Today was Sunday and I was out of hosts. Where would I get them to offer Sunday Mass for my little flock? I was worried, but Claire said that God would provide. So off we went on a misty Sunday morning in search of a parish Mass or some hosts. Every farmer we passed in every village we asked "Hay una Misa aqui?" And he would say there would be a Mass later in the day, in the next village. Coming down the hill, we saw a little stone bell tower, and local families strolling toward it. I popped into the tiny church, which turned out to be "Santiago" with a big polychrome statue of him above the altar. "When would Mass begin, " I asked. "Ahora," they said. Fr. Benigno, age 83, was in the sacristy and could hardly hear, but was delighted to see a priest. "You preside," he said, and so I did, with his assistance. "Here, take as many hosts as you need!" he proffered after Mass.
And so God provided, but not for half our group, who were spread out over the Camino and didn't make that little Mass in the tiny parish with the fresh-faced locals. They asked me to offer Mass later that day, and I did so, but not without, I must confess, a little interior grumbling. We were all tired and hot, and a bit grumpy, at the end of the day, before dinner. But many others came to this Mass, pilgrims at our albergue that would not have the Sunday Eucharist but for our Mass. And was it I who complained (interiorly, I fancied)? Jesus had provided hosts and a Mass with the local pueblo, and was that me grumbling? Definitely it's hard not to grumble, but I don't think God was grumbling when He gave us those hosts, so may He have mercy on me!
And so God provided, but not for half our group, who were spread out over the Camino and didn't make that little Mass in the tiny parish with the fresh-faced locals. They asked me to offer Mass later that day, and I did so, but not without, I must confess, a little interior grumbling. We were all tired and hot, and a bit grumpy, at the end of the day, before dinner. But many others came to this Mass, pilgrims at our albergue that would not have the Sunday Eucharist but for our Mass. And was it I who complained (interiorly, I fancied)? Jesus had provided hosts and a Mass with the local pueblo, and was that me grumbling? Definitely it's hard not to grumble, but I don't think God was grumbling when He gave us those hosts, so may He have mercy on me!
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