Peregrina Held Hostage

[gerardcarey]

A smile that helps brighten my day. It floods over me.
She takes off her pack at the church door, carries it inside, props it up against the back wall. I follow.
She stands for a moment in the silence, taking in the dim interior of the church.
She selects a pew. Now she is kneeling, clasping her hands, bowing her head, closing her eyes.
The absolute picture of devout worship.
I don't quite know why, but she is an absolutely stunning sight.
This devout worship, but is that the right word? is that what it is? usually lasts for 10-15 minutes.

I, in hoping not to disturb, enter a pew a couple of rows behind.
This is a Christian that appears to have a deep personal, perhaps more than that, an intimate relationship with her God.
But this is no shy retiring person who can only commune with her God in that embarrassed private in public solitude I'd seen so often. Nor is she one of those enthusiastically happy type ones.
This lady has a style of her own.

On the meseta, the spire rises in the distance. Gradually, up out of the stubble, its cross greets us.
From underneath the spire, as we approach, the church also pushes up out of the ground. Then, like a mother hen with her chicks, it gathers its family of houses about.
Fat, squashed a little flat churches they seem to me. Solidly bulky, sturdily friendly.

“Oh blimey,” I thought, “here we go again."
She had veered of the Camino towards this smallish Romanesque church.
I of course followed. This is the second so far this morning.
We'd been walking together for a just few days, sharing a casa rural or hostal room at night.
She had been into every open church we had come across. I mean like at least two a day. I don't know how she kept finding open ones when other pilgrims were complaining about so many being locked. Just lucky I guess.
She'd walked from Austria. I tried to imagine how many churches she'd been inside. I'd have to include the ones she went into for mass or evening services. I gave up. All too difficult.

So today, here I sit, twiddling my fingers. As usual it only takes me five minutes to check the church out, after which I am somewhat bored. I peruse the local prayer book, and the hymn book. There's an awful lot of blank grey stone in these Romanesque churches. Not condusive to holding a bloke's attention.

As my mind wanders I notice the bank of candles up front, over to the left of the altar. My Catholic friend Michael had asked me to light a candle for him when I got to the Cathedral in Santiago. I had agreed of course.
Today I change my mind.
Due to the unexpected number of churches I was now visiting I decide to light a candle for him in all the churches I enter along the Way. I justify this by utilising the probably faulty reasoning which states that he'll get even more positive points up if I light lots of candles in lots of churches, rather than just one, in the big church at the end.
And the little churches will get a bit of my dosh in payment for the candles. I'll regard that as payment for my appropriation of the title of 'Pilgrim', which, in the strict ecclesiatical sense, I am not.
But to be truthful, I am mainly doing it because I'm bored. It'll give me something to do while she prays.

I climb out of the pew and walk up the side aisle to find that even Romanesque churches have joined the electronic age. There are no wax candles any more, no tapers, no flames. Only flickery electronic candles. Put your money in the slot candles.
I don't know how much to put in the slot, and you don't want to appear to be a meano, not in church, do you? I select a couple of gold edged coins, slide them in.
Wow, lights up the whole bank with a flash. Michael gets his "all the way to Santiago candle budget" in one go.
I hear a noise from behind. Two elderly local ladies approach, each with a coin in a weathered hand. I move aside to give them access. But they just look, then glare at me, mutter to each other, and return to their pews. I can only imagine what they are saying.
"Stupid pilgrim, more money than sense. He's used up all the candles so now there's none left for us. Now we'll have to wait until his money runs out."
I return to my pew, resume contemplation of my companion.

Today, it appears she is particularly lucky. The local priest appears. Seemingly from nowhere he ghosts out among the stone columns. She immediately stands and walks forward to introduce herself.
He holds her hand gently as they talk about the church, how old it is, who the statues represent, how long the priest has been there. They chat happily until she encourages me to join her in receiving a pilgrim blessing.

After a prayer of farewell, she leads me out the door. We swing our packs on, leave the church behind. She is smiling, and I am happy that she is happy, and I am also happy to be walking again.
The yellow arrows lead us out of the village, onto a section of path that heads into scrubland. Her lips are moving. She is praying again. Keep your trap shut Gerard.

I am following her quite closely. That's probly why I notice.
It is the bright colours that catch my attention.
The tiny little flag.
It pokes up from the top of her pack. It doesn't flap. It sits up stiffly. Bobs and sways about in accordance with the action of her pack.
I don't recall the flag of any country that has a design like that.
Perhaps it is the Austrian flag?
I move even closer to investigate.
Uh oh. The bells start ringing.
The closer proximity pulls into focus a design of narrow, multi-coloured, horizontal stripes.
That gives it away.

"Oi cobber!" I call incredulously, "Isn't that like the international Gay folk's flag you've got sticking up out of your pack?"
She stumbles mid-step, pauses, turns to face me.
The bells ring even louder.
"Are you Gay?" I ask incredulously.
Her head tilts to one side. Half a smile appears.
"What took you so long?" she asks.
I stand there shaking my head. "Crikey," I say, "every time I think I've seen it all, or I think I know it all, I get surprised. Now how am I going to get my head around this?"
"Get your head around what?" she asks. "Have you got a problem with me being Gay?"
"Of course not," I reply. "Now don't you start getting bolshie with me. It's just a bit of a shock that's all. I've never met a beautiful, Gay, openly devout Christian lady before."

Over the next day or so my knowledge as to the life of a Gay Christian woman is considerably enhanced. Her open nature ensures our conversations cover a broad range of topics. The questions I think to ask I now find as intruiging as her answers.
When did you find you were more attracted to women than men?
What happened when you broached the subject with your parents and how did your siblings react?
Is it a hard life? Is it a fulfilling life?
Do you have a partner?
What is the nature of this relationship you have with the Catholic church and it's male clergy?
And the killer-diller question you should always ask a Gay person.
"If you had the choice, would you choose to be Straight or Gay?"

It was during dinner the next evening that she asks her question.
"My partner and I decided before I left that she would join me at Sahagun. We'd then go for a week's holiday together at San Sebastian before heading home. What do you think of that idea?"
I'm wise enough to know when I'm being set up to give a required answer, so I consider the question carefully before answering.
"So, you've walked this pilgrimage, all the way from Austria, and you are going to call it a day only a relatively short distance before Santiago, before the pilgrimage proper is complete?"
"That's the plan," she answers.
"Not much of a plan," I reply, "and obviously the decision is now troubling you. But seeing you asked I'll give you my opinion. You decided on this course of action together, and your lady friend is probably really looking forward to seeing you and spending some time with you. However you feel, and whatever you decide to do, it is not her fault. I'll leave it at that."

As I looked into her eyes I saw a change in attitude.
I don't know what she wanted to hear, but it wasn't that.
I realise now it was then that I lost her friendship.
And that's ok, because this was only a temporary friendship.
I believe we can count our good friends on the fingers of one hand. That being the case she doesn't deserve to own one of my fingers.
She was delightful company, interesting and very informative. I feel privileged to have met her and spent a few days in her company.

I hope her God is accepting of her. More so perhaps than the church she has chosen to be his representative here on earth. There she is only acceptable if she remains in the closet.
I even feel some sense of love towards her. It would be nice to be able to pray for this lovely lady, as she proceeds along this difficult life path.
But I, as an unbeliever, cannot.
I can only hope.
But what about you?
Could you perhaps, if a fellow Christian pilgrim, pray for this Peregrina, held hostage, in the closet, in the Church?

Regards
Gerard

 

[Seabird]

Well, you certainly know how to get someone's attention! Well done.

 

[DurhamParish]

I'd tell her that there are Christian churches that accept her fully as she is (I am a member of one). But I will say a prayer that she will somehow find fulfillment in her chosen denomination.

 

[Former member 42123]

A smile that helps brighten my day.
She turns and directs it at me as she takes off her pack at the church door.
She carries her pack inside, leans it against a back wall.
I follow.
She stands for a moment in the silence, taking in the dim interior of the church.
She selects a pew. Now she is kneeling, clasping her hands, bowing her head, closing her eyes.
The absolute picture of devout worship.
I don't quite know why, but she is an absolutely stunning sight.
This devout worship, but is that the right word? is that what it is? lasts for 15-20 minutes.

I, in the hope that I will not disturb, enter a pew a couple of rows behind.
She is a Christian that appears to have a deep personal, perhaps more than that, an intimate relationship with her God.
But this is no shy retiring person who can only commune with her God in that embarrassed private in public solitude I'd seen so often. Nor is she one of those enthusiastically happy type ones.
This lady has a style of her own.

On the meseta, in the distance, the spires rise up out out the fields to greet us.
On our closer approach, the churches slowly appear, and, like a mother hen with her chicks, they gather their family about them.
Fat, squashed a little flat churches. Solid, bulky, yet sturdily friendly.
“Oh blimey,” I'd thought, “here we go again."
She had veered of the Camino towards yet another smallish Romanesque church.
I of course followed. This is the second so far this morning.

We'd been walking together for a just few days, sharing a casa rural or hostal room at night.
She had been into every open church we had come across. I mean like at least two a day.
I don't know how she kept finding open ones when other pilgrims were complaining about so many being locked. Just lucky I guess.
She'd walked from Austria. I tried to imagine how many churches she'd been inside. I'd have to include the ones she went into for mass or evening services. I gave up. All too difficult.

So today, here I sit, twiddling my fingers. As usual it only takes me five minutes to check the church out, after which I am somewhat bored. I peruse the local prayer book, and the hymn book. There's an awful lot of blank grey stone in these Romanesque churches. Not condusive to holding a bloke's attention.

As my mind wanders I notice the bank of candles up front, over to the left of the altar. My Catholic friend Michael had asked me to light a candle for him when I got to the Cathedral in Santiago. I had agreed of course.
Today I change my mind.
Due to the unexpected number of churches I was now visiting I decide to light a candle for him in all the churches I enter along the Way. I justify this by utilising the probably faulty reasoning which states that he'll get even more positive points if I light lots of candles in lots of churches, rather than just one, in the big church at the end.
And the little churches will get a bit of my dosh in payment for the candles. I'll regard that as payment for my appropriation of the title of 'Pilgrim', which, in the strict ecclesiatical sense, I am not.
But truthfully, I am only going to do it because I am bored. It'll give me something to do while she prays.

I climb out of the pew and walk up the side aisle to find that even Romanesque churches have joined the electronic age. There are no wax candles any more, no tapers, no flames. Only flickery electronic candles. Put your money in the slot candles.
I don't know how much to put in the slot, and you don't want to appear to be a meano, not in church, do you? I select a couple of gold edged coins, slide them in.
Wow, lights up the whole bank with a flash. Michael gets his "all the way to Santiago candle budget" in one go.
I hear a noise from behind. Two elderly local ladies stand behind me. Each with a coin in her hand. I move aside to give them access. But they just look, then glare at me, mutter to each other, and return to their pews. I can only imagine what they are saying.
"Stupid pilgrim, more money than sense, he's used up all the candles so now there's none left for us. We'll have to wait until his money runs out."
I return to my pew and resume contemplation of my companion.

Today, it appears she is particularly lucky. The local priest appears. Seemingly from nowhere he ghosts out from among the stone columns.
She immediately stands and walks forward to introduce herself.
They talk about the church, and how old it is, and who the statues represent, and how long the priest has been there etc.
They chat happily until she encourages me to join her in receiving a pilgrim blessing.

After a prayer of farewell, she leads me out the door. We swing our packs on, leave the church behind. She is smiling, and I am happy that she is happy, and I am also happy to be walking again.
The yellow arrows lead us out of the village, onto a section of path that heads into scrubland. Her lips are moving. She is praying again. Keep your trap shut Gerard.

I am following her quite closely. That's probly why I notice.
It is the bright colours that catch my attention.
The tiny little flag.
It pokes up from the top of her pack. It sits up stiffly. It doesn't flap. It bobs and sways about in accordance with the action of her pack.
I don't recall the flag of any country that has a design like that.
Perhaps it is the Austrian flag?
I move even closer to investigate.
Uh oh. The bells start ringing.
It's the multitude of narrow multi-coloured horizontal stripes that give it away.

"Oi cobber!" I call incredulously, "Isn't that like the international Gay folk's flag you've got sticking up out of your pack?"
She stumbles mid-step, takes a second, turns to face me.
The bells ring even louder.
"Are you Gay?" I ask.
"What took you so long?" she replies with a smile.
I stand there shaking my head. "Crikey," I say, "every time I think I've seen it all, or know it all, I get surprised. Now how am I going to get my head around this?"
"Get your head around what?" she asks, "have you got a problem with me being Gay?"
"Of course not," I reply, "now don't you start getting bolshy with me cobber. It's just a bit of a shock that's all. I've never met a beautiful, Gay, openly devout Christian lady before."

Over the next day or so my knowledge as to the life of a Gay Christian woman is considerably enhanced.
Her open nature ensures our conversations cover a broad range of topics.
The questions I think to ask I now find as intruiging as her answers.
How and when did you find you were more attracted to women than men and at what age did you 'Come out of the closet'?
What happened when you broached the subject with your parents and how did your siblings react?
What do you do for a living? Is it a hard life. Is it a fulfilling life?
If you had the choice, would you choose to be Straight or Gay? Do you have a partner?
What is the nature of the relationship you have with the Catholic church and it's male clergy?
Interesting? You'd better believe it.

It was during dinner the next evening that she asks the question.
"My partner and I decided before I left that she would join me at Sahagun. That we'd then go for a week's holiday together at San Sebastian before heading home. What do you think of that idea?"
I'm wise enough to know when I'm being set up to give a required answer, so I consider the question carefully before answering.
"So, you've walked this pilgrimage, all the way from Austria, and you are going to call it a day only a relatively short distance before Santiago, before the pilgrimage proper is complete?"
"That's the plan," she answers.
"Not much of a plan," I reply, "and obviously the decision is now troubling you. But seeing you asked I'll give you my opinion. You decided on this course of action together, and she is probably really looking forward to seeing you and spending some time with you. However you feel, and whatever you decide to do, it is not her fault. I'll leave it at that."

As I looked into her eyes I saw a change in attitude.
I don't know what she wanted to hear, but it wasn't that.
I now realise it was then that I lost her friendship.
And that's ok, because this was only a temporary friendship.
I believe we can count our good friends on the fingers of one hand.
That being the case she doesn't deserve to own one of my fingers.
She was delightful company, interesting and very infomative.
I feel privileged to have met and spent a few days in her company.

I hope her God is accepting of her. More so perhaps than the church she has chosen to be his representative here on earth. There she is only acceptable if she remains in the closet.
I even feel some sense of love towards her. It would be nice to be able to pray for this lovely lady, as she proceeds along this difficult life path.
But I, as an unbeliever, cannot.
I can only hope.
But what about you?
Could you perhaps, if a fellow Christian pilgrim, pray for this Peregrina, held hostage, in the closet, in the Church?

Regards
Gerard

I can never tell what direction or ending your stories will take,but my morning brightens when I find you have posted a new one.We Irish love a good story,and even more a good storyteller,and you surpass on both counts.Thank you ,and God Bless your talent.

 

[MTtoCamino]

Very well done. Acceptance, celibacy, caring, faith even as a non believer.

 

[Rebekah Scott]

She is a Christian. Her relationship is primarily about Jesus Christ. The church is just the intermediary. If you have a close, personal tie to God, the church and all its trappings, sacraments, promises, etc. are only part of the picture. You learn to live with some of it, and you learn to live without some of it.
It is, in many ways, like forming a close relationship with someone of another culture. Some parts of them you will never really know or experience, but you focus on the the Loved One, not the culture built up around him/her.

 

[bernhugo]

Another brilliant post Gerard.
Your stories hold people right until the end.
I just hope that you are keeping copies of all of your anecdotes for this book that you are going to publish.
AND I won't be the only one !

 

[t2andreo]

Oh, come ON Gerard, write the bloody book already! You are such a tease!

 

[Christian Hiriart]

Great story, you leave me longing for more. Well done

 

[Ekelund]

Beautiful story, thank you!
You made me think about religion, the closet and gay people.

 

[Aidan21]

Gerard, the Camino has given you a unique and interesting view on the life of your walking companion. It sure looks like that she is ', held hostage, in the closet, in the Church'. A view that I can readily understand. But that is the view from the outside looking in. She seems to be at peace with the church and her part in it. Perhaps she is more at peace with her life than we can know and perhaps her unique circumstances, just like ours, provide her with issues to grapple with on her life's journey so that she can become all that she can be. I suspect that she does not actually need a prayer, but she sure has my good wishes. Thanks Gerard for the interesting reflection.
Aidan

 

[zzotte]

Great story Gerard, one can only accept not judge.

Zzotte

 

[jmcarp]

She is a Christian. Her relationship is primarily about Jesus Christ. The church is just the intermediary. If you have a close, personal tie to God, the church and all its trappings, sacraments, promises, etc. are only part of the picture. You learn to live with some of it, and you learn to live without some of it.
It is, in many ways, like forming a close relationship with someone of another culture. Some parts of them you will never really know or experience, but you focus on the the Loved One, not the culture built up around him/her.

What an excellent and insightful response, Rebekah. Thanks for your thoughts.

 

[WldWil]

Had me right up to "Her God" or not realizing that perhaps her church accepts her with respect, compassion and sensitivity. Almost a good post...

 

[MTtoCamino]

She is a Christian, like all of us we each have issues identified or not, yet we are not designated judges.

 

[jmcarp]

I don't think this forum is the place to get too deeply into the particular teachings of one religion or one denomination; there are plenty of other places for that discussion. I'll only say that the Roman Catholic church teaches that God loves all people equally, regardless of where they happen to be in life. It does not, however, condone certain actions and choices that we as humans do or make, and has established policies regarding these actions or choices. Unfortunately, many people have difficulty understanding the difference between the two. Many of us here on this forum have children, and we've undoubtedly disapproved of some of the actions and choices our children have made -- but that does not prevent us from loving them nevertheless. So it is with God.

 

[jumpingin2014]

I think this story is a perfect example of how enriching the Camino can be if you let it. I say this with no prejudice towards the church or the writer. He simply told his story about his life experience and I enjoyed reading it. I would think the "Peregrina" would enjoy it if she ever reads it and fondly remember her time walking with Gerard.

well done!

Mark

 

[BrienC]

Thought provoking work Gerard. Thank you!

learn to live

choices

And, I'd love to sit fireside one evening and converse with Jim and Rebekah about Gerard's words. Do we chose to be born with blue eyes, or brown eyes? Too, certainly we must learn to live with what God choses for us. However, it will be lovely when we--as humanity--can celebrate God's choices.

 

[David]

Gerard - you seem so proud of your strong disbelief yet you go into churches and sit in them ... you light candles ... you seem to have have empathy for her ... why can you not pray for her?

 

[t2andreo]

David makes a good point. Have you tried just sitting in the (relative) silence of the ancient, historic church and just silently paying attention? Just sit quietly, reflect...By paying attention, I mean just sitting quietly, in reflection or meditation (if you will). I would be willing to bet that the special nature of the surroundings will wash over you at some point.

While I do not take the time to visit every church along the Caminos I walk, I do make frequent visits. When I do, I find that just sitting quietly and allowing the PLACE to take over provides insights and results that are both relaxing and sometimes surprising. Stranger things have happened on the Camino. It is not necessary to categorize the outcomes further. Many of my colleagues who read this will understand what I mean.

But do remember to bundle up. These ancient stone buildings are cold, even in the heat of summer.

Also, I was reminded recently of the difference between a believer, an agnostic and an atheist. My wife asked me and my answer was simple.

• A believer usually believes in and ascribes to a set of dogma prescribed by one or more of the faith communities the person relates to (It is possible to simultaneously ascribe to more than one faith community). The dogma provides a convenient framework or touch stone for relating to the entire concept of a Supreme Being.

• An atheist, typically, flatly denies the possibility or existence of a being or power greater than man...period. These folks may accept the theory of Evolution as developed by Charles Darwin, but they usually draw the line or go silent when the evolutionary continuum is taken back to "...and who or what caused the big bang to occur? Who or what set the entire evolutionary process into being?" I am not being judgmental...I am "just sayin..."

• An agnostic is seen to be "sort of on the fence." The agnostic allows the possibility, but has not been adequately persuaded to accept the actual existence and influence of a Supreme Being or Power.

Yes, I know these explanations are rudimentary and easy. Yes, I know they are subject to debate and further elaboration. But, I was trying to encapsulate the entirety of the concept in one or two simple statements.

My initial point was to suggest that regardless of one's belief system or the faith you adhere to, follow, practice or perhaps eschew, anyone can benefit by the experience of taking time to just sit quietly in the Presence, and "allow it to happen." All positions are valid for the point of discussion and attempt at understanding one another. As long as we mutually respect that there are differences in belief and practices, and accept those variations, we all get on quite well.

Personally, I try to make it a point to visit shrines and worship places wherever I travel around the world. I am interested in everything.

Funny thing though, there must be an ecclesiastical network or something that functions similarly. I say this because I get the same sort of impressions or "vibes" from sitting in the silent presence whether I am in a Catholic church, Buddhist Wat, Hindu temple, Jewish Synagogue, or any variation of Christian place of worship.

 

[grayland]

Gently folks...
A religious discussion will, as it always does, lead to the closure of Gerard's thread.

Please keep the discussion on Gerard's excellent story-telling.

Thanks

 

[jmcarp]

Gently folks...
A religious discussion will, as it always does, lead to the closure of Gerard's thread.

Please keep the discussion on Gerard's excellent story-telling.

Thanks

Agreed...I have already taken my further discussion with another forum member offline in a private conversation.

 

[t2andreo]

My contributions are ended... I do so dislike censorship, but I do understand the concern.

 

[bystander]

Such openness, such honesty Gerard.
Your heart on sleeve and your transparency of thought
Almost always guaranteed to get you in trouble Gerard!

Loved the tale and the telling of it
And agree with the conundrum, the puzzle, of your final question.

Can never understand why such candour provokes such extremism of opinion.

Pax to you, Gerard, and that poor pained pilgrim trapped in the contradictions of her life and her religious beliefs

 

[WldWil]

It is not extremism of opinion as it is the interpretations and attitudes about another's religion which is why it becomes controversial. Apparently it has become politically correct that we only need to be sensitive to certain groups of peoples and not others.

 

[DurhamParish]

Whoops. When I see the term "politically correct", I aim for the "ignore" button.

 

[Kiwi-family]

Let's support the mods in holding the community to the standard we agreed to when we signed up - if we don't like the stated rules, we are free to disengage. It would also be a possibility to go to the mods privately with a polite appeal and ask for a revision of whatever we find to be distasteful. For the record, while I understand the decision to limit discussions about religion, I do not agree with it (largely because it promotes a false dualism), but I remain part of this community willing to abide by the rules set in place and grateful for the work the gatekeepers do.

 

[MTtoCamino]

The "Year of Mercy" & the doors of the church are wide open. I pray that everyone finds a way to walk thru.

 

[Rebekah Scott]

There are many, many ways to pray. Pilgrims pray with their feet. You don't have to be a believer, or be inside a church, or say anything to anyone, to qualify as a pray-er.

No matter what you call it, Gerard's got it going on.

 

[KinkyOne]

A smile that helps brighten my day.
She turns and directs it at me as she takes off her pack at the church door. She carries her pack inside, leans it against a back wall.
I follow.
She stands for a moment in the silence, taking in the dim interior of the church before selecting a pew. Now she is kneeling, clasping her hands, bowing her head, closing her eyes.
The absolute picture of devout worship.
I don't quite know why, but she is an absolutely stunning sight.
This devout worship, but is that the right word? is that what it is? usually lasts for 15-20 minutes.

I, in the hope that I will not disturb, enter a pew a couple of rows behind.
This is a Christian that appears to have a deep personal, perhaps more than that, an intimate relationship with her God.
But this is no shy retiring person who can only commune with her God in that embarrassed private in public solitude I'd seen so often. Nor is she one of those enthusiastically happy type ones.
This lady has a style of her own.

On the meseta, in the distance, the spires rise up out of the fields to greet us.
At our approach the churches push up out of the ground. Then, like a mother hen with her chicks, they gather their family about them.
Fat, squashed a little flat churches. Solidly bulky, yet sturdily friendly.
“Oh blimey,” I thought, “here we go again."
She had veered of the Camino towards yet another smallish Romanesque church.
I of course followed. This is the second so far this morning.
We'd been walking together for a just few days, sharing a casa rural or hostal room at night.
She had been into every open church we had come across. I mean like at least two a day. I don't know how she kept finding open ones when other pilgrims were complaining about so many being locked. Just lucky I guess.
She'd walked from Austria. I tried to imagine how many churches she'd been inside. I'd have to include the ones she went into for mass or evening services. I gave up. All too difficult.

So today, here I sit, twiddling my fingers. As usual it only takes me five minutes to check the church out, after which I am somewhat bored. I peruse the local prayer book, and the hymn book. There's an awful lot of blank grey stone in these Romanesque churches. Not condusive to holding a bloke's attention.

As my mind wanders I notice the bank of candles up front, over to the left of the altar. My Catholic friend Michael had asked me to light a candle for him when I got to the Cathedral in Santiago. I had agreed of course.
Today I change my mind.
Due to the unexpected number of churches I was now visiting I decide to light a candle for him in all the churches I enter along the Way. I justify this by utilising the probably faulty reasoning which states that he'll get even more positive points if I light lots of candles in lots of churches, rather than just one, in the big church at the end.
And the little churches will get a bit of my dosh in payment for the candles. I'll regard that as payment for my appropriation of the title of 'Pilgrim', which, in the strict ecclesiatical sense, I am not.
But truthfully, I am only going to do it because I am bored. It'll give me something to do while she prays.

I climb out of the pew and walk up the side aisle to find that even Romanesque churches have joined the electronic age. There are no wax candles any more, no tapers, no flames. Only flickery electronic candles. Put your money in the slot candles.
I don't know how much to put in the slot, and you don't want to appear to be a meano, not in church, do you? I select a couple of gold edged coins, slide them in.
Wow, lights up the whole bank with a flash. Michael gets his "all the way to Santiago candle budget" in one go.
I hear a noise from behind. Two elderly local ladies stand behind me. Each with a coin in a weathered hand. I move aside to give them access. But they just look, then glare at me, mutter to each other, and return to their pews. I can only imagine what they are saying.
"Stupid pilgrim, more money than sense, he's used up all the candles so now there's none left for us. We'll have to wait until his money runs out."
I return to my pew and resume contemplation of my companion.

Today, it appears she is particularly lucky. The local priest appears. Seemingly from nowhere he ghosts out from among the stone columns.
She immediately stands and walks forward to introduce herself.
They talk about the church, and how old it is, and who the statues represent, and how long the priest has been there etc.
They chat happily until she encourages me to join her in receiving a pilgrim blessing.

After a prayer of farewell, she leads me out the door. We swing our packs on, leave the church behind. She is smiling, and I am happy that she is happy, and I am also happy to be walking again.
The yellow arrows lead us out of the village, onto a section of path that heads into scrubland. Her lips are moving. She is praying again. Keep your trap shut Gerard.

I am following her quite closely. That's probly why I notice.
It is the bright colours that catch my attention.
The tiny little flag.
It pokes up from the top of her pack. It sits up stiffly. It doesn't flap. It bobs and sways about in accordance with the action of her pack.
I don't recall the flag of any country that has a design like that.
Perhaps it is the Austrian flag?
I move even closer to investigate.
Uh oh. The bells start ringing.
The proximity pulls a multitude of narrow, multi-coloured, horizontal stripes into focus. That gives it away.

"Oi cobber!" I call incredulously, "Isn't that like the international Gay folk's flag you've got sticking up out of your pack?"
She stumbles mid-step, takes a second, turns to face me.
The bells ring even louder.
"Are you Gay?" I ask.
"What took you so long?" she replies with a lop-sided smile.
I stand there shaking my head. "Crikey," I say, "every time I think I've seen it all, or I know it all, I get surprised. Now how am I going to get my head around this?"
"Get your head around what?" she asks, "have you got a problem with me being Gay?"
"Of course not," I reply, "now don't you start getting bolshy with me cobber. It's just a bit of a shock that's all. I've never met a beautiful, Gay, openly devout Christian lady before."

Over the next day or so my knowledge as to the life of a Gay Christian woman is considerably enhanced.
Her open nature ensures our conversations cover a broad range of topics.
The questions I think to ask I now find as intruiging as her answers.
How and when did you find you were more attracted to women than men and at what age did you 'Come out of the closet'?
What happened when you broached the subject with your parents and how did your siblings react?
What do you do for a living? Is it a hard life? Is it a fulfilling life?
If you had the choice, would you choose to be Straight or Gay? Do you have a partner?
What is the nature of the relationship you have with the Catholic church and it's male clergy?
Interesting? You'd better believe it.

It was during dinner the next evening that she asks the question.
"My partner and I decided before I left that she would join me at Sahagun. That we'd then go for a week's holiday together at San Sebastian before heading home. What do you think of that idea?"
I'm wise enough to know when I'm being set up to give a required answer, so I consider the question carefully before answering.
"So, you've walked this pilgrimage, all the way from Austria, and you are going to call it a day only a relatively short distance before Santiago, before the pilgrimage proper is complete?"
"That's the plan," she answers.
"Not much of a plan," I reply, "and obviously the decision is now troubling you. But seeing you asked I'll give you my opinion. You decided on this course of action together, and your lady friend is probably really looking forward to seeing you and spending some time with you. However you feel, and whatever you decide to do, it is not her fault. I'll leave it at that."

As I looked into her eyes I saw a change in attitude.
I don't know what she wanted to hear, but it wasn't that.
I now realise it was then that I lost her friendship.
And that's ok, because this was only a temporary friendship.
I believe we can count our good friends on the fingers of one hand. That being the case she doesn't deserve to own one of my fingers.
She was delightful company, interesting and very informative. I feel privileged to have met and spent a few days in her company.

I hope her God is accepting of her. More so perhaps than the church she has chosen to be his representative here on earth. There she is only acceptable if she remains in the closet.
I even feel some sense of love towards her. It would be nice to be able to pray for this lovely lady, as she proceeds along this difficult life path.
But I, as an unbeliever, cannot.
I can only hope.
But what about you?
Could you perhaps, if a fellow Christian pilgrim, pray for this Peregrina, held hostage, in the closet, in the Church?

Regards
Gerard

Beautiful and meaningfull as always, Gerard!!! When can we espect published book of your "stories"???

Keep on!!!

 

[VNwalking]

Could you perhaps, if a fellow Christian pilgrim, pray for this Peregrina, held hostage, in the closet, in the Church?

I don't count as Christian, so I hadn't replied to your question, Gerard...
But I pray all the time, and for all beings. In more ways than formal prayer. So of course.

And I wonder. How did she feel? You describe her in the story as being held hostage, but that description is at odds with the picture you paint of her--which (seems to me anyway) to be of someone at ease in her own skin, and at ease with her faith.

 

[Nandy61]

Literally half of my (Catholic) parish is gay and openly welcomed. They don't feel like hostages, or perhaps no more so than the women in attendance. The church is a human institution and as such is inherently flawed. It is also not as monolithic as most people believe. Personally I don't think she is the one in need of prayers, but rather those who might choose to make her "life path" so difficult.

Oh, and a fabulous piece of writing. Thank you for sharing.