Pamplona at dawn is like NYC at dawn. Asleep and quiet yet still magically alive.
I fell again, this time hurting my other foot. So I took this frailty to heart. The walk up to Alto del Perdón would be steep so I walked with Deb whose pace complimented my own. So we walked. We talked. We shared stories. The best part was that she too knows how to get you to open up. I could already tell that she was meeting many people and touching hearts.
We reached the top eventually. It’s a forlorn ridge with windmills all along. She and Paula stayed behind for a taxi while Bill, Stephen, and I continued on. To our surprise, we had walked 2.5 hours before a taxi arrived. But they had great talking time and greeted all who arrived at the peak.
After the rainy dinner apart from each other, we met in the library of my albergue Jakue. Eileen, who is a priest, presided over communion. As a fresh new deacon, I served my second Eucharist. In Spain. On the Camino.
It occurred to me that a deacon’s role is to listen and speak out in the silence of injustice. And that was what the day felt like. A day of walking with people, listening, and if needed, speaking. From the silent streets of Pamplona to the silent trudge up a peak, sharing joys, tears, and troubles in a faithful, holy way- I was alive in the quiet wind. It was dawn in my ministry and all was magically alive.
No comments :
Post a Comment