Dinner at the Pastor's House

I wasn't sure what to expect, but I wasn't nervous either. The pastor, K, seemed like such a warm, genuine person. His smile alone had put me at ease when we met. He's a wiry, fit man who must be in his late 50's, according to his life story, but who looks ten years younger. He has great posture and preaches with passionate energy.

Ken and I arrived at his little bungalow at the appointed time of 7 o'clock. We were welcomed in by K's wife, L. We passed them our host/hostess gifts. They offered us a seat and a glass of guava nectar.

We learned that K was born on the tiny island of Mauritius, off the east coast of Madagascar, which is off the east coast of Africa, south of the equator. His mother was French and a non-practicing Jew; his father was a non-practicing Muslim. Initially K's dream was to become a fine artist. He stopped and gestured around the living room - all the oil paintings on the walls were his creations. Beautiful! The man has skill! He moved to France to go to art school, and was introduced to Jesus there.

Considering my own newbie status to the Christian faith, I always feel more comfortable in the presence of converts. Technically (according to Jewish law), K was also born a Jew. It's like, we're practically related! OK, well, maybe not. But it does make a big difference to me that he's coming from that perspective. I know that he can speak to my experience as a kindred spirit.

L was very much a traditional hostess, although neither of them were at all stuffy or formal. We were offered starter snacks on a table with a white doily on it, and after some introductory conversation we were asked to be seated at the dining room table. L served us Mauritian chicken curry stew from a tajine.

(This isn't my photo - I swiped it to illustrate what a tajine is.)



I had been a little worried about the curry, as K had been building it up quite a bit since he invited us for dinner, but it wasn't insanely spicy. Just hot enough to be delicious.

The conversation turned to matters of faith. K inquired after my own story, and then Ken's. He and L asked us quite a lot of clarifying questions to figure out where we were coming from. At one point L got up from the table and returned with a bible, to look up a quote that K had referenced. At that point I had one of those weird splits where the critical part of my brain backed right off from the rest of me.

"Woah!" it said. She just brought a bible to the dinner table!"

"Yep," I said to it. "We're at the pastor's house, remember? This type of thing is to be expected."

"But... it's so WEIRD!" said my critical brain. "I was willing to play along for the sake of good curry and pleasant conversation, but do you really expect me to take this seriously? Isn't it a little much?"

"Get used to it," I said. "You and I both know that I need this faith to get me through the rest of my life without falling back into depression. We've tried everything else. Unless you want to start taking medications, this is it. Take it seriously."

"grumph" said my critical brain, and shut up.

(I maintained enough self-control not to use my out loud voice for this exchange.)

I left with a stack of books on loan from K, some old questions answered, and some new ones already forming.

This past Sunday, the other pastor, B, was back from holiday. His wife, M, made some comments to the effect that she would like to get to know us better, so there may be another pastor's house dinner in our future. I'll keep you posted.