I stopped in a tiny little village, San Juan Ortega, getting closer to Burgos, Spain. There was only one Bar that served a few selections and no other shops, not even a pharmacy. I went into get some supper and was seated with a man from London. Our conversation became quite serious and interesting. He told me he was doing the Camino in three stages.

He asked about the second stage, beginning after Burgos called the Meseta, 200 miles of flat, dull territory. Most pilgrims dread it, even go so far as taking a bus to Leon or biking it after shipping their pack. I love walking the Meseta, which surprised him. He asked me what I did with all that dull time and few pilgrims. I told him I reflected and prayed.

He immediately said, “You must be a priest.” I said that I was and asked him why he thought I was a priest. He responded, “Because you mentioned that you pray.” From here on the conversation went from why he despised religion, which tried to control people, encouraged idol worship, resorted to superstitious thinking and was all about money.

I just listened and said I thought I knew where’d he was coming from and some of what he said resonated with me. “Aren’t you shocked or put off by my beliefs?” he asked. I told him absolutely not, that our conversation helped me to see another person’s point of view, with which I have many disagreements, but we are all good people, loved by God, whether you like it or not.

He asked me about my faith and what it gave me, since religion is largely for those with little education, easy to manipulate. I spoke about the many people I have encountered, rich and poor, and discovered that some of the most intelligent people I have encountered are those who suffered poverty and racism. He was clearly taken aback. I simply challenged his unfortunate stereotypes.

We talked for some time about his life, including a great marriage, 5 children and countless grandchildren. He turned 75 years old. I said his family was lucky to have him. As I got up, I went into my pocket and retrieved some money for both our meals. I wanted to treat.

With quite a stern sounding voice, he said, “No, take your money. I really want to pay for your meal. It would mean much to me.” I accepted , shook hands with Donald, and told him how much I loved our conversation. And that I would pray for him and his family. A huge smile filled his face.

Two pilgrims, sharing a meal, discussing faith and God and religion with all its pitfalls, on All Saints Day. Wonderful things happen at meals.