Recently, I found myself once again navigating an ancient pilgrimage route known as the Camino de Santiago -- the Way of St. James. For centuries, pilgrims of all stripes have made this oftentimes challenging walk, which begins from various cities in Spain and even beyond. Each path, however, terminates in the far northwest of the country at the lovely city of Santiago de Compostela in the city's cathedral, wherein lies the remains of the holy Apostle James, son of Zebedee.

At countless points along the Camino, one feels compelled to stop and just take it all in. The meandering road weaves itself onward, knitting heaven and earth into a single, breathtaking vista. This beauty draws not only pilgrims seeking connection to the sacred, it draws people of little or no faith as well.

It was the latter group of pilgrims who captured my attention this time. We were a group of six: two priests and four men in their 20s who are discerning the holy priesthood. Because of this, we stood out more than average. At one point, we found ourselves chatting with a young woman from the Netherlands. When she asked the young men of our group what the motivation was for doing the Camino, one of them said with all the enthusiasm of faith-filled youth, "For the love of God!" Her response at first saddened me as she emphasized the negative: "I'm doing it for the love of hiking, not for the love of God."

And yet, she was there. She was on this sacred road, a road which itself would not even exist without faith in God. There are countless places to hike in the world, a great number of them even more exciting and beautiful. Yet, for reasons perhaps she herself could not explain, she was there on this very specific road, asking questions of others, questions of not just "Where?" but "Why?"

Human beings innately crave ceremony and liturgy. Even those professing little to no faith in the transcendent are perhaps confused to find themselves moved at seeing a lone casket carefully lowered into the ground under the somber notes of "Taps" ringing through the air. All instinctively stand in silence as a flag is ritually folded and carefully handed to a weeping widow.

Sports events are, too, riddled with ritual, and patrons would feel bereft without them. Every college football game seems scripted from the singing of the national anthem to the coin toss to the specific and varied tunes played by the band announcing first, second, third and fourth down.

Found within those well-worn secular rituals that surround everyday life, there is the longing to connect to something deep and inexplicable. It is a desire to be part of something greater than the self. That young Dutch woman was searching, even going over steep mountains through rain and blisters to find it. She reached out for connection.

The great writer Flannery O'Conner once called our beloved slice of the nation the "Christ-haunted" South. Even in our day, the sacred cannot be entirely flouted or forgotten. It lingers in stone churches and candlelit chapels, in persistent footsteps along ancient roads and even in hearts that deny they are searching.

The Camino de Santiago is more than a mere route on a map. It is a symbol of a deeper journey, one that each of us walks in our own way every day. Some may say they walk for the love of hiking. It may be that, in having chosen such a route, they have unwittingly answered a call older and deeper than words. A call which echoes quietly beneath the noise of modern life and under the soft crunch of fine granite below their feet. It is a call toward mystery, toward meaning. A call, even still, toward God.

Very Rev. Gregory B. Wilson is vicar general for the Roman Catholic Diocese of Charleston and rector of the Cathedral of St. John the Baptist. He was ordained to the priesthood in 2001.