22

They stand, uncomfortable. The table is overflowing, as usual, with papers and the detritus of breakfast (it is approximately 10.35 a.m.). You move back to clear two chairs for them, which they deign, doubtfully, to occupy.

Now that you have them here you wonder what to do with them. The girl is young and pretty, but (let’s face it) a Christian, and probably connected with the boy. He looks (at least on superficial indications) to be quite probably a dork.

“So what did you want to tell me about?” you ask, returning them the initiative.

“Oh, well, we’re here to talk to you about the Lord Jesus and …”

“Yes, I kind of gathered that. But who are you? Why are you here, now, talking to me?”

“Well, our church sends out volunteers to witness in this area …”

“You’re Jehovah’s Witnesses, are you?”

“No, we’re not.” He sounds quite indignant. “We’re from the Christian Fellowship, just over the hill from here.”

“What about you?” you ask, turning to the girl. “What are you here for?”

Your tone of aggression obviously perturbs her. She was coasting along quite nicely, thank you, on the wings of her companion’s eloquence, but is now forced rudely back into the conversation. How much more comfortable to be a critic of others’ efforts!

“I’m … like him.”

“What’s your name?”

“Judy.”

Blondie reasserts control. “I’m Philip.” Putting out a brawny hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

You shake the hand: “Bruno, Giordano Bruno. You can call me Jordan, though, for short. You know, like the river.”

“Jordan?”

“Precisely.”

“Nice to meet you, Jordan.”

“Well, now, Judy and Philip, so you’re going to tell me about the wonders of your faith, are you? Convince me to accept the Lord Jesus Christ into my life as my personal saviour?”

“Look, would you rather we left? I mean …”