The First Two Days

 

Yesterday we left Porto and her suburbs behind, and started walking the Camino de Santiago. As you can see from the top signpost, we still have 247 kms to Santiago de Compostela, having knocked off only a handful in the last 2 days.

Above, Bryn is displaying her Covid face at our first way mark on the beach. Yes, Bryn unfortunately contracted Covid and has been miserable until today. We have been sharing a room everywhere, so there was no way to isolate ourselves from each other; last evening I got sniffly and tested this morning—bingo! I now have Covid, too. So far, I am not really sick, just mild cold symptoms. I sure hope I continue to have a much milder course than poor Bryn did, and so glad she’s starting to feel better.

Last night we stayed in Lavra, at the Portuguese equivalent of a giant, crowded American campground—packed with tents, RVs and this whole community of tiny houses for rent. Bryn and I had a very sweet tiny house, with a kitchen and two tiny bedrooms. It was quite comfy. The big difference between this place and a packed American campground was that this place was absolutely silent. We decided since Europeans live in such close proximity to one another all the time, that they must have more respect for those around them.

Today we set our sights on the lovely town of Vila do Conde, set at the mouth of the Rio Ave. On the way, we passed this little chapel that commemorates another gruesome saint story. St. Paio Chapel sits on a little cliff above the surf and was likely built during the Middle Ages in an attempt to Christianize the area. St Paio was a nephew of one of those king-like Bishops of Porto and in 920, he became a prisoner of the Caliph Abd-al-Rahman III and died a martyr 3 years later. Apparently, his body was chopped into little pieces, some of which were returned by sea to Portugal. It wasn’t mentioned what miracles he performed in order to receive sainthood (his body was not reconstituted) but nevertheless, this tiny chapel above the sea, is to celebrate him.

The other thing we learned today is that this crazy coastal wind out of the north is obviously a regular thing. We passed many beaches today, and on every single one, every sunbather came equipped with their own wind screen, the supports of which their owns bury deep in the sand. The beaches look like they are full of scantily clad people hiding behind snow fences.

Now to shift gears a bit, with some thoughts about the book I’ve been reading by Earl Palmer, “The Book that James Wrote.” James 1:3 says, in part “ . . . because you know that the testing of your faith produces endurance. . . “ Earl writes, ‘James affirms his validated experience that faith in God is not fragile or easily destroyed. Intense pressures on our faith are not as destructive as we might have thought. Faith, by its very nature as a dynamic experience of trust, is actually strengthened when pressures force us to focus on the center.’ 

And therein lies the whole problem of my ailing faith. The center, to me, consists of the words and teachings of the New Testament and of Jesus. I have become so distracted and angry by the words and actions of those that claim to be Biblical Christians who use the words of Jesus to justify racism, nationalism, misogyny, homophobia—the list goes on and on. And clearly neither Jesus nor other teachings of the New Testament support these ideas and actions as being even remotely “Christian.” I have such anger and shame at the jerks, morons and misleading messengers of Jesus that I am left completely disgusted by anything remotely resembling organized evangelical Christianity. Basically, all the noise outside the center has obliterated my access to the center.

I think what both James and Earl Palmer are saying is that instead of allowing the jerks and morons and misleading, mean-spirited, corrupted messengers of the center to destroy my faith, I could—and should—regard their words and deeds as the testing of my faith. According to John and Earl, they do not have that power of destruction, unless I let them have it. Instead, the pain I feel from belonging to the same faith as them could be regarded as testing of that faith—and that faith is strong enough to withstand that testing. And maybe make my faith stronger rather than to be kicked to the side of the road as I feel I have done.

This Roman aqueduct has been here in Vila do Conde since the first century. I’d like a faith as strong and long lasting as that. That seems like a very tall order right now.