Sometimes it’s the journey that teaches you a lot about your destination. ~Drake

My arrival in Santiago, Spain was somewhat anti-climatic – perhaps because I had one more day of walking from Muxia to Finisterre, or perhaps because the cathedral was under construction. Whatever the reason, I found myself slightly disappointed and though I tried to deny it, I was hoping for a magical moment in Santiago similar to what I had read or heard about from other pilgrims. This is not to say that arriving in Santiago wasn’t a memorable experience – it was. Walking towards the cathedral I meandered through winding, narrow streets with colorful flags, fresh meats and cheeses displayed in store fronts, along with an abundance of trinket shops. Turning a corner into a courtyard I was greeted by a group of teenagers singing in beautiful harmonies as their voices echoed off the surrounding buildings. There was definitely a vibe of excitement and celebration outside the entrance to the cathedral where pilgrims gathered having completed their long journeys.

Inside the cathedral I did the traditional rituals, kneeling in front of the silver casket holding the remains of St. James and even hugging the gilded statue of him on the altar. It all felt a bit contrived. Eventually Dana and I picked up our Compostelae (certificate of completion) and checked into our hotel. While arranging a taxi for the following day, the concierge was shocked by my suggested departure time of a noon. His animated response was, “No, no, that won’t do. You must go to the Pilgrims’ Mass at noon. I’ll have the taxi ready at 1:30.” Serendipitously, we had arrived in Santiago on Saturday afternoon in time for this special service. So off to mass we went on Sunday morning. The cathedral was completely filled – standing room only. As I stood in the throng of people there was no space to turn and barely room to put my backpack on the floor between my feet. I had never seen a European cathedral so packed.

The residing priest, wearing a tall pointed hat and ornately embroidered robes, processed to the altar then warmly welcomed us in six different languages. The name of each town was read aloud where pilgrimages began and I heard Porto named among them. Then the priest blessed us. Standing along side fellow walkers and parishioners, it struck me that people have been coming to this place for over 800 years – so many lives and stories, welcomed and blessed and woven together. Though I didn’t understand much of what the priest said, I felt his warmth and kindness. This was my Santiago moment when all the walking made sense. It may sound cliché, but I felt in my bones how connected we truly are and how desperately we need some kindness as we navigate the challenges and joys of being human. And to be blessed along the way.

Questions: What small act of kindness can you extend today? Have you ever blessed your loved ones, your home, your self?