This morning at 10:30am, much earlier than I imagined, I wound my way through the suburbs of Santiago to the first pilgrim hostel I could find. After a quick stop and change into thick rain pants -- big drops were falling at this point -- I walked the final 2 kilometers (30 minutes) into the city center. Either because it was rainy or because I was distracted, I never saw the cathedral spires. After rounding many corners in the old quarter and veering through slowly ambling crowds, I turned a corner at the bottom of some stairs. There I found myself in a large plaza with big groups of school children, tourists, and grinning pilgrims flashing photos and giving hugs. I craned my neck to look upward and got my first glimpse of the cathedral. On the camino, I´ve seen countless photos and posters of the cathedral, but now, in concrete flesh, I saw the first view of the end of my journey.

The pilgirms' Mass would start in about 20 minutes, so I skipped the postcard view from across the plaza and rushed right up the grand staircase entrance, through the two porticos, and into the interior. Unlike many other cathedrals, once inside, the view of the high altar is a straight shot, and you get an eyefull of the gold and silver altar right away. It was anticlimactic actually. The Tree of Jesse pillar is sectioned off for renovation, so the traditional first pilgrim ritual was out of reach -- putting your fingers in the five-finger grooves worn over centuries into the marble pillar by pilgrims giving thanks for safe arrival. With the Mass starting soon and the seats filled up, I searched for a seat and finally found one between two people who didn´t want to move. With a deep breath and stretching of my legs, there I was, at the end of the journey. It felt, so, unexpectedly ordinary. :)

I don´t like cathedrals really. They´re large, impersonal, and cold. Baroque retablos don´t inspire me, and the figure of Santiago Matamoros ("the Moor slayer") striding atop the cupola, with a sword in hand to murder Muslims, is a weird, jarring image for prayer. So I leaned forward, put my face in my hands to rest, and gave thanks for arriving.

I made it through the Mass without nodding off since I was more tired than I thought, and as we made our way forward for communion, one of the priests led the congregation in singing a German hymn to the tune I know as "Praise to the Lord, the Almighty." This is a song which I have sung many, many times on the open camino road. I was struck still inside. The Mass thus far did little to inspire, but here was a tune which had accompanied me along the way, and now to the very end. It was like a faint, wisened smile from the universal Spirit, a reminder that a presence larger than my language or understanding can draw all things together, beginning and end.  Afterward, a nun led the congregation in singing Ubi Caritas in a familiar melody because we sing it at the Taize service at home. A few tears welled up but didn´t fall, as I enjoyed a really nice reminder of the gracious way to Santiago.

There is much more to say, but this post is long enough. For now, I can say that the city is big, smoggy, and impersonal, and I don´t find it beautiful (yet?). It is exhilirating to see pilgrims I know, to shake hands, to hug, and to offer words of congratulations. It is sad to see pilgrim friends slowly fade away to their homes and other destinations. It is scary to think of moving on and changing lifestyles, again. It is thrilling to think of marching out tomorrow onto the penninsula in Finisterre to see the end of the ancient world. It is fascinating to wonder how this journey will continue to shape me and impress me as I take it all in over the next few days.

Mostly, it is humbling and moving to think of all my friends and family whose support, prayers, and even money made it possible for me to be here. And it is lovely and delightful -- a right and good and joyful thing, always and everywhere -- to give thanks to the One whose love called me here and calls me onward.