The Camino Provides
a combination of the divine holding all of us and the call for each one of us to take care of one another.
“The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.”
—Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.
One of the liturgical phrases passed down the kilometers of the trail is the encouragement, “The Camino Provides.”
Traditionally, this is taken very literally. Many albergues are what are called, “donativo.” This means they are run completely on donations. They trust that whatever their needs are as an albergue will be provided. They ask pilgrims to give what they can in order to feed and shelter the pilgrims behind them.
Here is a bed.
Here is a meal.
Remember you aren’t the only one.
We belong to each other. There are others along the way that need what you have. The pilgrims ahead of you left what they had, so that you could sleep on this mat and eat this bread. When we say, “The Camino Provides” what we are really talking about is how we are all committed to taking care of one another.
When I’d lose my way, I’d see an arrow or shell or another pilgrim pointing the way.
When my water ran low, I’d happen upon a fountain at the perfect moment.
When I walked alone all day, I’d enter my albergue to find a friendly, familiar face I hadn’t seen in a couple days.
When I injured my hip and couldn’t go another step, a large Dutch man saw me struggling and hailed a taxi for me.
When the walk was particularly hot and long, the top of a hill held an oasis of fresh fruit and cold juice and hammocks to rest.
When we say, “The Camino Provides” we mean the trail and we mean the divine and we mean each other and we mean ourselves. The Camino is under our feet and ahead of us and behind us and in us and in each other. It is every experience we leave behind and it is every unknown up ahead. It is the act of walking and it is the act of following the way and it is the act of paying attention. Camino is a verb and a noun and an adjective and a pronoun. It is all encompassing. It is a mantra and a way of being in the world. It is a posture one takes toward their life. It is the journey and the destination.
One pilgrim named Jane Brewer wrote, “Of course, ‘the Camino provides,’ is a euphemism for ‘God provides,’ but it’s an acceptable one.” The “God” word can be a stumbling block for some, so others put something else in its place: universe, divine, love, creator. I propose that “Camino” can be used interchangeably as well. That unconditional life force of love that surrounds us and is inside of us and holds us and guides us. It is us and beyond us and connects us all. I like to think the universe is on our side.
We tend to get hung up on the language we use for God, when really if God is as massive and expansive and infinite and all the omnis (omnipotent, omnipresent, omniscient, omnibenevolent, etc.) that we say God is—shouldn’t the language we use to describe God be just as exhaustive. A white man who duels with lightning is a small god indeed.
“The Camino Provides” is a combination of the divine holding all of us and the call for each one of us to take care of one another. There is a distinct difference when I juxtapose the way I have been treated while traveling abroad as a stranger in a new land and the way I treat others when I am home in my comfort zone. I am not quick to invite others into my home, even people I know. I am protective and selfish of my time and space—my castle in the world. The Camino providing is a beautiful picture of what could be—a world where we all take care of one another.
I’ve traveled to Africa, South America, Europe, and other countries in North America and experienced something similar in every place. I have been kindly welcomed into homes in every continent where I was the foreigner. People never vetted me in coffee shops before inviting me into their homes.
I was welcomed into tiny, crowded apartments in Peru with buckets for toilets.
I was welcomed into makeshift tents in refugee camps of Algeria and served their finest tea.
I was welcomed into homes in France and offered bread and jam.
It was always assumed that I had good intent—and by accepting the invitations, I was assuming the same.
When you meet a stranger in your midst—from refugees to the new person at work—or even just someone different from you—different color skin or different way of speaking or different way of voting—what is your reaction?
Do you welcome that person with a spirit of taking care of one another?
Do you assign positive intent or do you hold them at bay and eye them with suspicion waiting for the moment they will try and take advantage of you?
Do you let the Camino provide through you or do you stop the flow of generosity with your inaction?