Unsettling Day

I woke up this morning to the news of the attacks on the Sri Lankan cricket team in Lahore, Pakistan. Even though the casualty count is much lower, I think this attack is even worse than the one in Mumbai. To attack a sports club is like attacking a concert or an art show. Attacking the things that unite us in order to divide us is the worst kind of terrorist action. There are already calls to put an end to international cricket in Pakistan because it is just too dangerous. It's hard to draw an exact parallel, but it would be similar to telling Arkansans that there will be no more Razorback games because other schools won't send in their teams because of safety concerns.

Then I went into town to drop off Skip's dry cleaning. Sarah (our dry cleaner) and I have a system. I drop off on my way to run errands and then pick up last week's shirts on my way home. So after the drop off, I headed to the Kitchen and Pantry, a cozy little coffee shop/bistro to work on my sermon for this Sunday at our church (I'm filling in) and have a latte. I find I do better with the writing away from the house. Too easy to get distracted with laundry, dishes, etc. And then if I get stuck, it's easy to convince myself that a little television will clear my head. Yeah, right.

So I've got my latte and I've settled in to work on my sermon on discipleship. This week's lesson is that turning point in Mark where Jesus talks about taking up your cross and losing yourself. As I'm trying to communicate what I think this means, I hear someone talking and finally realize the person is talking to me. I'm sitting right near the condiment area, and I look up to find a skinny man with really bad teeth and a strong accent holding a fistful of ketchup and mayo packets saying, "Why did you come to London?" Just a quick look at his eyes and his manner tells me he is either mentally ill or high. So I say, "Excuse me?" And he asks, "Where are you from?" I tell him I'm from the States. He says that hunger has come to London and then he asks, "What has brought you to London?" I tell him it was my husband's job. He says again, "Hunger has come to London," and he asks if I am ever hungry and I have to admit that, no, I have never gone hungry. At this point, I'm starting to get a little nervous. I'm looking around the little bistro and seeing that I am in a room full of women. Not one big burly guy to be found. I figure this whole conversation will end in a request for money and I'm already thinking about what I have cash-wise, glad to remember that I have a 2 pound piece in a pocket and won't have to search around in my purse. As I am about to go for the coin, he starts becoming angrier and obscene. Not knowing what else to do (and a little irked, after all, I am about to give this scary guy some money and now he's turning nasty) I just say, "I'm sorry, but I really have to get back to what I'm working on," and turn back to my sermon. You know, the part where I talk about how following Jesus is often about doing things that make us uncomfortable.

When I look back up he's gone. Leaving me with the question--where is the line between being uncomfortable and actually being in danger? Which, I hate to admit, is a more pressing question for women than it is for men. I thought about trying to address the question in my sermon, but decided that was too much for a substitute preacher to try to address in one Sunday. So I left feeling creeped out and wimpy all at the same time.