From Scallop Shells to Synod — via Santiago

When I was seven or eight, I became a boy chorister at the local Anglican Parish Church of St Mary, Totnes, Devon. This Grade I listed building was part of a medieval Benedictine priory. I was an inquisitive child and remember asking the vicar one day what the carved scallop shells near the church door meant. He told me that they were a symbol of pilgrimage to the shrine of St James in Spain. In past centuries, ships sailed down the River Dart from Totnes, carrying wool and pilgrims to the continent. The carved shells indicated that many of those pilgrims were en route to Santiago. I had no idea that sixty years later I would follow in the footsteps of those medieval pilgrims.

In 2018, the year I retired from full-time ministry, over 300K people walked at least 100km of one of the many Camino routes and so qualified for the Compostela, the certificate of completion. The Camino Francés is the most walked of these. It covers almost 500 miles from Saint Jean Pied de Port on the French side of the Pyrenees and takes over a month to complete. Together with my wife, Cyndy, I decided to walk the final 128km, around 80 miles, of this route from a beautiful town called Samos. We took our time, averaging 10 miles a day. We met pilgrims from all over the world, chatting as we walked, and in the places we ate and stayed overnight. Sometimes we were near busy roads, but much of the time we followed well marked paths through eucalyptus forests, down into river valleys, and up the hill the other side. Many of the village and town churches were open for pilgrims to pray, and stamp their “credencial,” the pilgrim “passport.” Volunteers often met us with a smile and the offer of a prayer card.

On our last day, we walked up Monte do Gozo (Hill of Joy), and saw the spires of the Cathedral, the resting place of St James in the city below us. The last three miles took us through the city to the Cathedral where we queued to get into the noon pilgrim Mass. We were blessed to see the Botafumeiro, the enormous suspended thurible “fly” at the end of Mass.

Traditionally, pilgrims end their pilgrimage by ascending the steps behind the high altar to hug the statue of St James. We did this soon after our arrival, but I found that praying at the burial place of St James in the crypt gave me a vivid experience of meeting the first of the twelve to give his life out of love for the Lord.

In September 2024 Cyndy and I again found ourselves in Spain. We now try to avoid flying, partly for environmental reasons, and partly because we dislike the crowds and stress of airports. We travelled by ferry from Portsmouth to Santander, and took the train to Valladolid, where we stayed a night at the English College. It was fascinating to learn something of its history and of the brave men who were formed for the priesthood there before returning to England and likely martyrdom. We found ourselves there on a local feast day and experienced the colour and sounds of a Spanish street procession.

We continued to Madrid where we joined American and Canadian pilgrims for a small group tour walking some of the Highlights of the Camino Francés between Astorga and Santiago. We had minibus backup, so could walk as far as we could cope with each day. With these flexible arrangements we found ourselves walking with different members of the group at various times, but we got to know everyone well during the week of walking. One couple were practising Catholics. Three or four other members of the group identified as lapsed Catholics. Once we had got to know each other, I shared the fact that I am a priest. This led to some interesting conversations, a couple of which were quite challenging. Sometimes sharing whilst walking is less threatening than when cooped up in a conference room, and I valued the gentle honesty of our conversations. Sharing company and excellent food at mealtimes was also precious. Many times I thought of the Lord walking with his friends on Easter evening and sitting at table with them at Emmaus.

All too soon we descended Monte do Gozo into Santiago and walked through the streets for the pilgrim Mass. I made for the sacristy and asked to concelebrate. The Sister sacristan examined my celebret, and kindly searched for an alb short enough! Mass was mainly in Spanish with one reading in English. I was invited to read a section of the Eucharistic Prayer in English, and a Polish priest to do the same in Polish. At the end of Mass, the MC gestured to the Polish priest and myself to move to where the Botafumeiro was lowered. The biggest incense boat I’ve ever seen was put in front of both of us and the principal celebrant in turn, and we were all invited to put incense into the Botafumeiro with a similarly large spoon. I had an excellent vantage point to watch its flight.

As I rejoined my companions afterwards, I was overwhelmed at how moved they had been during Mass. One had wept on Cyndy’s shoulders, and another told me in tears at dinner that evening that she needed to do some serious thinking about her faith. Many shared how much it meant to them to see one of their walking companions taking part in the Mass as a priest at the end of their Camino. It was good to spend some quiet moments with St James to pray about it all and let it sink in.

Since we returned home — by train via San Sebastian, Paris, and Eurostar — my reflections have often returned to Emmaus, but another thought has emerged too. At the opening Mass for the Synod of Bishops three years ago, Pope Francis said in his homily, “Celebrating a Synod means walking on the same road, together.” Maybe our Camino was Synod too.