I have neither silver nor gold, but what I have I give you.

Peter's boldness has always brought a smile to my face. It is easy to imagine the scene: two friends, motivated by the treasure of witnessing the Resurrection of Jesus, but without a penny. I imagine Peter, almost an old man but with the freshness of a young man in love, telling the lame man to get up, doubting himself, but remembering what the Master said to him when he doubted while walking on the water: «How little faith you have, why did you doubt?.

So, without giving the matter too much thought, he takes the plunge. He knows that it is not in his power for the lame man to get up; he does not want to be the protagonist of anything. Jesus has changed his heart. That is why his almsgiving is not for his own vainglory, but for the glory of God: not in the name of Peter, son of Jonas, but in the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth.

But Luke does not give us the name of the lame man.

On the same day of this Gospel I met a poor man at the door of the ecumenical temple in the south of my island. He was coming from a day at the beach with a friend who had arrived from York those days. I escaped to Mass with my hat of a classic brand of Canarian rum. A summer sun was shining through the large window of the place. I was moved by the ambience: the orange light of the sunset, the variety of

The asthmatic priest who lovingly celebrated the liturgy in several languages, like Leo XIV a few days ago at St. Peter's, and the tourists who left the beach to receive the Lord.

When I entered, I had not yet read the Gospel of the day.

After Mass I went to the side exit of the church. I was surprised that it was closed. I was going to jump over the wall so as not to change my plans (it was not a serious infraction). However, I decided to turn around, skirted the small square of the church and went out the same way I had come in. Citizenship Education was of some use to me.

There was still that man, the poor man I had glanced at out of the corner of my eye when I came in. He looked at me with shining eyes and exclaimed in a hoarse voice:

-Beautiful hat, my friend!

He thought I was English. I was expecting something along the lines of: Can I have something to eat? A phrase to which, unfortunately, we are all too accustomed.

But he didn't ask me for anything. From the ground, he looked at me like a friend you haven't seen for years.

At that moment I stopped dead in my tracks. I looked at him from above. He was only smiling. I took off my hat, in a gesture that seemed like a greeting worthy of Castilian knights, the kind that Cervantes knew how to represent so well.

-What is your name? I asked somewhat absent-mindedly.

-You're Spanish! Those hats are very guiris, my friend. I'm Marco, and you?

-Chema, how do you do," I said as I bent down, got to his level and held out my hand. I could see in his gray eyes the absence of shared glances.

In the squeeze I noticed that her hands were black and her nails were long, like those of a model, although natural. I neither felt disgusted nor pretended to put on a good face. I moved a little closer to him. His beard and his smell of liquor reminded me of Captain Haddock.

-Do you like this hat? -I asked.

-Not bad. I used to wear a similar one when I was young. Now I'm just a gimp without a hat.

I remained silent, pensive. I remembered the Gospel and my hair stood on end. Marco, who had his left leg stretched out, was also lame. I felt great respect for him, who was still smiling.

-Well, it's yours," I said as I held the hat out to him. He just looked at me, deep inside me.

-Try it on," I insisted, holding it to his sweaty forehead.

He, docile, let himself be loved. He let himself put on someone else's hat, like the one he had when he was young. Of course, it looked much better on him than it did on me, and he put it on with the class and naturalness of someone who has done it before.

That day Marco did not lose his limp; he only gained a little shade on his tanned face.

Some may think that the hat was my handout. No. Marco gave me the scarcest treasure of our time: an unbending gaze.

I arrived serious, focused on myself, but I left happy, with my heart enlarged.

Lucas does not give us the name of the lame man. I can see why.