When I used to read parables like the Prodigal Son or the Workers in the Vineyard, my default had always been to identify with the older brother, or with the workers who showed up early in the morning. I sympathized with the older brother’s incredulity, and with the workers who complained they worked all day to get the same wage as those who only worked an hour. I felt indignant towards the younger brother and the latecomer workers, and confused by the father and landowner. They were letting their most faithful and responsible feel unappreciated and short-changed. What kind of incentive system was this? Didn’t God realize He was encouraging irresponsibility and procrastination? I wondered if I was a chump for trying to serve God all along.
But then it struck me when my husband and I finally made it to Santiago de Compostela: it was never “me” and “my actions” anyway. It was God’s grace.
Some readers may recall that I started the “From Tourist to Pilgrim” series on a cruise to the Iberian Peninsula whose call at Santiago de Compostela was cancelled by a hurricane. A year later we returned, and this time we made it to Galicia. It was on this trip that I began to finally understand these parables more deeply.
On a glorious October morning, our tour bus wound its way from Vigo to Compostela. Yes, we were a bus on the camino (from the Spanish verb caminar, which means to walk). We arrived at the square amid jubilant pilgrims, many with heavy backpacks and walking sticks. They would run to each other (whether they knew each other or not) and embrace. Pictures snapped, whoops of joy, Galician bagpipes playing, sunlight streaming from behind the spires and glistening on the stone square—the atmosphere was simultaneously celebratory and serene. I had never seen anything like it. Could this be a glimpse of heaven?
We had limited time on our tour, and so we were crestfallen to see that the line to enter the cathedral wound all the way around the complex. But my husband, as he usually does in these stories, made the right decision for us. While everyone else decided against waiting, we got in line. And we made it inside, literally the last ones in before they shut the doors to prepare for Mass.
We walked, almost in a daze, around the interior bathed in golden light. Around us were weary Camino pilgrims, monks and sisters in habits, and tourists-turned-pilgrims like us. If they were not pilgrims before entering, the sights, sounds, and smells alone would have made them so.
We were not going to be able to stay for Mass, so we toured the cathedral listening to the Spanish prayers. The famous Botafumeiro was a monumental thurible suspended between heaven and earth, and we imagined the thrill of seeing it swing across the nave. Maybe another day, God willing.
Then we spied a small line of pilgrims heading into an area we could not fully see, but could tell was beautiful. We made our way there and, once again, were the last ones in before they clasped a velvet rope across the doorway. We had no idea where we were going, but we followed. We crouched down into a stone stairway and then realized we were beholding the relics of St. James. We turned and climbed up a narrow staircase, and it dawned on us that we were walking across the high altar to see and embrace a statue of the great saint. Lord, I am not worthy, but only say the word and I shall be healed. I was so in awe I barely remember much now beyond the golden light.
We were in vacation clothes. We had no hiking boots or walking sticks. Did we get some side-eye from our older brother pilgrims? If we did, I would not have blamed them. If I imagine myself in their shoes, I’m incredulous, maybe even indignant. Tourists climbing off an air-conditioned bus are welcomed into this sacred space, when I hiked all the way from Paris? But I heard the landowner gently admonish, “Are you envious because I am generous? So the last will be first, and the first will be last” (Mt. 20:15b-16).
We emerged just 30 minutes before our bus would leave for the ship. And then, as if to erase any doubt of God’s Providence, we were again the last ones able to join a tour to see the Pórtico de la Gloria. We met our bus back with seconds to spare.
Three times we were last. And yet three times, we were first.
None of this is like me. I plan everything. I’m almost never late. But I had not known you could tour the Pórtico. I had not known about the sepulcher of St. James or the Pilgrim Embrace Chapel. I scarcely “deserved” any of these encounters.
Thanks be to God, for now I can better read with the eyes of faith. Can you imagine if the landowner, who represents God in the Parable, turned it around? “Oh, you want what you’re ‘owed’—you want the wage you ‘deserve’?” At the risk of sounding like Jonathan Edwards, this question should strike fear into our hearts. Because the wages of sin is death. So be grateful to God for His generosity!
If I receive an amazing gift, why should it bother me if others get that same gift? Sure, maybe they don’t deserve it, but neither do I! It takes nothing away from those who “followed the rules” for God to offer the same gift to those who took longer to hear and answer the call. And even more, God’s rules are good for us. They are not a burden. For the older brother and the early workers to complain about having followed them longer betrays a spiritual immaturity I pray I can continue to move past.
Ultimately, I remember in my heart that Jesus did not come to call the righteous, but sinners. To mix a few Gospel stories, a million older brothers don’t bring the joy in Heaven of one prodigal son returning. Because it is not a matter of justice, but of mercy. I did not deserve the awe-inspiring visit to Santiago de Compostela that we received. In truth, I am embarrassed to have been offered glimpses of holy treasures that others worked much harder to experience. My cup runneth over.
Thank you, Lord, for blessing me despite my ignorance, and for loving the last as well as the first.
Editor’s Note: This article is part of the series “From Tourist to Pilgrim.” All other series installments can be found here.
Photo by Victoriano Izquierdo on Unsplash
