There is a certain give-and-take of being on pilgrimage. As a traveler, you are constantly dependent on hospitality of others. Travelers on the Camino de Santiago, a pilgrimage route through northern Spain, spend their nights in “albergues,” kind of like a large hostel or dormitory for travelers. The albergues are legendary for their spartan manners. They’re noisy and quality of food is far below gourmet standard.
Though they’re not four-star accommodations, they’re just enough to get something to eat, and a night’s rest, yet keep you motivated to leave the next morning and move on to the next village. Without that humble hospitality the pilgrims would have to make and break camp every day, greatly slowing their progress.
But there is also the importance of hospitality that one traveler shows to a fellow traveler. Whether it’s simple companionship and conversation to break up the monotony of the walk, tasks that they can divide and conquer, or sharing the last bit of water or food trusting that a fountain or café is not too far off to resupply.
The ancient practice of pilgrimage is an experience saturated with hospitality. We are used to the idea of showing hospitality from our surplus. Pre-Covid we enjoyed having groups over and putting out a fine spread of food and drink, enough to share and send a go-box home. But our call as Christians also tells us of the importance of showing hospitality from a place of vulnerability.
I remember that on the many runs I made east and west on I-64 going back and forth from home in Kansas and college in Kentucky, there was a section of the Interstate with small signs that warned: “Prison Area. Do Not Pick Up Hitchhikers.” College classmates would stop along the road there just to take a snapshot of themselves standing next to the sign with their thumbs out. You can never be too careful when traveling because danger is always around.
But, in the story of the Good Samaritan, found in Luke 10, that is exactly what the Samaritan man dared to do — a traveler himself, the Samaritan rendered aid to a fellow traveler knowing that bandits were in the area, possibly lying in wait to attack him too. Though vulnerable, the Samaritan persisted in showing mercy, compassion, hospitality, love.
You may not feel like you have much to offer, but fellow travelers often don’t need much. A hand, an encouraging word, someone patient enough to slow the pace and walk alongside. How can you steer your week toward extending hospitality to a fellow peripatetic?
Rev. Dr. David Chisham
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