Touched By God
Touched by God
by Mark LaRocca-Pitts | Atlanta, GA
The trail up the mountain to Zabaldika was narrow, overgrown, and steep. When I arrived at the top, there was a plain 12th-century church dedicated to San Esteban. I intended to walk by when an elderly woman came out and motioned for me to come into the church. On the Camino, when the unexpected happens, there is a good chance it is a gift.
Taking off my pack and hat and leaving them on the threshold with my staff, I entered the church. Directly across from the entryway was a life-sized crucifix of Jesus Christ carved in wood and surrounded by yellow post-it notes with the prayers, hopes, and favorite quotes of hundreds of pilgrims. Though I was intrigued, I turned to the side to read some literature about the church and then explored the church including going up into the ancient belfry where I rang the bell.
Coming back down, I stood in front of the crucifix. I wanted to touch it with the brass cross I was carrying in my hand, but that was generally something I had done privately, surreptitiously almost, as if I was afraid I’d be seen exposing a vulnerability of which I was ashamed. I could not do that here, since the woman was standing right there beside me.
Gesturing with my hands, I asked her if it would be okay for me to touch Jesus with my cross. She nodded yes, so I reached out with my cross, which was in my left hand. As I was reaching, I paused for a moment wondering where I should touch Jesus. And then I knew: the heart. As my cross made contact over the heart of Jesus, I was flooded with an overwhelming sense of love, of joy, of being at the right place and doing the right thing, and of being loved just as I am. I felt connected to God, myself, and everything.
I wept. Not just a few tears in the corner of my eyes, but uncontrollable weeping. Tears ran down my face as they have done only a handful of times in my life, and as they are threatening to do now as I write this. I sat in that pew at the foot of the cross and wept as the woman gently and perhaps knowingly looked on. After recovering, I walked down that mountain into the valley with tears still flowing freely.
