was as if they came from an exalted plane and were still basking in the after-effect of a sacred experience.
Each of them was clutching a certificate. We were told that this is called the compostela, which certifies that one has completed the pilgrimage, that is, at least a minimum of 100 kilometers of walking or 200 kilometers of cycling. This can be obtained from the Pilgrim’s Office across the street, where one’s credencial (pilgrim’s passport) is checked for stamps and dates.
At the beginning of the journey, a pilgrim purchases a passport for a few euros from the Spanish Tourist Agency, a parish house, or a church back home. This gives one access to inexpensive, and sometimes free accommodation in refugios (inns) along the trail. These refugios, as well as some designated establishments in towns along the official trails, are authorized to stamp the passports.
Once a pilgrim reaches Santiago, one has to declare the motivation for the pilgrimage – religious, religious and other, or other. On the first two cases, the pilgrim is given the compostela, written in Latin and states that the pilgrim has completed the journey and is granted a plenary indulgence by the Catholic Church. On the third, the pilgrim is given a simpler certificate written in Spanish.
I wondered where each of them was from, where they began their walk, why they decided to do this pilgrimage, how long they had been walking, and what stories transpired for the duration of their journey. Their faces reflected a thousand and one personal tales that triumphantly culminated in this glorious arrival in Santiago. Their embrace to the statue of Saint James certainly carried more meaning than mine. I was deeply moved and inspired. Theirs had been a difficult and no doubt, a life-changing one.
I asked around for the Mass schedule. Unfortunately, we just missed the early afternoon one and the next one was not until two hours after. But I was able to go for the Sacrament of Reconciliation (or Confession, in more common terms, though this name does not really reflect its true meaning)…and it was a really good one.
According to our Tour Director, receiving the Sacrament of Reconciliation in Santiago permits Catholic pilgrims to complete the indulgence attached to the pilgrimage. Even though I did not walk the camino, I felt it would be apt to experience something spiritual in this city.
Along the sides were numerous confessional boxes available for the faithful. All of them were occupied by priests offering confession in various languages. There were signs on the outside indicating the language/s that the priest could speak. The queues were long, but I decided to join in. I chose the one closest to the right front entrance with a sign that said, “English/Castillan/Catalan.”
There were only about ten people on the line but it did not move fast. I think the priest inside was taking his time to really listen to the penitents. As I waited, I said my prayers in silence and did the pre-requisite steps for confession – examination of conscience, recitation of the Act of Contrition, and spiritual preparation to receive the sacrament.
When I was done, I meditatively admired the Romanesque interior of the church. Since the wait was long, I had more than enough time to examine the church’s architecture and fine details from its semi-circular arches and barrel-vaulted ceilings to the sculpted capital columns and high windows. All around me were fine carvings representing Biblical scenes, which makes the cathedral a kind of visual Bible.
When my turn came, I knelt down at the right compartment pew, made the Sign of the Cross, and said to the priest who just slid open the partition of the lattice window, “Bless me Father, for I have sinned.” He appeared to be close to my age, perhaps slightly older and had a warm, friendly, Castillan-accented voice. He greeted me and apologized in advance if his English was not perfect. I told him that if ever he wanted to switch to Castillan, he should feel free to do so, for I can understand Spanish, if not spoken very fast.
I did not have too many sins to confess (and I hope you believe that...hahaha!), and nothing too grave to be discussed at length (and I hope you believe that as well), so for most of my confession session, the priest and I had a lively discussion about the purpose of my pilgrimage and what I hoped to accomplish on this spiritual journey. He was an engaging listener and despite his youth, he doubtlessly embodied wisdom way beyond his years. I did not feel hurried up. He took his time and gave me his full attention, as if I were the only person in that church.
I left the confessional box utterly blessed and filled with peace. My high aspirations for this trip had been affirmed, my awareness heightened, and my zeal intensified. It was one of the best confessions I’d ever had.
On my way out of the church, where I had agreed to meet my travel amigas, a lady whom I remembered standing in the confessional line with me smiled at me and said, “Isn’t he wonderful? I had the most amazing confession as well. And you know what? That priest has been sitting in that confessional box since this morning. I saw him go in at around 10 am and he hasn’t taken a break since. Such dedication!”
I smiled back at her and nodded my head in agreement. Two more folks, also fellow penitents who overheard her, echoed her sentiments. For the next few minutes, we all seemed to have bonded under this invisible but magnificent umbrella of some kind of divine benediction, enveloped by an overpowering sense of something sacred reflected in each one of us. It was truly special because even though we were strangers to each other, we felt connected.
Outside, my amigas and I took group pictures and afterwards sat on the steps to listen to a group of bagpipe players performing a haunting Galician piece. I turned around and admired the beautiful moss-covered granite façade of the church, its tall twin towers, and Baroque details. Its imposing character certainly pays tribute to the most important shrine of this region’s capital city.
Photo Credits:
elcaminoconcorreos.com, thewanderingwanderluster.com, caminoadventures.com, caminoteca.com, Russell Cothren (honorsblog.uark.edu), Stacey Wittig (lovely2fly.iberia.com), elcaminoconcorreos.com, caminosantiagocompostela.com, caminoguidebook.com, artsandculture.google.com
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