A Modern Means of Keeping an Ancient Practice
A Modern Means of Keeping an Ancient Practice
by John Beddingfield | New York, NY
Last summer, I explored part of the Camino de San Juan de la Cruz in Andalusia. Organized in 2016 by the Discalced Carmelites, it is one of many regional walks that have been mapped out in recent years. This camino links sites that were important in the life of the 16th century poet and theologian, St. John of the Cross. Along with Teresa of Ávila, John worked to reform the Carmelite order, founding convents based on simplicity and prayer.
As part of that walk, I spent several days on retreat at Casa de Espiritualidad in Úbeda, Spain. I sought a Spanish language immersion, and the romantic in me was eager to pray and reflect in the convent where John had spent his last days and died in 1591.
On my first night, I attended Vespers. Waiting in the magnificent silence of the Baroque chapel, I was gradually joined by several older women from the town. The officiating friar held a prayer book, but as there were no books or service leaflets in the pews, I settled into the quiet and prepared to listen. Suddenly, there were little flashes around the church. Nearby, far away, one by one, each of the women and the several Carmelite friars took out their cell phones. They opened a mobile application and prepared to join in the prayers. I had to stifle a giggle at this juxtaposition of contemporary technology and traditional space.
Between Vespers and the beginning of Mass, one of the women sidled up to me. “Hola,” she said. “Quiere que comparta la aplicación?” Do you want me to share the app? Grateful, I responded, “Por favor. Muchas gracias.” Though I mumbled my Spanish responses poorly, I felt completely welcomed, included, and embraced. Later, I downloaded the app on my own device.
Following my time in Andalusia, I walked the Camino Sanabrés from Ourense, entering Santiago on my 60th birthday. After venerating the tomb of St. James, I sat outside the cathedral, pulled up my app, and offered prayers of gratitude.
At some point on most days I pause, open the app on my phone, pray the “Liturgy of the Hours,” and imagine my friends in Úbeda and elsewhere doing the same. It helps my Spanish, deepens my prayer life, and puts my spirit in sync with the space and calm of that retreat. Of the many gifts of last summer, this modern means of keeping an ancient practice is among my most cherished.
