The Pilgrimage is Completed

The four Society pilgrims returned safely to their various places of residence on Wednesday night. As they collectively took over 500 pictures, it will be an enormous task to compile these and to present our many observations. Iosephus and I briefly discussed a strategy for doing so, but, for now, let me offer you just a few photos of mine and a few very short reflections on some of the more profane aspects of the pilgrimage. In the future we will make all of the best photos available in a single post.

1) We were all able to finish the pilgrimage. I had been somewhat amused by the dark and foreboding tales of blisters and sore feet. To some extent, I still that think these warnings are a mite overblown. If you are a person in reasonably good health, even an American of ample proportions (as some of us are), and you bring good shoes, and are prepared to grit your teeth and do penance, then you should be fine. This is not to say that your feet will not hurt, even more than they may ever have hurt before, or that Our Lord might allow you to debase your pride by being treated by the kind medics of the Order of Malta. But while this walk may punish your skin and your pride, it does not maim, exactly. The type of physical endurance required is the province of the common man, not that reserved to any athlete. There were pilgrims both male and female, from only ten years to the very grips of old age. Providence may present you with torments which prevent you from singing gleefully every step of the way, or even enjoying the astoundingly beautiful French countryside, but this is the very nature of the Christian life.

The elements that make this pilgrimage particularly trying are not entirely common to other sports. I have long enjoyed backpacking, and Iosephus is a practiced cross country runner, but I couldn't say that my experience exactly prepared me. In backpacking, you can stop for a rest whenever you feel the need. On the road to Chartres, it is difficult to stop even to steady a water bottle for a drink: the column must march on with or without you. Another important thing to know beforehand is that about half of the pilgrimage takes place on asphalt, which is much less forgiving than the Camembert-soft grassy French countryside which I had envisioned. As for the mileage and pace, the first two days well exceed 20 miles, but are moderately paced, with nearly all available daylight used for walking. In the familiar terms of the computer generation, the pace is strenuous, and much of the bacon and flour you bought in St. Louis has run out, but Billy probably won't die of typhoid.
2) The French. What can the French do well? They know how to cook, for sure, and we had plenty of time to experience this in Paris, but the walk to Chartres isn't exactly the right place for fine cuisine. They do know organization, though. In the end, this was probably what impressed me the most about the French. Of course, they have been doing this pilgrimage for 24 years, but the precision of their planning and coordination was the nonetheless astounding. There was never a shortage of food (that which was provided), of water, or of traffic conductors. They transported unlimited amounts of baggage for thousands of pilgrims, and laid it out on the ground in such a way as to make it immediately accessible when arriving into camp for the night. The large camps were well layed out, with ample supplies of portable toilets, tents for pilgrims without their own, and plenty of room for those so provided. Every several miles or so, there was a medical station, with extra bottles of water. French motorcyclists drove up and down the miles long procession, ensuring the safety of the pilgrims. Although we had spotless weather, and many likely catastrophes did not arise, the entire organization seemed perfect to me. I cannot give high enough praise to Notre-Dame de Chrétienté for their work in conducting the pilgrimage.3) The British. The four pilgrims from the Cornell Society for a Good Time walked with the English, specifically with their "Juventutem" Chapter composed primarily of youth. Despite being people who cannot utter the word "youth", or even worse, "pastorally appropriate youth ministry" without our humours being seriously disturbed, we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves with this excellent bunch of young persons. I might even be so droll as to call them our future... Anyways, the British, as well as a few Australians, and other Americans, put up with us Yanks and our terrible pronunciation of their language, and were always very, very kind to us. They let us carry the Union Jack and sing Rule Britannia with gusto, while they assured us that Dixie would be in next year's British songbook.

I think one particular incident gives a good impression of the company in which we walked. Just before arriving at the second camp, while my feet were feeling as if I were walking on hot sand and I could think only of dousing them, a young English scout in our Chapter burst into song with that energy seen only in the very young, rousing us all into higher spirits. A round consisting of "Jubilate Deo, Jubilate Deo, Alleluia" was sung. An Australian Father who walked with us, and who had been hearing Confessions all day, upon sighting the camp, noted with humor and the characteristic drawl of his homeland, that There was a God. The young scout, though breathless and between songs, replied with all the trappings of the canonical English lad: "Well you of all people should know, Father."

We all had a very Good Time.
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