It’s two am.
And once again I’m woken— each night a similar pattern and I’m tossing and turning over the brokenness of man. I play out my yesterday like a movie reel, feeling all the emotion over again. I replay out my conversations on the Camino and over dinner in our alburgue. I’m desperately desiring to represent Him well, trying to remain in constant communication with the Father, asking for the next thing to say. Maybe His words through me with bring healing; i have to believe that with every fiber of my being, right?
But here I am wiping my tears, recognizing that the 45 backpackers I sleep next to in this room are souls. They have value, and an eternal fate—one that they will stand accountable for on the other side of this life. The Camino is a journey, for me and each individual out here. And more tangibly than ever, I wake to the understanding that not every soul in this room will end up standing with me in victory at the finish line. And I can’t accept that. Jesus, I won’t accept that.
I sat around a table with six people last night. And slowly making our rounds, my story gets shared. It happens naturally— through this crazy 11 months, through my tattoo, through the words on my lips. Everything that surrounds me and within me is a testiment to His penmanship. Even if I were ashamed of Him, there would be no way around speaking of Him. For He is in me, a part of me closer than my own thoughts, my very breath. He is. He’s my sore feet after a long day of trekking, he’s my tight muscles (that, despite your judgmental thoughts, I’ve been stretching), he’s my burdened heart, my confused mind, and conflicted soul. He experiences and feels and operates through me. So He came to the table.
And I shared that. A story that Jesus is continuing to write, a constant work in progress, filled with mess ups and failures, but one of grace and love. They ask why I’m kind, why I serve.
And it’s simple, I love because He fist loved.
They don’t reject me, in fact they prompt with questions. Opinions and stereotypes already cast upon the “Christian”— they rationalize that it’s just a moral compass, a hope for something higher. And in a group of people who are all older, they have concretes, ideals, and a compass of their own that cannot be redirected. But could it?
My new Camino friends aren’t being hateful, it’s confusion and a lack of understanding of what and in whom I truly believe. It’s not perfect, and it’s certainly not the “religion” they state is empty. In fact, I agree. Religion can be dead, it’s everything my friends testify is “ritualistic”, “a mora compass that helps us filter our actions”, “rules-oriented”, “ignorant”, “close-minded”.
BUT GOD.
I feel like that can be the answer to every question.
But it’s closer than that: if He truly is every part of me, He experiences and feels through me, then it’s got to be more than all of those words. Because my Jesus is certainly not dead, and He’s certainly not confined to a church building, or a set of opinions cast upon Him. He desires intimacy more than all the knowledge we try and rationalize Him with. Knowledge comes through a growing relationship. And that’s what I want for my friends.
So at 2:31am, I’m begging on behalf of the lost and confused before my Father. And wiping His tears off my face, He reminds me that’s why I’m here.
I’m not afraid to walk into difficult conversations. I discussed religion, Jesus, politics, Trump, pro-life v pro-choice because those are the tough topics. They’re what searching souls want answers to, and we as believers, are the mouth-piece. And through the conversation, He allowed me to see through the tough exterior to broken and battered people, just like myself, in need of redemption. Many come to the table—last night it was an Irishman, an Argentine, a Korean, a New Zealander, and a handful of Americans— I pray they left refreshed.
Tough topics don’t have to leave with elevated blood pressure and a bitter taste, because, with friends, we should be heard. So I listened. To a lot of distraught, off-color beliefs and opinions. But He still wants them, so I still want them. And more desperately than ever, I want them to want Him.
Maybe they didn’t walk away from the table with a heavenly revelation, but I pray that they walk away with a good taste of my Jesus, who isn’t afraid of the tough questions, but receives with love, and He’s okay with confusion, and blame. I hope He showed that through me.
At 2:45am, on day ten on the Camino, I wrestle. For the souls sleeping around me.
Maybe it isn’t the conclusion you were expecting. Maybe you even hoped for a saved soul, that would seem like a happy ending to the night. But this is real life. It’s not just the cool pictures that tell stories, it’s also the two a.m. wrestles. I’m seeking for understanding why He doesn’t just up and save the whole room. But I pray with expectancy, and a voracity like never before, that He will save them eventually.
I have to believe that, right?
