It’s hard to believe that it was just a month ago that Pastor Leah Quarles and I began our journey to walk a portion of the Camino de Santiago, in Spain. We will be sharing about this pilgrimage on Sunday, August 18, at 9am, between our two Sunday morning services. Leah has already had a chance to write a bit about her experiences a couple of weeks ago. As I reflect back on the trip, there are a few encounters that gave me greater pause to reflect than others.
On the morning of the first day of walking, Leah and I were supposed to meet up with the other 14 of our group and have breakfast with them. But when we got to the breakfast room in our hotel, there were no seats available with our group. Fortunately, an elderly German couple waved us over to sit with them, at the last two seats available in the place. Their names were Petra and Dieter. They told us that they were both 80 years old and that they walk a portion of the Camino every year. They were sweet and welcoming. They asked us about our lives and what we did for a living. They were happy to say that they have a son who lived in the US for a while, and that they had visited the US many times. They spoke wonderful English, which made up for my halting German. The entire encounter was one of hospitality and genuine sharing.
Not all encounters were of this nature along the Camino, though most were.
At one point, on the fifth day of walking, I found myself alone for a stretch. Along the way, I passed some people and some people passed me, and at most of these passings one would say, “Buen camino!” [A good way!] At one of these moments, a man in his 60s was passing me, and after the usual exchange of greetings, I asked him, “Habla Espanol?” He said, “No, I speak English.” From the accent I assumed he was from the UK, and so I asked him, “Are you British?” He said, “No, I am Welsh; though, I have lived in Hong Kong for over 20 years. Where are you from?” I told him, “I’m American, and I live in Arizona. I have some ancestors who are Welsh, though most are English.” He then replied, “You do know that the Welsh and English are not the same?” “Yes, I do.” Then he asserted, “No, I doubt you do know.” Puzzled by this, I became to explain that, yes, I do know that the United Kingdom is made up of four separate parts. But he interrupted me and said, “I’m really sure that you don’t know the difference.” Then to show that I did know, I quickly reviewed the history of the United Kingdom beginning with the invasion of Celtic Britain by Caesar Augustus in 54 BC, through the invasion of the Roman Britain by the Anglo-Saxons around 400 AD, then the Viking and Norman invasions, and how all this affected the Celtic peoples of Cornwall, Wales, Ireland, and Scotland.
After this, he admitted, “Well, it’s clear that you know something. I am surprised that someone from Arizona would know anything about history, especially with regard to Europe.
Ouch. Did he just say that? I didn’t take the bait.
He then asked, “What do you do for a living that you know so much?”
“Well, I was a teacher…”
“That explains it then.” As if there were no possible reason someone from Arizona (read: America) would know anything about European history.
Right about then I came upon a couple of my travel companions who had stopped for a brief respite. I said, “Well, here are some of my friends. I wish you a good camino!” And we parted.
Even though I never saw this man again along the way, I kept thinking about him, and how his bias showed through in such a way that he couldn’t see me in any other way than what he had preconceived. Yes, I was mildly offended, and I had to laugh it off.
What I was reminded of ultimately, though, is that we all are revealing our biases and assumptions in what we say. When we meet people, we too quickly jump to conclusions about who they are, what they believe, and what they represent.
This brief encounter on the camino became for me a cautionary tale. We know the old adage, “Do not judge a book by its cover.” This is true for us who seek to represent Christ-like love and acceptance in the world. I am reminded by this to assume the best of each person, to say, as what those folks in the Gospel of John who say to Philip, “Sir, we would see Jesus.”
I now wish I could have walked further with this stranger on the camino, that as we both walked this pilgrim way, we could have discovered Christ in each other. The beauty of Christian community is that we have ongoing relationships with one another that, God willing, over time, we come to see Christ more and more dwelling in each other.
As a closing note, later that evening, I discovered that Petra and Dieter, whom we had met on the first day, were staying at our same hotel. It was like meeting old friends, and my heart was glad. A little bit of hospitality goes a long way…along the way.
