The Last Hurrah of this soul-restoring, foot-blistering, heart-beating camino, this walk that has been walked for centuries, since the remains of St. James, the brother of John, were discovered here and a whole community, a whole faith, a whole spiritual center for refreshing, re-starting, and re-focusing vis-a-vis pilgrimage developed, was entering the enormous Cathedral early today, before the tourists, to embrace, give a hug literally, to the ornately decorated golden caped chest of St. James (Santiago), from the back, of course. His front side. where he holds his walking stick, is framed with golden lightening bolts, and large masculine cherubs draped in gold and hanging from or holding up the ceiling above him, his face and cape lit for all to admire prayerfully. On the golden cape’s back (where we hugged), were golden “milagros”, I guess from ancient please for help. His hat is black.

We walked up a narrow set of concrete steps, which allowed for a private visitation, and each of us embraced the figure which holds the relics of the Saint. It is a crucial moment of thanksgiving for having arrived at the end of the road, at the end of our pilgrimage, with hopes that we continue to be pilgrims in our lives dedicated to Christ. I asked for intercessions for friends who are ill, for women saints, for my mother, and for my police department suffering at this moment through the killing of another officer. Then we descended another narrow stairway and turned left to descend even further into the underground pit where the silver tomb of St. James is kept. There too we paid homage and then began to stroll around the Cathedral where, in chapels, mass was in progress in a few languages.

There is a whole line of confession booths with the appropriate language noted on the door – English, French, German, Japanese, etc. It is all so convenient and lovely except, as e learned yesterday at the jammed packed Sunday noon Pilgrims Mass, because we are not Roman Catholic, we were NOT invited to share the Eucharist, the bread and the wine, which Christ offered to his apostles without limit and without leaving anyone out. After we had so avidly and painfully spent the last few days walking as pilgrims, along with a lot of other pilgrims, whom we met over and over since we were sort of in the same time area, after we had visited chapels and churches, and made sure we had all the stamps in our Pilgrims Passport so we could be granted the authentic certificate of completion by the government, after we had found something out about ourselves, whether new or recurring, it was a terrible let down for me that we could not share the Pilgrims Mass with all our fellow Pilgrims.

Another highlight was, after arrival in the Square, and giving thanks just in our hearts, was rushing, still in our Pilgrims clothes, to the Cathedral to get a seat (we arrived at 11:15) for the noon service, which meant sitting on the corner of a giant column, as already it was packed by tourists, regular goers who got the pews, and of course the pilgrims. By the grace of God, after I squatted down on the concrete, I realized we were directly in view (up fairly close) of the altar. That was a blessing on top of blessings. But it was not comfortable getting up and down from a relative squat. There were a dozen priests, a couple of deacons, and a number of nuns helping with the mass, particularly one nun who led us in singing, teaching us the words before the clergy entered.

Then we wandered down to the Pilgrims Center, and this was where we waited in line until one of the eight desks were free, and presented our credentials, our stamp-filled pilgrim’s passport. The attendant decides if you are authentic or not, if you have the appropriate or sufficient stamps, and if your purpose was valid, then they stamp the final stamp in the now fraying passport, and issue a certificate, that means everything to each of us who spent the past few days on the Camino. I proudly (for my age) finished 61 miles (60 being the minimum to receive a certificate); Mary and Megan, who went further each day, completed 102 miles. They are avid walkers anyway and faster than slow-poke me. On the trails, the roads, the pathways through forests, was a lot of alone time, occasionally passing, or being passed by the young groups of pilgrims. I depended on Johnny Cash and the Jersey Boys and sometimes the Beatles to keep my spirits up and give me a rhythm. And I became known as the dancing lady with the Johnny Cash music (on my phone, in my fanny pack.) And we had a great guide who would meet me at crucial points to see if I was still alive and walking, and give me a boost if it was a straight uphill climb. Each afternoon, I’d check my cell which recorded my miles and steps, just to be authentic. Sometimes I surprised myself. One day I made it 11 miles but the average was 8.8 miles per day and about 20,000 steps, according to my Iphone.

So, believe God’s grace surrounds you, even though it’s a tough task, and even at 76, anemic and probably an endangered species, you can do any task you set out to do in faith, with prayer and putting it all in the hands of God and his son Jesus, and the Saints. Every time in the evening, prior to the Pilgrim’s meal, my daughter and I would have a champagne or wine, we toasted Jesus, who is for sure, our Savior. God bless.