Pilgrimage and Praise: Walking the Camino with Psalm 139

Dr. JoAnn Long: Do you have a favorite psalm?
I have more than one, and you may as well.
But when training for my pilgrimage walk
of 184 miles in 13 days on the Camino de Santiago,
or the Way of St. James,
across the mountains of northern Spain last fall,
I started listening to Psalm 139 daily
as sung by Ellie Holcomb.
And today, I'd like to share some of that story with you.
Dating to around the ninth century,
the Camino is a network of around 1,500 kilometers
of early Christian pilgrimage routes
which end at the cathedral in Santiago de Compostela,
in which are thought to be buried the bones of St. James.
Now, historically, the idea of pilgrimage,
it appears in both the Old and the New Testaments.
And it wasn't just a physical journey,
but it reflected a kind of spiritual journey,
one that signified our dependence on God
and brought people back to a deeper connection with God.
Bible professor, Dr. Jesse Long, sir, my beloved,
and I taught in LCU's study abroad program
in Avila, Spain in 2021 and 2023.
And this is a fantastic LCU program.
And today, you can visit with Rob Anderson,
our director of Global Campus,
after chapel while enjoying some Spanish tapas
and some Spanish fare over in the business commons area.
And you should definitely check it out
'cause it's an amazing program.
One of the Camino routes passes through Avila,
where our study abroad program resides.
And you can see the yellow shell in the street,
that signifies it's a Camino route.
And any place you see a yellow shell like this,
it means it's a Camino route.
And walking in beautiful contemplative spaces,
it's one of my most favorite pastimes.
So when the opportunity to meet up with our good friends,
Dr. Michelle Craft, retired LCU art professor,
and her husband, Albert, outside of Leon, Spain,
right before the start of some of the most scenic,
mountainous parts of the Camino began,
I was really excited to accept.
Close to a half a million people
walk the Camino each year.
And I was walking up to 10 miles a day here in Lubbock,
so I thought, well, how much harder can it be?
Where can I go from your spirit?
Where can I go from your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, you are there.
If I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn
and settle on the far side of the sea,
even there, your hand will guide me.
Your right hand will hold me fast.
If I say, surely the darkness will hide me
and the light become night all around me,
even the darkness is not dark to you.
The night will shine like the day,
for darkness is as light to you.
Psalm 139, verses seven through 12.
A tropical depression over the Gulf of Mexico
around October 6th turned into Hurricane Milton,
and it had some prolonged effects over the Atlantic,
including and affecting several European countries,
including Spain.
So on day one, we walked 15 miles in 55 mile an hour winds,
with rain blowing sideways that felt like bullets
hitting our coats in flapping rain ponchos.
Because of the severity of the weather conditions,
I kept my cell phone in a waterproof bag much of the day.
We passed through a small village named Hospital,
a remnant from centuries early
designating where medical care could be found.
Now, it's really funny in hindsight,
but it wasn't in real time.
Jesse, who was engaging with me along the way,
was tracking my movements by GPS from his cell phone
and was more than a little panicked
when he saw I was in hospital from the satellite map.
Scholars sometimes refer to the Psalms
as the prayer book of Israel,
containing hymns, prayers, and laments
that reflect every human emotion and situation.
And the New Testament refers to the Psalter about 50 times.
The enduring word comments on Psalm 139,
noting, "It's not just that God is everywhere.
He's with me everywhere."
Faithful to his children, he is aware of our every step,
even without GPS tracking.
"O Lord, you have searched me and you know me.
You know when I sit and when I rise.
You perceive my thoughts from afar.
You discern my going out and my lying down.
You're familiar with all my ways.
Before are words on my tongue.
You know it completely, O Lord.
You hem me in behind and before.
You've laid your hand on me.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
too lofty for me to attain," verses one through six.
"It's not just that God knows everything.
He knows me.
He knows everything about me."
Everything about me.
And he still calls me, as theologian,
Henri Nouwen notes, "his beloved."
Now, individuals from some 200 countries
walk the Camino each year,
and they do so for lots of different reasons.
One particularly poignant place where this can be seen
in an embodied way is at the Cruz de Ferro,
or the Iron Cross.
It's located between the towns of Fontebedon and Manjarén.
And we first caught a glimpse of the 16.5-foot cross
early one morning.
We were literally walking in the clouds,
for the fog had not yet lifted that day.
Surrounded by this eerie cold mist
and a huge pile of stones,
the pilgrims approaching the cross were quiet, somber.
As many laid yet another stone at its base.
Prayers for a life remembered or a sorrow released
were all left at the foot of the imposing Iron Cross.
And I left my own stone at its base that day.
Mine with the name of my young friend, Allie,
in my heart, who is here today.
I'm giving her a shout-out right now.
Who I learned so much from.
Who at age eight has already lived half of her life
in a wheelchair and she doesn't let it rob her of her joy.
And for all who look expectantly for the day
when all things, including these bodies of ours,
are gonna be made new.
For you created my inmost being.
You knit me together in my mother's womb.
I praise you because I'm fearfully and wonderfully made.
Your works are wonderful, I know that for well.
My frame wasn't hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place.
When I was woven together in the depths of the earth,
your eyes saw my unformed body
and all of my days ordained were written in your book
before one of them even came to be.
Oh, how precious are your thoughts, O God.
How vast is the sum of them.
If I were to count them,
they would outnumber the grains of sand.
When I awake, I am still with you.
Verses 13 through 18.
It's not just that God created everything.
He created me.
He created you.
Now I'm a nurse and I have loved learning
about the miracle of the human body, how it works.
And I'm marveled not only at the glorious creation
in the scenery made by the hand of God
while I walked on the Camino,
but the embodied experience itself for me
was nothing short of miraculous.
I estimate that my feet carried me
some 368,000 steps in 13 days
over steep inclines and steep declines
and through some really precarious conditions
that we weren't necessarily expecting.
And to be honest, I was really worried
about taking a fall and breaking something at my age.
I was really worried about that.
I mean, how would they get me off the mountain?
I mean, how do you get somebody emergency evacuated
in some of the conditions we were in?
Would Albert and Michelle have to bury me there?
I was a little worried about it.
And early on, seriously, we saw some of this.
One would be walking alone while their mate or friend
taxied due to a fall or injury.
Some had to return home early.
And I recall one young woman who was there by herself,
Priya, who hobbled along at a slow pace.
I watched her hobble along.
She was so determined to make the journey despite injury.
And we thanked God for the prayers
that we were surrounded by,
by people like Dr. Susan Blassingame,
a retired dean here at LCU who was praying for us every day,
like my friend Laci Richardson, Sue,
who was praying over me every day,
my friends in nursing, but especially my young friends,
Allie and Cole Wade, because I know,
I know their prayers are effective.
They were lifting us up in prayer,
and I did not have a fall or an insurmountable illness.
Now, to just disclose transparently,
I do recall one elegant glide to the ground
where I found myself in my 14-pound backpack,
squarely located on a large rock
from which I was unable to remove myself
without a hand from Albert.
But I didn't fall down.
And the truth be told, the truth be told,
seriously, every part of the embodied experience
physically hurt.
I had underestimated the toll walking 15 to 18 miles a day
would take on my body.
By the end of the first week,
I had this nagging cough, it had set in.
This is really funny.
I later learned that I had probably had
a mild case of walking pneumonia.
I mean, I was on the Camino,
that's the kind you get when you're walking on the Camino,
and it was going around at the time.
But nonetheless, we were able to walk the miles
we had planned every day, and we gave thanks for that.
And yet, in even those most difficult parts of the walk,
it produced something good in me.
Each night, I was reminded as I laid my tired head down,
I did so by the grace of God.
And in the morning, my feet lifted my aching legs up
once again by the grace of God.
I contemplated the magnificence of creation
held together by the grace of God.
Every day, every breath, a gift to be received
and appreciated.
My mind turned to the apostles and the early disciples
who walked, who walked, and risked their lives
to share the grace of God made possible
by the faithfulness of Jesus Christ.
I reflected on the men and women who set out
on much longer, much more dangerous journeys than ours,
not wearing the latest Hoka Speed goats
with vibrant treads to keep you from falling down,
but as described by the author of Hebrews,
as those who went about in sheepskins, goatskins,
destitute, persecuted, mistreated,
wandering in deserts and mountains and caves and holes
in the ground, who were commended for their faith.
Strangely, the physical challenges helped tune my heart
toward Thanksgiving in a way that my easy life routine
of driving to my nice office at LCU
in my comfortable church community sometimes blinded me to.
Old Testament scholar, Walter Brueggemann,
says the Psalms, they have this unique way
of articulating our shared human experiences.
The Psalms can move us using words
from a neatly ordered life equilibrium
to one that is run amok.
They give us a voice for what it's like
to be disoriented by life's hard, hard realities,
and they provide a way for healing in a new orientation.
One lost in Thanksgiving wonder and praise.
The Psalms are a place where our stories are transformed.
They can be transformed there by the power of a faithful God
who isn't just everywhere, he's everywhere with us.
Who doesn't just know everything, he knows us.
And who didn't just create everything, he created you.
Do you have a favorite Psalm?
You're dismissed.