After 25 years of leading a charity, Nancy Hunt was used to keeping busy, solving problems and carrying responsibility. But when she walked more than 250km along the Camino de Santiago to pray and hear from God, she discovered that sometimes faith isn’t about taking the next step – it’s about learning to stop.
For 25 years, much of my life has been about doing. Leading a charity means there is always another decision to make, problem to solve or person who needs something. My days are shaped by raising funds, supporting colleagues and working alongside communities in Kenya. The work matters deeply, but responsibility can become a rhythm of its own: you keep moving because there is always more to do.
So, as The Nasio Trust approached its 25th anniversary, I decided to do something very different. I would walk more than 250 kilometres of the Camino de Santiago. I thought I was going there to walk, pray and listen to God. What surprised me was how much I needed to stop.
READ MORE: Walking into hope on pilgrimage
The Camino has been travelled for centuries by people seeking faith, healing or space to think.
The Camino has been travelled for centuries by people seeking faith, healing or space to think. Walking day after day strips life back to its essentials: wake, put on your boots, carry what you need, walk, eat, rest and begin again. Gradually, the noise of everyday responsibility became quieter. I began noticing things I normally rush past: conversations with strangers, silence, the beauty around me, my own tiredness, gratitude. And God.
During the pilgrimage, I read the book of James. Its words about perseverance, wisdom and faith demonstrated through action felt different when I was physically putting one foot in front of another. You cannot walk 250 kilometres at once. You take one step, and then another. Perhaps faith is like that too. We want God to reveal the whole route. Sometimes He simply asks us to trust Him with the next step.
READ MORE: To celebrate turning 70, I walked a 200 mile pilgrimage from Coventry to Bath
One verse in James became particularly significant: its description of pure religion as caring for “orphans and widows in their distress” (James 1:27). It took me back 25 years, to my mother, Irene, and an abandoned baby boy in Kenya called Moses. My mother could have seen his suffering, felt compassion and carried on. She didn’t. She responded to the person God had placed in front of her. That simple act of compassion eventually led to the creation of The Nasio Trust. There was no grand strategy or 25-year plan. My mother could never have known that caring for one vulnerable child would begin something that would touch thousands of children and families. The Camino helped me see that story afresh.
Nasio began because someone noticed, listened and acted. It reminded me of James’ challenge not merely to hear the word, but to do what it says. Yet, 25 years later, I found myself learning another side of obedience. Sometimes faith calls us to act. Sometimes it calls us to stop. For those of us who spend our lives caring, leading or carrying responsibility, stopping can feel uncomfortable – even selfish. People depend on us. Surely stepping away means letting somebody down? The Camino challenged that assumption. Stepping away from my responsibilities did not make me less committed to them. Instead, it gave me space to remember why I carry them.
READ MORE: My husband and I did a ten-day tour of the Holy Land, and I learned three important things
I returned with renewed faith, gratitude and perspective.
I returned with renewed faith, gratitude and perspective. I was reminded that my calling is not measured simply by how much I can accomplish. Nor does everything depend upon me. I was also struck by how few pilgrims I encountered from ethnic minority backgrounds. It made me wonder who feels able to take this space – and who, because of cost, culture, caring responsibilities or opportunity, never imagines pilgrimage or retreat as something for them.
I don’t have an easy answer, but I believe spiritual renewal should not feel like a luxury reserved for a few. You don’t have to walk 250 kilometres to stop. Your Camino might be a quiet walk, a retreat, a day away, or simply an hour when you deliberately put down what you are carrying and listen. Twenty-five years ago, my mother’s faith led her to act. Twenty-five years later, my Camino reminded me that faith can ask something else of us: to stop and hear again the voice that called us in the first place.
No comments yet