Buen Camino

Jun 14th - Buen Camino, with Rev. Dr. Steven Koski. A Spacious Christianity, First Presbyterian Church of Bend, Oregon. Scripture: Psalm 46.

Ever feel like life is moving faster than your soul can keep up? This Sunday, we’re talking about what it means to slow down, loosen your grip a bit, and let yourself be carried by grace and the kindness of others. It is about learning to receive help without shame and noticing the small, holy moments in an ordinary day.

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At First Presbyterian, you will meet people at many different places theologically and spiritually. And we love it that way. We want to be a place where our diversity brings us together and where conversation takes us all deeper in our understanding of God.

We call this kind of faith “Spacious Christianity.” We don’t ask anyone to sign creeds or statements of belief. The life of faith is about a way of being in the world and a faith that shows itself in love.

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Keywords:

Camino de Santiago, pilgrimage, spiritual journey, transformation, be still, let go, mercy, kindness, presence, hurry, inner journey, outer journey, Buen Camino, spiritual awakening, nature’s rhythms., presbyterian, church, online worship, bend, oregon

Featuring:

Rev. Dr. Steven Koski, Rev. Sharon Edwards, Becca Ellis, Brave of Heart, Guests

Transcript

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Unknown: 0:39

Welcome to worship at First Presbyterian Church in Bend, Oregon. My name is Becky, and we are so grateful that you've joined us. We are a community shaped by what we call spacious Christianity, a faith wide enough for difference, honest enough for questions, and kind enough for the full truth of our lives. Here, doubts are not disqualifiers, questions are not threats, but they're invitations into deeper faith and more authentic connection. Your story matters, and together we seek God with holy curiosity. So, today, wherever you're coming from, know this, you are welcome, and your presence is a gift.

Steven: 4:11

Buen Camino, I shaved my my beard last week. Now that sentence sounds considerably less dramatic than fit it actually felt. I had worn a beard for more than 12 years, one that had become so familiar I genuinely stopped noticing it. And then I came home from walking the Camino. I stood in the bathroom, and I thought to myself, something, something has changed inside me. Maybe the outside of me should know about it. So I picked up the razor. My dog didn't recognize me. They stood at a cautious distance, heads tilted, uncertain whether to approach or bark. I had to reintroduce myself, which, come to think of it, kind of felt about right. The Camino de Santiago, the Way of St. James, is one of the oldest pilgrimages, the oldest pilgrimage routes in the Christian world for over 1000 years, people have been walking toward the Cathedral of Santiago de Cap Estella in Spain for every imaginable reason. I mean, religious devotion, grief, a midlife reckoning, the hope that that maybe movement might accomplish what your thoughts couldn't. Now there's a big difference between going for a hike and going on a pilgrimage. A pilgrimage is both an outer and an inner journey, and everywhere on the Camino, every pilgrim says the same two words to every other pilgrim, stranger or friend, whether you're 22 or 78 whether you're moving fast or or barely moving, the two words buen Camino, which literally means may you have a good way. Now, buen Camino is not, not merely a pleasantry. People actually look at you when they say it, they mean it. One pilgrim wishing another well on the road ahead, whatever that road holds for you. Now, there are many routes, many many routes you can take to Santiago. I walked the Portuguese coastal route from Porto Portugal to Santiago, Spain, 200 miles, 15 days hugging the Atlantic Ocean. Now I arrived, I arrived in Porto, carrying, carrying expectations the way you know, the way I probably carry most things, much more than necessary, poorly distributed, hoping nobody would notice, and I wanted you know, I wanted transformation, I wanted insight, I wanted maybe a modest spiritual awakening before lunch. Instead, the long walk along the sea offered very tired feet and achy, aching knees, and silence, and seagulls that sounded suspiciously, suspiciously like they were always laughing at me. You know, one of my favorite verses in the Bible is from the book of Psalm, Psalm 46 verse 10, and it sounds like a gentle invitation to calm down, you might know it, be still and know that I am God, you know, we put it on coffee mugs, on throw pillows, on hospital waiting room walls, but the Hebrew word translated be still is Rapa, and it actually doesn't mean be quiet, it doesn't, it doesn't mean settle down, it literally means to let go, to stop grasping, to release your tight grip on life, cease striving, Rafa, let go, loosen your grip, slow down, so that you might actually experience the love that resides at the very core of your being. Let go, that you might come to know at the deepest level that you are loved, and perhaps that love might carry you forward, which is the entire curriculum of the Camino. You know, one of the first things the Camino reveals is, is how we live our lives in such a hurry, in such a rush. It reveals how hurried we are spiritually. I mean, we move through life assuming faster must mean better. We live our lives at speeds our souls were never designed to sustain. I mean, think about it. We hurry, we hurry through conversations, rarely taking the time to really listen. I mean, we hurry through meals, we hurry through grief. I mean, ticking off the stages as we go. I mean, we even hurry through rest, you know, scheduling it anxiously between obligations, as though the recovery were a task to be completed rather than a rhythm to be inhabited. Now, hurry is not merely a scheduling problem. Hurry is really a condition of the soul, a way of inhabiting the world that that really makes paying attention and genuine presence nearly impossible. Now, at the beginning of the Camino, at the beginning, as I began to walk, my mind was everywhere except where my feet were, and then the path started doing its work, and one morning I noticed a snail crossing the trail, I mean, not metaphorically an actual snail, and because the Camino had finally slowed me enough to notice such things, I stopped and watched him for what seemed like an hour, but probably was just minutes, and there he was, carrying this his small home on his back patiently crossing the earth without the slightest concern about getting there faster or more efficiently. There was no sense of urgency, you know. Strangely, it was actually one of the more instructive moments of the entire Camino, because creation, you know, nature left to its own rhythms, it If you pay attention, you'll notice nature is never in a hurry. The ocean doesn't rush the tide. Trees do not strain anxiously towards growth. Sunrise unfolds without urgency. urgency now we know we rush conversations because silence makes us uncomfortable. We seek quick fixes because uncertainty feels threatening. We rush spirituality itself, you know, seek secretly hoping for transformation without the inconvenience of surrender and letting go. Hurry is the great enemy of our spiritual life. Be still, slow down, breathe, rest, let go, loosen your grip, pay attention, be present to the God who is always present to you the one who's been walking beside you the whole time, that maybe you were too busy or too hurried to notice. You know, there was another important lesson waiting for me on the final climb into Bayona, Spain. There's a particular kind of suffering that that arrives around mile 18. Mostly it looks like a 63 year old pilgrim muttering to himself, you got to be kidding me. Another hill, and these hills were just kind of gentle. They were steep. The 20 mile stretch from Agorda to Bayona nearly undid me. My body had entered negotiations with my spirit, and neither side was very optimistic. Then, without fanfare, Grace appeared. Two young pilgrims, I'm guessing, in their late 20s, slowed to walk beside an older man. Who was no longer confident he was actually going to make it up that hill. A young woman from Brazil, a young man from Germany. You know, we crossed paths before on the trail, we shared cafes, nods on the trail, and always when our paths diverged, boy and Camino, but on that last steep hill they didn't just keep walking, they stayed, they actually walked beside me, one on each side, making sure I would make it up that hill. I really find it difficult to describe how holy that felt. There's something profoundly humbling about, about receiving mercy from people young enough to be your children. I mean, at a certain age, you assume your role is to be the helper, your role is to be the one carrying wisdom downhill to the next generation, then one day your body says otherwise, and there you are, sweating through your shirt outside Bayona, while two young pilgrims offer you the simple dignity of not being left behind on that hill those two pilgrims were mercy with hiking shoes, you know, we're living at a time when cruelty is being described as strength, we're living at a time when indifference passes for wisdom. How we treat one another has never felt more urgent on the Camino. Eventually everybody limps, everybody becomes dependent on the mercy of strangers, and everywhere running through the whole trail like a current boy and Camino, good way, may your road be good, and again and again and again, perfect strangers are quick to offer simple kindness what would it mean for us in our everyday lives to live the spirit of boy and Camino? I mean, not as a, not as a phrase, but as an orientation of the heart, as a way of being with one another. I mean, the cashier at the grocery store who looks like she hasn't slept, Boyne Camino, the colleague who seems distracted, Boyn Camino, the neighbor who you disagree with, the stranger carrying something heavy you can't see, Boyne Camino. Camino, I see you. You're on a road. I hope it goes well for you. Is there something I can offer you to help you on your journey? You know, I came home after the Camino. I came home to the same world, same house, same inbox. Nothing had rearranged itself to accommodate whatever happened to me on the trail. My external world was the same, and yet something had dramatically shifted, like the way a room looks different after you've opened a window that you forgot was there, same room, different air. So I stood in the bathroom, picked up the razor, and thought you know the outside should know what happened for me on the inside. Walking the Camino is truly transformational in ways that I can't even begin to describe, but the Camino continues for all of us, as life itself is a pilgrimage, you know, there are there are at least three things I continue to carry with me that I encourage you to put in your backpack for your journey in this life. First, slow down, hurry is the great enemy of the spiritual life. I mean, somewhere this week, maybe in a conversation in your car over coffee, practice Rafa, be still and know. Slow down, loosen your grip, breathe, be present to the divine love that is always present to you. Second, to put in your backpack, receive mercy without flinching. Someone this week is going to offer you help you didn't ask for, and maybe you don't feel you deserve. Let them don't reflect, don't minimize. Receive it. You know that's not weakness, that's what grace looks like from the inside. There, the only way we're going to survive this world is by carrying each other up hills we cannot climb alone. Mercy is our superpower in a world that lives like a clenched fist, receiving help is a weakness. It's actually where your strength lies. And lastly, say boy and Camino, I mean, not the words, the intention live buen Camino, actually. actually, look, see the tired ones, the distracted ones, the hurting ones, the difficult ones. Buen Camino, and mean it. I see you. You're on a road. I hope it goes well for you. How can I help you up this hill? You know that single practice could change everything. Rafa, be still. slow down, let go, breathe, know that you are loved, and may that love carry you on whatever path you're walking, you Buane Camino, friends, I offer this prayer for whatever road that you find yourself walking. Holy God, teach us, Rafa, help us to loosen our grip on the life we're trying to manage and control, help us to be present to the life we actually have. God, help us to slow down and be present to your divine love that walks beside us, even when we're too busy to notice, most of us are carrying something heavy, something no one else can see. God, meet us there. Remind us that we're not as alone as we feel. Give us the courage to receive mercy without flinching, this week help us recognize that needing help is not being weak, it's being human. Asking for help is not weakness, it's a desire to be strong. And, oh God, give us the eyes to see the tired ones, the distracted ones, the difficult ones around us, and give us the grace to wish them well on the road and mean it. May we walk gently, may we rest deeply, may we let go and know in the deepest places within ourselves that we are loved, and may that love carry us up the next hill as we carry one another. Buen Camino. Amen. Friends, Buen Camino. May your way be good, and may you be present to the divine love that is always present to you, and may that love carry you up the next hill as you carry others up the hill that they face. Buen Camino, friends,

Unknown: 28:33

friends, this worship broadcast is only possible because of your generous support. We need your support in sharing this spacious Christianity, a faith that welcomes questions, embraces difference, and makes room for everyone. Please consider making a financial gift today. You can give online at Bend fp.org or by using the QR code on your screen. Thank you for worshiping with us. It's a gift to have you here. Until next time, may God bless you.