“The cave you fear to enter holds the treasure you seek.”
— commonly attributed to Joseph Campbell
We travelled to Barcelos
to begin our walk towards Santiago.
After hearing the “Sound of Silence” on the banks of the Douro River,
I knew the journey would ask more of me than just walking.
In Porto, I had wondered whether I would travel
inland up the Douro Valley of my heart,
where grace might be growing like vineyards
in places I had seldom cared to visit.
Now I stood at the cave’s entrance.
I could feel the weight of my backpack
and the silent weight of all
I had brought with me without packing.
Fear stood at the entrance too: fear of what I might find
if I gave my heart enough silence,
if I let God reveal its hidden wounds
and the unhealthy habits I have learned to defend.
Yet I remembered the saying about the cave:
the treasure may lie where I fear to enter.
I asked for the courage to take one step,
trusting that God would meet me there.
As we drove through Barcelos,
rooster images appeared everywhere,
on buildings, in parks and shop windows,
large enough to greet us or small enough to carry home.
I learned the town’s legend of a pilgrim
falsely accused while travelling to Santiago.
Condemned to die, he protested his innocence
before a judge seated at a meal.
The pilgrim pointed to a roasted rooster
and said it would crow when he was hanged.
In the story, the rooster rose and crowed;
the judge hurried to save the innocent man.
I looked again at the roosters around me.
Their bright shapes had caught my eye;
now their crow seemed to ask
whose voice is missing when judgement is passed.
Another rooster came to mind.
Peter heard it after denying Jesus,
and remembered his promise.
He went away and wept.
That crow called Peter to face the truth.
It let him hear what fear had done to his love.
Perhaps the first cry I must hear in this cave
is the one that wakes me to my own denials.
Where have I kept silent to protect myself?
When have I been quick to judge a stranger?
Whose suffering have I passed along the road
because looking closely would ask something of me?
“Lord, help me remain with these questions.
Let me see myself truthfully in Your presence.
Give me faith to receive Your mercy
and the courage to change what I have seen.”
“Then teach me to listen beyond myself.
When someone is accused without being heard,
when a life is treated as disposable,
give me the courage to raise my voice.”
“I begin the Camino with two desires:
to find You in the depths of my heart,
and to follow You into the world
with deeper faith and a hunger for justice.”
The road from Barcelos lies before me.
At its start, I pause and listen.
A rooster crows somewhere in my prayer.
I take my first step into the cave.
