Angel’s knife was heavy in my hand. My own knife, in its accustomed place in my pack, was much lighter — a scant few ounces. When I selected a knife to bring with me for my pilgrimage, its weight had been my major concern.
Angel apparently had no such concerns. His knife was large, heavy and lethal looking. I had chosen a knife that would cut bread and butter. His knife was an instrument designed for the more fundamental tasks of living — cutting wood for fires and throats for protection. I looked at Angel again. Despite my poor grasp of his Spanish, it was clear that he wanted me to take his knife. He was offering it to me as a gift. I wondered why he would do such a thing.
The first time I had met him was a few days earlier. On a rainy day I had stopped for lunch, huddled under the scant protection of a few bushes. Angel and his friend joined me in my leaky shelter to eat their own food. I was eating Pim’s Chocolate Cookies — raspberry, my favorite flavor. To my mind, their meal appeared frugal by comparison — simple bread and cheese and not much of either. I offered them some of my Pim’s, which they quickly and gratefully accepted.
We met again last night at the Refugio at San Juan de Ortega. This is a very old and famous Refugio where there is no charge to stay or to eat the provided dinner. There is a Little Old Lady who looks after the place and only seven pilgrims showed up when the (corresponding) Little Old Man served up Garlic Soup with Dissolved Bread for dinner. We all ate in a very large dining room — eating our soup in well-worn enamel mugs and warmed by a smoky wood fire. I felt strangely refreshed and restored after the meal, more so than a simple mug of soup could explain. There was great conversation after our simple dinner. Angel’s friend told the enthralled group the remarkable story of my giving them the Pim’s cookies. Apparently he thought that a gift such as that from a total stranger was a big deal. I sat with a pilgrim from San Paulo in Brazil, who helped me understand much of the lively Spanish conversation.
Today I met with Angel again. I had left the Refugio early but he, the faster walker, soon caught up with me. He told me he was from Barcelona and he was walking the Camino in stages. He planned to finish this year in Burgos where he was meeting a friend tomorrow. When we stopped for lunch and took photos, his camera battery died and I promised to email my photo to him. As we were about to part, he offered me his knife.
It seemed too much when he thrust it into my hand. Why such an elaborate gift for a few cookies and the promise of an emailed photo? And it was heavy — far too heavy. I had spent a lot of time planning in meticulous detail every item and ounce that was in my pack. I was not about to add such a heavy weight to it now. Besides, I already had a knife that was good enough for my own needs.
I told him no, I did not want the knife. I tried to thank him for the offered gift and to say that I was very touched by his gesture, but that I already had a perfectly adequate knife of my own. It took me a considerable amount of time and strained my limited Spanish well beyond its abilities before he finally conceded to my wishes.
With a final farewell, we parted. With his quicker stride — despite his heavier knife — he was quickly gone into the distance toward Burgos and the end of his pilgrimage for this year.
As I slowly walked onward, I reflected on my actions. Had I done the right thing? What were the customs in this foreign land for gift exchanges between strangers? Did he feel obligated to offer me a gift in return for my Pim’s cookies? Had I misunderstood his intentions? Was he actually trying to exchange his knife for my knife? Had I insulted him by not accepting the exchange of gifts? Why had I refused his gift? Because it was too heavy to carry?
It dawned on me that I had done the wrong thing. That a clenched fist cannot receive. I had closed my mind — and my pack — to the possibility of accepting his gift. My clenched fist had knocked aside his proffered knife. This was not the right way for a pilgrim on the way to the Cathedral at Santiago to behave. We walk The Way in order to become better people. The way to become a better person is to follow the old injunction to “love one another.” I am not quite sure how the word “love” applies in this particular context. But I am sure that, at a minimum, it means to treat each other with respect and dignity. It seemed clear to me now that, by rejecting his offer, I had treated a fellow pilgrim with neither. All because his knife was too heavy to carry.
I could have given him my knife in exchange, an exchange of his burden for my burden, my sins for his sins. But my mind had been closed to the idea because I was already comfortable with the weight on my own soul and my own pack. I had managed to lighten my own load but saw no need to help another pilgrim lighten his. His burden was no concern of mine. My concern was only to keep my own soul light.
Charity is not the actual giving of the gift. It is the motivation that leads us to want to give the gift in the first place. A wealthy man who gives money to a good cause may do so only to look good to his community and to reap the tax benefits. This is not true charity. The true manifestation of charity is to do something for another person because you want to help them, without expectation of anything in return. To give so that the other may be helped because they are a fellow human and, as such, intrinsically entitled to our help.
Perhaps it is this impulse to help others, this foundation of charity, that is the real meaning of “love” in the admonishment to “love one another.” We are called on to help each other, to do good for each other, to lighten each other’s load, share each other’s burdens, and even partake in each other’s joy and sorrow, in order to express this love for one another.
I remember how strangely refreshed I had felt by the charitable bowl of soup at the Refugio. The gift brings more to the recipient when it is given in a pure spirit of charity. The nourishment I received was more than the total caloric value of the soup. The motivation of the giver imparts a spiritual nutrition to the gift. Consuming the meal in the old, pilgrim-worn, used enamel mug further embellished the value of the gift. The mug that innumerable pilgrims had used to eat Garlic Soup with Dissolved Bread added magical flavor to the gift that no ordinary condiments could provide.
Perhaps Angel’s knife also contained some kind of magic. A family heirloom passed down from father to son over generations of time, containing the experiences and wisdom of many long gone, to add further value to a gift offered with pure altruism. At least as big a deal as some Pim’s Cookies!
As I walked on towards Burgos, I felt that my own knife — nestled deep in my pack — had suddenly grown very heavy.
John Barrett is a retired trauma surgeon and Oak Park resident who recently walked the Camino de Santiago, aka “The Way,” in Spain.