A beautiful game

Most of the travellers on the road walked faster than we did. Most were young and in a rush to get to Santiago de Compostela in time for Easter. We were a family of five and kept pace with each other. The cathedral wasn’t going anywhere. And Easter would happen wherever we were.

When I shared our family pilgrimage plans in these pages back in the spring, I wrote about wanting to feel the companionship and continuity of the pilgrim path. In our first days of walking, when we realised the difference of pace, I wondered how that would affect that sense of community. We wouldn’t be meeting familiar faces each evening, and in the mornings, there was a push and rush swirling around us as time-strapped pilgrims gathered their gear and left the hostel early. Our rhythm was different, slower, but that felt good. We ate breakfast together and planned our day, checking how everyone was feeling before starting to walk.

Our kids have always been good long-distance walkers, and they enjoyed the hike. Our 14-year-old often walked on ahead, stretching his legs. The rest of us walked in pairs, switching back and forth depending on stamina. We talked and kept silent, finding ways to keep good company through the day. Most nights, we stayed in municipally run hostels which were sparse and clean, with lots of hot water in the showers, and we cooked dinner in community kitchens.

And then, Good Friday found us at another kind of table.

An invitation

We were planning to walk further that day but stopped in to say hello at hostel run by a community of Christian volunteers, and the welcome we received changed our plans.

The volunteers told us that everything they had was offered as a free gift to passing pilgrims: snacks, cool drinks and coffee, showers and washrooms, beds and an evening meal. There were picnic tables in the sunny garden, a wash station and ample laundry lines. It was a beautiful place to stop. Our youngest was immediately adopted by the volunteers’ children and taken to the barn to see chickens, cows and baby rabbits.

After dinner, I expected there would be worship of some sort because it was Good Friday, but instead, we were invited to play a game. The table was cleared and wiped and the kettle boiled for tea while the sky turned apricot and cherry with sunset. Then cards were fanned out on the tabletop, photo-faces up like an upside-down game of memory.

It wasn’t clear how this game might work. The images on the cards were strange and disconnected. Photos of trees and boats, cars, umbrellas, flowers and lights, faces and forms and shadows, contradictions and landscapes.

Jacob, one of the volunteers, started the game:

Which card feels like your journey? he asked and invited us to choose one.

Then Which card shows you God today?

Which card shows what you will be facing soon?

Simple questions, and we took turns choosing cards and sharing our reasons. There were different flavours of faith around the table, some more conservative, some evangelical, some liberal, but this was a space for all and a game we all could play. And it did feel like play. Fun, serious play. It was constructive rather than competitive, and, through our choices and answers, we were building something together, speaking openly and personally. The simple card game helped us recognize God among us and before us in the details of our lives. Going to bed that night, it didn’t feel like a usual Good Friday. It felt like we were a little further along the Easter road, maybe a little closer to Emmaus.