Dripping knickers and no Dignity

Many pilgrims start the walk at Roncesvalles, which is near the French/Spanish border. It is only famous as the start to The Camino. Having said that, there is the most impressive monastery and church there as well as some brand new pilgrim accomodation.
I arrived at midday on the first day of my walking journey and went to get the 'passport stamp' of the location. There I had to fill in a statistic sheet in which I was given information as to the masses that would be said for pilgrims which I could attend. Please note, it said, communion may ONLY be taken by Catholics. That sentence confirmed my decision to 'walk on' with a feeling akin to exasperation, mild outrage and intolerance at such intolerance!
I sat and had my lunch on a bench near the church, took off my boots and socks to massage my feet and along came the 'hospitaldero', the warden of the refuge. He asked me if I was staying. Alas, no, I said , it is too early to stop and in any case the message given on arriving here that only Catholics can take communion is so contrary to the spirit of the whole Camino, never mind Jesus who died for US ALL (not just Catholics), that I wouldn't stay on principle. He laughed and said he'd pass my disquiet on. Oh good I continued then maybe you could scrub it out and put in its place ALL ARE WELCOME TO TAKE COMMUNION...... if you want to receive the gift that Jesus gave his life for. How about adding, whilst you are at it, all those that have got it wrong at some time, all those that are in pain, all those who can't forgive themselves or forgive others. People just like you and me!
Theologically, I am probably at odds with all the institutionalised churches but from my own experience I have shared the Eucharist in my own home with many people who have walked away from God and/or the church. These have been profound times of healing with a tangible presence of the Holy Spirit. Only God knows the heart and each person must decide for themselves if they want to take part in Jesus's remembrance feast- in my opinion.
Still, we parted on good terms with a cheery goodbye and a 'Buen Camino'.
2 days later when I met up with Marek, we talked of going to Mass together. This was important for him and he felt at odds with himself if he didn't attend. The heavens opened as we wound our way to Pamplona with those most incredible raindrops found in tropical monsoons which pound on your head. We were drenched. Boy, did the shower feel good that night, even though it was luke warm. Unfortunately, the rain had  soaked anything that had not been put in my dry bag (thanks for that Steve-great idea!), so all my clothes were wet. By morning they were still wet, but the sun was blazing again, so that oh so useful tip to take safety pins and use them to attach clothes to your back pack came up trumps. I had to prioritise, not having enough pins, so the knickers won. I walked in to Pamplona Catholic church with a load of wet knickers hanging from my pack to attend Mass. There I sat, not understanding a word, but listening to the rythmn and pattern and sense of the place. It was very peaceful and I duly went forward to take communion. No thunderbolt from the sky- I am still here to tell the tale. The priest had the most lovely, sparkly eyes as he smiled at me, gave me a wafer and said something incomprehensible. My knickers were still drying nicely in the pew and I think God was smiling too!
Katex