Terrible news today that Muredach Tuffy, an Irish priest I knew in Rome, and exactly my age, took his own life yesterday. There's no information other than that. Of course it means so little, but as I remember him he was always so cheerful and full of fun. I spend a lot of today's walk wondering what can have gone so wrong for him.
The longer distances we've been walking, and possibly the fact that I lent my trekking poles to Jon these past couple of days means that I have a very tender left heal today and need to walk more slowly.
Nico wonders out loud, why has the camino become so popular? Everyone has different answers which are always changing, he observes. Then he tells a couple of stories: the Frenchman, deeply religious, who walks it for his brother who has leukemia, or the widower who walks because he had always planned to walk with his wife, and on the way he feels her close to her.
My immediate sense is that we walk it because we don't know what to do with ourselves: we don't know what to do with our lives and we walk to decide; we walk because we don't know how to be happy and the stripped down simplicity of the camino and the communion of it, offers a glimpse of an alternative to consumption and a more genuine route to happiness; we walk it because we don't know how to show our love, for one another and for God, and this is a way of showing love; and we walk it because we don't know how to find God, and we hope this will open something for us.
The death of Murdy makes me think of the others that I carry in my heart this camino: Luke Edwards, who walked the camino 20 years ago, was at university with me and died in a tragic accident in his early 20s; a great friend, Paul Simmons, who was ordained the year after me from college, but is out of active ministry suffering with depression; and, of course, little 3 yr old Molly Bottoms, from St Cuthbert's, Durham, who has a tumor on her brain. I walk the camino for her because I don't know what else I can do.
We stop in Melide for more pulpe at lunch time and when we get to Arzua I am designated to cook so knock up a spaghetti carbonara (to Nico's surprise, without cream). I don't share with the anyone other than Nico the news that I've received, and am glad to spend these two cheerful meals with my camino friends.
So sorry for your loss, Tony. Very sad.
ReplyDeleteKeep going!
ReplyDeleteAnd always look on the bright side of life ;-) Of course not! Life is so deeply hard and not understandably….. Maybe, more often than sometimes… Don’t know.
I feel sorry, but thankful you wrote the facts and questions, as well.
Of course, I follow your blog to know where you are right now.
The Camino, you and the guys made me really happy and….I try to keep the Camino in my heart. But It’s getting hard in daily life.
Say Love to Nico and Jon and drink a morning coffee with me … I’m wondering why you have such body problems again.
Keep walking the camino for others and yourself. Maybe until Finistere to jump? ;-) And don’t tell me, maybe in the 10 years reunion!
I did the Camino in 2006. I didn't know Fr Muradech well, but there is great shock and sadness at his untimely passing. Priests, today, are fair game for continual criticism in light of the Catholic Church's mid-management of child abuse. It's forgotten that the vast majority are good men who are sons, brothers, uncles and friends - people, grappling with life like everyone else.
ReplyDeleteAt Melide, you're approaching the end of the Camino and will soon arrive in the beautiful city of Santiago De Compostella. Enjoy the experience and best wishes.