to the original builders they might well have used it in the same way. Above the high altar stands the famous statue of the miraculous Virgin of the Sorrows with her diamond tears. The infant Jesus appears to be trying to escape from her arms, and she, knowing his destiny, is attempting to hold on to him for a little while longer. Initially I was not much taken with this focus of pilgrim devotion, possibly because miraculous statues have not played any part in my religious upbringing, any more than have relics. But it could also be that the silver sheathing which covers both Virgin and Child prevents one seeing the power of the original work. The more I looked at it, however, the more I liked it, especially the dark uncovered face of the Mother which had an enigmatic quality that I thought would not pall half as quickly as that of the Mona Lisa.
I had asked Don Javier if it was all right for me, as an Anglican, to receive communion at their Roman Catholic mass and had been assured that it was. I always find it best to clear this point beforehand, as strictly speaking the celebration is quite different for Catholics and Protestants due to the thorny question of transubstantiation — does the bread and wine become the body and blood of Christ as Catholics teach? Or is it purely a symbolic memorial? Some clerics object strongly to Protestants and Catholics partaking fully in each other’s celebration. I find no problem personally, and the High Anglican Church takes a middle position on the issue, holding both ideas without trying to make literal sense of them.
The congregation was about fifty strong, half pilgrims and half local people who either worked or lived at the monastery. All were Roman Catholics except for the Belgians and me. The Belgians did not belong to any church and so were not troubled by any theological hair-splitting. They believed in God, they said, kept an open mind about Jesus, and thought most religions were saying much the same thing anyway. They did their best to follow the unfamiliar movements of the mass, kneeling when the rest of us knelt and crossing themselves at the appropriate places. When we came to the Passing of the Peace and everyone turned to greet their neighbour, Sophie was clearly moved, and went around the whole congregation shaking everyone’s hand. Which just goes to show how someone new to a ritual can often bring a fresh breath of life to it. Of course, if the whole congregation followed suit and insisted on embracing everyone present a service could take a very long time indeed. When the rest of us went forward to receive communion, Sophie and Eva went too. Possibly neither of them had ever been baptised, and I knew they had not been confirmed, but somehow that too did not seem to matter at Roncesvalles. What did matter was the atmosphere of acceptance and peace, the sense of unity in a diverse congregation of people who had come together in a very special place.
After the mass all the pilgrims were called up to the altar rail and the officiating father blessed us, group by group, in our various languages, using the ancient prayers of the ‘Pilgrim’s Itinerarium’.
‘...O God who didst bring thy servant Abraham out of Ur of the Chaldeans, and didst preserve him unhurt through all the paths of his pilgrimage, vouchsafe we beseech Thee to keep these Thy servants. Be unto them a well-wishing in their setting out, a solace on the way, a shade in heat, a covering in the wind and cold, a fortress in adversity... that under Thy guidance they may happily reach the end of their journey...’
And when these solemn and deeply inspiring prayers were concluded, the priest opened his arms out wide to us all and said very simply, in Spanish that even I could understand, ‘Pilgrims, remember to pray for us when you come to Santiago de Compostela.’
I think it was this moment that finally made a real if reluctant pilgrim of me. The entreaty ‘Priez pour nous' had moved me in
I had asked Don Javier if it was all right for me, as an Anglican, to receive communion at their Roman Catholic mass and had been assured that it was. I always find it best to clear this point beforehand, as strictly speaking the celebration is quite different for Catholics and Protestants due to the thorny question of transubstantiation — does the bread and wine become the body and blood of Christ as Catholics teach? Or is it purely a symbolic memorial? Some clerics object strongly to Protestants and Catholics partaking fully in each other’s celebration. I find no problem personally, and the High Anglican Church takes a middle position on the issue, holding both ideas without trying to make literal sense of them.
The congregation was about fifty strong, half pilgrims and half local people who either worked or lived at the monastery. All were Roman Catholics except for the Belgians and me. The Belgians did not belong to any church and so were not troubled by any theological hair-splitting. They believed in God, they said, kept an open mind about Jesus, and thought most religions were saying much the same thing anyway. They did their best to follow the unfamiliar movements of the mass, kneeling when the rest of us knelt and crossing themselves at the appropriate places. When we came to the Passing of the Peace and everyone turned to greet their neighbour, Sophie was clearly moved, and went around the whole congregation shaking everyone’s hand. Which just goes to show how someone new to a ritual can often bring a fresh breath of life to it. Of course, if the whole congregation followed suit and insisted on embracing everyone present a service could take a very long time indeed. When the rest of us went forward to receive communion, Sophie and Eva went too. Possibly neither of them had ever been baptised, and I knew they had not been confirmed, but somehow that too did not seem to matter at Roncesvalles. What did matter was the atmosphere of acceptance and peace, the sense of unity in a diverse congregation of people who had come together in a very special place.
After the mass all the pilgrims were called up to the altar rail and the officiating father blessed us, group by group, in our various languages, using the ancient prayers of the ‘Pilgrim’s Itinerarium’.
‘...O God who didst bring thy servant Abraham out of Ur of the Chaldeans, and didst preserve him unhurt through all the paths of his pilgrimage, vouchsafe we beseech Thee to keep these Thy servants. Be unto them a well-wishing in their setting out, a solace on the way, a shade in heat, a covering in the wind and cold, a fortress in adversity... that under Thy guidance they may happily reach the end of their journey...’
And when these solemn and deeply inspiring prayers were concluded, the priest opened his arms out wide to us all and said very simply, in Spanish that even I could understand, ‘Pilgrims, remember to pray for us when you come to Santiago de Compostela.’
I think it was this moment that finally made a real if reluctant pilgrim of me. The entreaty ‘Priez pour nous' had moved me in
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