Walking into any building built in the 1200’s can blow your mind. When that building is a cathedral, it tends to blow your mind even farther. Imagining the people who have walked through those doors over the decades, no, centuries, no, millennia (!) makes you realize that you become just one of a long line of people, a very long line of people, who have come to encounter God in some way in that place.

Last year when I walked into the Santiago de Compostela Cathedral, I walked it as a tourist. This year, I entered it as a pilgrim. I carved out two days after my Camino de Santiago to find the collective wisdom of that place. I wanted to know two things. One, what was the oldest document they had on how one of Jesus’ disciples (St. James) got to end up in Northwest Spain? The second was to read whatever commentaries people had on the book of James, figuring that over 1200 years, this would have been a magnet for Jacobean studies, the study of St. James.

Well, on the first count they showed me a reproduction of the Codex Calixtinus, a document that dates to the year 1000 or so. And they brought out three books that translated the document into English (from Latin). There I read about the rather fantastic way they say St. James got there. It was most interesting, if not compelling. This is a book which is a 1470’s copy of a now lost original work from 1070 or so, describing events that happened in the year 70 or so. The oldest document we have about an event that happened in 70 AD is 1400 years after the fact. Remember that.

Secondly, I asked for commentaries on the Book of James. I expected to be walked into stacks of ancient books, written by monks for at least 500 years. When I asked about the commentaries, the librarian looked at me kind of funny and asked, “What is a commentary?”  I was in the library of the Cathedral of St. James! After half an hour he came back and suggested that I go the theological library of the Monastery next door, another mind-blowing old building not unlike the Cathedral. There I got special entrance, got to speak to the librarian of the theological library, and she too didn’t know what a commentary was. When she figured it out, we went into the stacks, and found one, can I say it again–ONE, commentary on the Book of James. I have three in my office.

I was disappointed on so many fronts. The only other patron of the library was trying to figure out when the Cathedral went from cash accounting to accrual accounting. They brought him book after book, I wanted a book about the Bible, and they had none. John Wesley said, “I am a man of one book.”  He wasn’t. He was well read. But he wanted to make the point that he was truly devoted to the Word of God. And we fall into that tradition.

And that Book? Do you know that the oldest document that we have of the Old Testament is from the Book of John, and it dates to the year 100 AD or so? That is 70 years after Jesus died, and 20 years after the original would have been written. And the number of documents that followed that grows exponentially.

The document I read, which supposedly chronicled what happened to the body of St. James, had a span of 1400 years between the event and the actual writing. For the Bible, the time span is 70 years. Just on a literary science basis, I will question the prior and put my faith in the latter. I will trust the story of Jesus, put my faith in Him and the order of my life in what He said. On whether St. James is buried in Santiago de Compostela or not? Not so much.

I wish the libraries of Santiago had that same emphasis. We truly are people of “one Book.”  Today we’re going to spend some time in James Chapter 2. I’m glad you’re here!

Glad to be here too,

Craig

Keep this Book of the Law always on your lips; meditate on it day and night, so that you may be

careful to do everything written in it. Then you will be prosperous and successful. Joshua 1:8 (NIV)

My Dad, the missionary, ran a year-round Christian camp during my formative years. I loved going there, walking on and off property, helping, playing, swimming, whatever. I particularly liked walking through the woods and found great satisfaction in taking others on those trails, knowing where I was going, recognizing the different places to turn or climb or whatever. Those were, in some sense, my woods. I knew where things were, I knew where I was going. I was safe there. I relaxed there. It was beautiful there.

Today, I find myself on my last leg of a hike through a foreign country. I have visited Spain before, but not in these parts, and certainly not out in the woods all by myself. Predetermined hotel spots have set the destination every day, going from one unknown town to another. Sounds scary, sounds precarious. But I felt completely at home in the woods. They have acres and acres–OK, hillside after hillside, of eucalyptus trees, the peeling barks confirming the type of tree, but carpeting the ground too. Just beautiful!

Every time I looked up and around, I smiled. I felt at home. In some form I was walking through the woods of Camp Roblealto. The same buoyancy of foot from yesteryear lifted my stride here. And I can only point to one reason I was so comfortable in those foreign woods–it’s because of the signs. I have never walked a better marked trail. Bike riding, cross country skiing, whatever, I have never felt as secure going from one unknown place to another than here, because the signs show you not only where to go, but offer assurance you are still on the Camino. I came for the Camino. I know where the Camino ends. And as long as I remained on the Camino, I was…how did I put it earlier? “I knew where things were, I knew where I was going. I was safe there. I relaxed there. It was beautiful there.” 

Yep. The signs made that happen. Let me just explain the stone monument. On the top is a yellow on blue scallop shell, modernized to look like the sun shining in a particular direction. The shell is part of the legend of St. James’ body washing up on the shores of Galicia covered with shells. Below it is the ever-important arrow. Not once did I wonder which way they were pointing, they placed these things very, very well. The black line actually is a piece of metal engraved with the kilometer marker of how far you had to go to the Cathedral in Santiago. It was most encouraging to watch those numbers decrease steadily. And at the bottom, it was signed by Galicia–the region (some might say country) Santiago is in.

The Apostle Paul said that we do not belong here on Earth, but that we are citizens of heaven (Phil 3:20). I kind of felt that way on the walk. I am a citizen of the United States. And I am just a wayfaring stranger in Spain. But the signs, all those signs, made me feel at home in Spain, or at least on the Camino. I am dependent on the signs.

And yeah, as Johnny Cash sang, I am just a “poor wayfaring stranger” in this world. Ultimately where we belong, as God’s children, is in a spiritual world, which is alluded to by some as “going over Jordan,” but is really a place where be belong. I’m continuously looking for signs on this side of Jordan, because someday, I’m going over there.

Still in Spain,

Craig

For we know that if the tent that is our earthly home is destroyed, we have a building

from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. 2 Corinthians 5:1 (ESV)

Rev. Dr. Wilton Mons Nelson produced the first Bible Dictionary completely written in Spanish in Latin America. He was a popular seminary professor, and eventually dean of the largest Protestant seminary in Latin America. I knew him as Grandpa.

If nothing else, my Grandpa was disciplined. Down to the half-hour every day. On Saturdays, his routine called for a hike. He loved to walk. It was his way of recharging. He welcomed company on those walks but did not seek it. I think he walked all the hills of the Central Valley of Costa Rica.

I don’t like to walk because of him. I like to walk like him. I like walking probably for the same reasons -– to recharge, to exercise (since I can’t run anymore), to see new places. And today, I started the hike of a lifetime, the Camino de Santiago. I would have loved to have done this walk with Janice, but her knees don’t allow it. I would have loved to walk it with my boys or my brother. I would really have loved to walk it with my Dad. That would have been incredible. But today, I spent the day walking with my Grandpa.

I thought a lot about him today…of the size of the gifts that he gave the Protestant church in Costa Rica specifically, and to Latin America generally. I thought about his passions (walking being one of them.)  He got a doctorate in Church History. His dissertation became a book on the History of Protestantism in Costa Rica, a regular original source on the subject today. He was a professor at heart, but a pastor when called upon; his goal was to grow the Kingdom of God by equipping pastors. What I would give to have been able to take one of his classes and to visit with him about it on one of his Caminos! He would have LOVED to walk Spain as I am doing. LOVED it!

And I would have loved to walk with him and ask him questions. Questions about the church, questions about his recollection of people he knew but are now part of the cloud of witnesses that he is now part of. Ask him about my Dad…what he thought of my Mom when he first met her…what he thought of me, for that matter, in those days when I could (and did a couple of times) go hiking with him up the hills of San Jose.

I have always loved 2 Timothy 1:5 which says: “I am reminded of your sincere faith, which first lived in your grandmother Lois and in your mother Eunice and, I am persuaded, now lives in you also.”  Both my grandmothers were Christians, and so was my Mom. But when I read that verse, I think of my grandfather Wilton and my dad Pete, because I am persuaded by the faith that first lived in them now lives in me. And all I hope for is a generation or two down from me saying the same thing someday.

I also really like the 2 Timothy verse because it indicates that Paul first knew the ladies before he met the son/grandson. It’s really cool to hear from somebody who knew your grandparents and parents. That happens less and less to me now.

Yes, part of the conversation I had with my Grandpa today was about the fact that I am now the eldest Nelson. I’m not sure what that means, but it does mean I am now more Lois than Timothy, even though when I first read 2 Timothy I sure identified with him!

The lesson here really is about Lois and Eunice. They impressed Paul; they must have ministered with him and helped in the Kingdom in some way that warranted him praising them in his encouragement to Timothy. I want to lead my life in such a way that others get that impression—that they see the reality of my faith in, and love of, God. We all should.

What impression DO people get when they get to know you?

Ready for Day 2,

Craig

Guard the good deposit that was entrusted to you—
guard it with the help of the Holy Spirit who lives in us. 2 Timothy 1:14 (NIV)

As Protestants, we are not sure about pilgrimages. I am one of the unsure. Growing up in Costa Rica, I saw tens of thousands of people taking a yearly pilgrimage from (at least) San Jose, where I lived, to a town called Cartago. I knew from history class that Cartago used to be the capital city of Costa Rica, and that the most famous church in Costa Rica was there, not because of the old capital city status, but because of a miracle that people claim happened there.

               The story goes that in 1635, yes, almost 300 years ago, a little girl of mixed race (and that part of the story is significant) found a little statue of the Virgin Mary holding her baby Jesus next to a spring in the woods. The girl took it home. The next morning, it was gone- it had found its way back to the spring. The girl took it back home again. The next morning, same thing, the statue was back at the spring. It happened three times. So, the adults decided a miracle had happened, built a little shrine, and people have been flocking to it ever since.

               If you go there, the site where the spring comes up is understood to be a source of holy water. If you go and see the statue, you see an enormous collection of little amulets of body parts. Bordering on the macabre, they are offerings commemorating healings from the holy water.

               I grew up taking people there, both as a kid with my parents, and later on as a guide. It was on the way to a volcano and made for a good stop along the way. My parents, and Protestants in general, panned the veracity of it all. The Rosario (as the pilgrimage is called) was viewed skeptically as a devotion to Mary (instead of Jesus) and the pursuit of superstition (that that water had magic powers.)

               And having said all that, today, after church, I am headed to the mother of all pilgrimages, the Camino de Santiago. (OK, it’s second to Jerusalem, but you don’t walk in Israel. You just go up and down the stairs of a bus.)  What’s up with that? What am I doing? I lend no credence that the bones of St. James can be found inside the cathedral there. And I don’t carry any expectation that arriving there for Mass will cure what ails me.

               For me, the walk is the pilgrimage. Maybe I’ve been influenced too much by John Bunyon. He wrote Pilgrim’s Progress. As he described the character Christian’s pilgrimage, that long walk was just life. Life is a long hike in which we aim for heaven. There are pitfalls all along the way. There are trials, temptations, and distractions. (The biggest concerns I carry in Spain are weather and my legs handling it.) Perseverance, as we see in the book of James, is a most valued lesson through all the trials of life. I covet your prayers.

I think we are all pilgrims. Not to Cartago, or Fatima, or Lourdes, or the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. No. To heaven. For some the walk is longer than it is for others. We miss those who have arrived before us. Some of us take more circuitous routes than others to get there. But all of us are on the Camino. Not to a little hamlet in Spain, but to a place where we delightfully meet our Maker.

So, grab your walking stick, put on your boots, and let’s go! The aid stations are many. You are in one this morning. The fellow pilgrims are many, too. The fact that the little statue of Mary appeared to a mixed-race girl in the jungle has meant, for Costa Ricans, that the miracles of God are for everybody, not just the elites (or the Spanish, specifically in those times.)  I like that. God’s grace is for every pilgrim.

Are you ready?

Craig

Consider it pure joy, my brothers, and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work
so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything. James 1:2-4 (NIV)