When my wife, Mimi, and I began walking the Camino del Norte, we felt no need to reignite the spark. We just wanted to go for a long walk. The pilgrims from the Middle Ages walked the Camino to reduce the punishment of their sins. God knows I and my wife, a Jew and an atheist, respectively, are far from perfect, but as public school educators, we spent our careers creating meaningful learning and life opportunities for the students we served.

We chose to walk the Camino because we like to move our bodies, meet new people, and immerse ourselves in different cultures. We’re not searching for cosmic experiences. We’re quite satisfied with
the routines of the trail, fulfilling basic needs: food, water, sleep, laundry, and getting our passports
stamped!

In San Sebastián, while climbing the steps of a grand church, the door miraculously opened: a priest rushing off to an evening appointment. We respectfully asked for his stamp, a kind of blessing perhaps. It
felt like groveling for Mardi Gras beads. We followed him back up worn concrete steps. He spent meaningful time with us. He was warm, gentle, and caring as he wished us a “Buen Camino!”

Big deal, you might say. But then, it happened again in Guernica. The church door opened as we clunked up the stairs in our hiking boots: an elderly man heading home to cook supper for other priests. We followed the wheezing octogenarian up a long stairwell. Oozing kindness and concern, he stamped our passports and shared details of his priestly work. Now retired, he seeks new ways to serve. Such intense eye contact, watery blue windows to his soul.

I won’t claim these serendipitous experiences caused me to convert or Mimi to become a believer. But we have been reminded how the smallest of gestures can have a profound and lasting impact on others.
Maybe these were just chance encounters, coincidences, but why, when I walk past church doors or
other metaphorical portals, do I assume they will open for us?