We embarked on an early morning pilgrimage, explored the city and admired the cathedral. After completing administrative tasks and attending Mass, we checked out of our hotel, had a delicious lunch, and visited the impressive cathedral. Our journey concluded with farewells and a visit to Fatima in Portugal, where we prayed at the tombs of the shepherd children and attended Mass.
We went to the cathedral at 7.30am, hoping to get in with the crowd entering for the morning Mass. We came across several pilgrims asking us in Spanish what time the morning Mass was, who generally turned out to be American. Everyone everywhere assumed that, since we were in cassock, we were official staff of whatever church they happened to be visiting. It turned out that this year the 7.30am Mass had been cancelled. We met one man who had been too late to get in last year and so had come extra early this year for a Mass that turned out to have been cancelled.
I still got a chance to wander around the city when it was basically deserted, and see the front of the cathedral, the stunning floral “painting” depicting St. James and the workmen building the cathedral, the holy door, and other sights.
The pilgrim office where you get your official “Camino” certificate opened at nine, so we trotted along to take care of business. We feared a long line, but it was early and not so many people were there. In no time, the three clerics in our group were able to get through. We presented our “credential”, that is the stamps we had gathered proving we had truly made the pilgrimage, put some information into the computer, and got our certificates, written in Latin, under the auspices of the Dean of the cathedral.
After that I headed back to the hotel to write up a little article for the SSPX daily devotional, and prepare for Mass. Meanwhile, the members of our group who had stayed by the cathedral saw military processions, liturgical processions, and all sorts of pageantry.
We had Mass an hour before checkout. It was a holy day, and the hotel room wasn’t huge. Our seminarian friend from the previous night joined us, too.
We grabbed lunch, and then headed back to see the interior of the cathedral. I saw the huge thurible, not swinging, alas, but in perspective by reason of the priest standing underneath it. Then I realized what all the fuss is about: it’s huge.
Not long after this it was time to make our final goodbyes to the group. Some were beginning to get flights already, and a number of us were soon headed out to Portugal to visit Fatima.
It was a strange feeling finishing the ride. One is in the rhythm of biking every day, making the pilgrimage. It feels like a jolt to stop, even if one is relieved and glad to have reached the destination. It’s a weird, mixed feeling- or it was to me. Having returned the bike made the possibility of riding today seem more remote and added a sense of finality. But it was still a somewhat strange feeling of still being forward by a momentum which had now served its purpose.
I would miss the Spanish countryside: the little churches and beautiful cemeteries. I would miss the camaraderie of the group. Sure, we got on each other’s nerves at times, but there was still a strong esprit de corps. Little quirks always kept it light. For example, the doctor declared the youngest of Pete’s boys his mouthpiece. Every time the doctor was thinking something, but didn’t want to say it, Pete’s son would just blurt it out!
“I’m tired.”
“It’s hot.”
“Let’s get going already.”
“Another hill?!”
There were jokes that had grown up in the group, and we had shared prayers and sufferings. Still, one is on pilgrimage to reach a goal, as one is on this earth to reach Heaven. And the fact that a pilgrimage ends is a reminder that there is only one ultimate goal: God Himself.
We went our separate ways. It was not 24 hours later when I was able to kneel and pray before the tombs of the shepherd children at Fatima, to see the spot where Our Lady had appeared, to visit the bed in which little Francisco had died, and to entrust all the intentions of donors to the intercession of the seers and Our Lady of Fatima.
I had the privilege of visiting and saying Mass at the SSPX chapel. I showed up unannounced, asked to say Mass, was greeted with consummate kindness, in perfect English, and provided with everything a priest could need.
Afterwards Father Mestre gave us a beer and some refreshments, and I was pleased to see an old friend from England who had moved to Portugal and who was cooking on a women’s retreat in Fatima.
In that Mass I was best able to express my gratitude to almighty God for all the graces and blessings of the pilgrimage. And it falls to me now, dear benefactors, to express my profound thanks and gratitude for your help, prayers, interest, and support. Please keep me, all the pilgrims, the support crew, and the SSPX chapel in Wichita in your prayers and intentions. I have been glad to “carry you along with us”, by this blog and in my prayers and Masses.
If you ever want to visit us in Wichita, know you are more than welcome! But if not in this world, when this earthly pilgrimage is done, I pray that we will all be happy united in Heaven.
