The Way | "Walking the Camino is such a great metaphor for our spiritual walk," says Michael Rempe, a short-term missionary who spent the last year and a half in Seville, Spain. Michael has walked El Camino three times, and though he's no expert, he's sure of one thing. "It's a process," he says. "You learn, you grow, you keep moving. You keep walking."

On the first morning of my pilgrimage, I rolled up my dew-drenched tent, downed a breakfast of bread, jam and cocoa, and set off walking through heavy fog. Like the mist-covered road ahead, the spiritual lessons before me lay undiscovered. But along the famed El Camino de Santiago, a timeworn path across the northwestern part of Spain, spiritual lessons are nothing new. I was following in the footsteps of history.

Dating back to the ninth century, El Camino started as a route for travelers to the town of Santiago de Compostela, believed to be the burial ground of James the apostle. Today, people walk El Camino, which means "The Way," for many reasons. Some come in search of adventure, some want an inexpensive vacation with friends, others seek spiritual growth.

Regardless of why they come, travelers earn the title "pilgrim." And they come from all over—in 1999, El Camino drew 154,000 from 91 countries and five continents.

I joined the journey last July to cover a summer mission project sponsored by Agape (Campus Crusade for Christ in Spain). Worldwide Challenge photographer Guy Gerrard and I joined 120 young people from 11 countries. Project members hiked and camped for 93 miles along the trail, followed by a week of intensive, practical ministry training.

The trip would change us, promised John O'Neal, director of Agape's campus ministry, as it has travelers throughout history. "The Camino was a cultural highway," he says. As pilgrims walked, they exchanged ideas about life, art and customs. Today, the varied architecture peppering the trail and the out-of-place Celtic culture dominating northwestern Spain testifies to a foreign influence.

John first encountered El Camino in 1998, when he hiked the trail with a group of students. In May 1999, he led Agape's efforts to convert a house along the trail into a refuge, naming it the Pilgrim's Fountain. Travelers get free coffee, clean showers and a dry bed.

Beside meeting physical needs, Agape workers help to meet the spiritual hunger of pilgrims. They pass out an evangelistic booklet which redirects walkers from Jesus' disciple, James, to Jesus Himself. Note cards list a psalm to ponder for each kilometer of the hike. And in 1999 alone, John says, they gave away nearly 20,000 audiotapes of the JESUS film, recorded in four different languages. Pilgrims could even borrow a portable tape player.

EuroCamino, the two-week mission project, began in the ancient town of O'Cebreiro, a hilly city marking the last fifth of the 500-mile route. The project provided more than evangelistic opportunities and ministry preparation—it deeply marked our souls.

The Map

Along with everyone else, I received a 16-page "pilgrim's guide" that mapped each day's mileage and listed a daily Bible verse for meditation. Along the trail, an eight-inch streak of yellow, painted on buildings or stones, pointed pilgrims toward the city. More than once this golden mark calmed my nagging doubt that I had somehow wandered off the trail, heading who-knows-where.

After the first day's journey, John suggested that the Bible serves as life's yellow arrow, guiding the Christian pilgrim onward. For 13 young people on the project, this was a foreign idea; they came with believing friends but were not Christians themselves.

EuroCamino offered evangelism built on relationships, a kind of endurance test where skeptics saw the gospel lived out, not just spelled out. MariCarmen Morente, from Malaga, Spain, was one such skeptic.

One day on El Camino, the business student admitted feeling confused about life. "I do not have a map or a guide," MariCarmen said, "and so I do not know the way."

"You choose not to have a map," I suggested.

"No, I just don't have one. You have one—the Bible," she answered, her tight, dark curls swaying back and forth with each step. "How can I make it my guide if I don't understand or know that I believe it?"

With that, MariCarmen's friends discussed some of the facts and proof for the Bible and Christianity. Just another chat along the way.

Heading Downhill

I am not accustomed to walking 10 to 20 miles a day, so I expected a few extra aches and pains on El Camino. But I didn't expect the worst pain to come from walking downhill.

Uphill, I knew, was hard. Even the talkative pilgrims would grow quiet while scaling a craggy hillside. Heading downhill, however, we rarely noticed the terrain. Then one day, during a steep decline, sharp pain zinged up my legs with every step. My knees strained and I leaned back, fighting gravity's pull. Earlier that week, I had teased a young Latvian woman for walking zigzag downhill. Now I swayed back and forth across the path like a deliberate drunk, employing her secret for myself.

Learning that downhill descents might hurt more than an uphill climb reminded me of a surprising lesson back home. I notice I drift further from God when life is going well. When "it's all downhill from here," I stop depending on God through prayer—remiss in my times with Him. Lulled to sleep by a false self-sufficiency, I miss God's voice and His best for me.

Together

On the fourth day of the journey, John challenged us to walk alone. "It is following the tradition of the desert fathers," he explained, "a time to give the students some solitude and some silence."

That day I pretended to be the only person to ever travel El Camino. I passed an abandoned stone house surrounded by a wrought-iron gate, and felt alone. My boots crunched a hypnotic rhythm across the gravel.

Then my isolation unraveled on the spikes of a barbed-wire fence, recently raised to protect an orchard. Instantly, I remembered I was not the first traveler, nor the last, and certainly not alone. My fantasy over, I wanted to be around people again.

When Herminia Reina Paraga, another young woman from Malaga, injured her knee, she was especially glad not to be alone. That's because Campus Crusade staff member David Lewis carried her in his arms for more than half a mile. Herminia wept, not in pain, but with gratitude.

"She couldn't believe David would try so hard," translates Carissa Freeman, a short-term missionary with Agape, "and that he wouldn't mind having pain from carrying her."

Likewise, God never intended for me to follow Him alone. He created the body of Christ and commanded that we meet together for a reason. We need each other, especially when we're injured.

A Sharp Focus

Many people helped each other on El Camino. When I met Matladi Ndlovu, her ankle and her knee throbbed with pain. By the fifth day, this South African project member was trudging behind our group, her pace too slow for others. I offered to walk with her, and to help pass the time, suggested we sing.

"I noticed we went a bit faster when we started singing," the molecular biologist explains. "I didn't feel the pain as much, I really didn't. Although the pain was there, I didn't focus on it."

She points to the parallel within the Christian life. "When you worship, even when going through pain or trials, you focus on God more and less on the problem," she says. "It doesn't mean the problem goes away, it just means you have shifted your focus off the problem and onto God."

Matladi's strength came from her focus on God, but I also admired her tenacious will to finish. On day six in the pilgrims' guide, Hebrews 12:1 beckoned us to "throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us" (New International Version). After hiking nearly 70 miles, running was the furthest thing from my mind. Perseverance was not, however. I had made it this far, and I was determined to finish.

The End is Near

I have never thought of myself as one driven by goals, but on El Camino, I began to understand the value of keeping the end in sight. During one of the daily discussion groups at camp, a young man from the Netherlands explained how important it was for him to monitor the distance remaining. Stone markers along the route ticked off the kilometers to Santiago de Compostela. I counted along, especially at my weariest, but my friend went so far as to calculate the strides necessary to reach his goal.

A few miles shy of the journey's end, I stood between two statues of pilgrims in Monte do Gozo, their giant, green hands pointed upward. From this vista, I looked out at the cathedral's spires in the town below. There on the hill, while the wind whipped my rain poncho, I knew I would finish. I could see the end.

Like all pilgrims who cross the plaza and climb the steps of St. James Cathedral, I had remained fixed on the goal throughout my journey. I had come to document this mission project, but I'd been determined to do it entirely on foot. This goal refined my decisions.

As a Christian, I know that Jesus set heaven before me as my final destination. By maintaining an eternal perspective, keeping my eyes on heaven and not earth, I think differently about the choices I make each day.

With such lessons in mind, project members spent their final week learning how to introduce others to Jesus Christ. Many would return to their European campuses and jobs equipped to become leaders in ministry, or even start new Campus Crusade groups.

During this training week, John led a separate discussion group for the nonbelievers on the project, exploring their doubts. As a result, four young people gave their hearts to Jesus.

More than ever, I understand why they call this the Christian walk. I learned it along El Camino de Santiago.