photos by Katie and Michael Munnik
“We are pilgrims on a journey and companions on the road.” – Richard Gillard, Brother, Sister, Let Me Serve You
Not all loaves of bread fit easily into a backpack. I discovered this when my husband Michael and I walked across Spain together, following the 1,000-year-old pilgrimage to the city of Santiago. When you're walking 25 kilometers a day you need to carry lunch with you. Most days, Michael strapped the bread to the outside of his backpack. Since my legs are shorter and I walk more slowly, it was my job to keep an eye on the loaf, ensuring that it remained firmly attached and more-or-less waterproofed.
Historically, pilgrims made this trek to visit the sacred relics of the Apostle James, for whom the town is named. Anyone who visited the site would be granted a compostela — an indulgence to speed their passage through purgatory and on to heaven. Today, pilgrims still receive the compostela on completing their walk, but few set out with that as their primary goal. The pilgrims we met along the way spoke instead of seeking time to reflect, to mull over life's large decisions or to think about endings and new beginnings. Some talked about seeking God or listening for His will; others spoke more vaguely, unsure of what they believed but looking for deeper meaning or new direction for their lives.
Several times a day, we would stop for a rest, perhaps in a small village bistro for a cup of café con leche or by the side of the path for a picnic lunch. Other pilgrims would drop their packs next to ours and we would chat about the walk behind us and compare directions for the route ahead. We shared stories, stamps, even money and especially food. At dinnertime, we gathered at communal tables, eating delicious meals that cost pocket change, with a bottle of wine to share and as much crusty bread as we could eat. These were meals to linger over, enjoying the feeling of being at rest and being together.
Along the pilgrimage, I often thought about the story of the road to Emmaus. Two disciples, distraught after the crucifixion of Jesus, were travelling away from Jerusalem. Perhaps they were trying to put distance between the recent confusing past and whatever future might be ahead for them. On the road, they met a man who asked them about their journey. At first, they hesitated, not wishing to include him in their discussion. Their own reflections clouded their eyes so that they didn't see who spoke with them. But when they stopped for the evening meal and the man broke bread with them, they recognized him as Christ. And, in this recognition, life began anew for the disciples. They turned back to Jerusalem, where the new church was just beginning.
At the end of our Spanish pilgrimage, we, like generations before us, attended a pilgrim mass in the cathedral of Santiago de Compostela. There were so many people packed in for the service that there was only space to stand. Light poured in through the high ancient windows as we stood together—tired, relieved, footsore and joyful. We weren't able to eat the bread and drink the wine as part of the Catholic mass, but we felt deeply connected to those around us. They were quite literally our companions on the road. The word companion derives from the Latin for “one who breaks bread with another” from the roots com meaning together and panis meaning bread.
As we stood in the crowded church, I looked around at the faces of so many fellow pilgrims we'd met along the way. In the month it had taken us to walk to Santiago, many people had become our companions. Together we'd shared meals and advice about blisters. We'd sat quietly in old churches and laughed on the road and sung late into the night. We'd talked about our lives easily, as if we'd known each other for years. And as the priests read out the names of the countries of all the pilgrims who had arrived since the last mass, it seemed as if the whole world was represented. In the crowded cathedral at the end of the long walk, I saw the promise of the community to come, the Kingdom feast with abundant bread for all.
