Jamaican Jive Talkin'

Last Wednesday, after a long day at work with no lunch, I called my friend John and arranged to meet him for dinner. I knew I would be too tired to prepare anything nourishing when I got home, so we agreed to meet at a place we were curious to try. The Phoenician serves Mediterranean food, and our favorite place, The Grapeleaf, had suddenly closed recently.

The Phoenician is only a few blocks from my office, and it sits on a stretch of Broad Street so familiar to many American cities. A miles-long succession of blocks built in the post-WWII years, filled with automobile dealerships, fast food huts, non-descript agencies and bland storefronts. Harsh and ugly in the bright sunlight; gray and dreary in the rain. Nevertheless, the Phoenician has received favorable reviews, and I was hungry enough to "eat the ass-end out of a skunk" as my redneck friend Ronnie would say.

I parked behind the restaurant in a parking lot across the alley, and took up a position leaning against a half-wall where I could see the side lot and the back lot. I figured this would let me watch for John, whichever spot he chose to park. I was soon joined by a healthy-looking woman who ambled across the alley. In a mellifluous voice, she introduced herself, told me she had just arrived from Jamaica the previous day, and was in my city to do the Lord's work. She seemed filled with island good cheer and optimism. She then asked me if I went to church.

Me: I'm in a church at least six times each week.

Jamaican Pilgrim: Really? Is good. What church?

Me: I go to several.

Jamaican Pilgrim: What kind?

Me: Oh, Episcopal, Methodist, Presbyterian.

She then reminded me that she came here to do the Lord's work, and was about to share something important with me when a man came down the alley from a Chinese restaurant which sits beside the Phoenician. He held an eggroll wrapped in waxed-paper, which he offered to our Jamaican guest. Much like an old computer, she seemed to freeze. Her mouth slammed shut and her eyes glazed over, staring into some unknown place, perhaps her homeland. She appeared to be in a trance, remote and unreachable. Still, the man persisted to offer her the eggroll, which she did not acknowledge. Finally, bewildered and disgusted, the fellow returned to the back door of his restaurant.

Our island guest snapped out of her trance, and eagerly told me that the Lord had told her to come to this alley to find food, and that when she saw me she knew that the Lord had sent me to her. She explained that she could not take the eggroll, because she had asked him for help and the man had refused her, so when he approached her this time the Lord told her not to accept his help. But she could take money from me.

Me: That's a shame. I just saw the Lord send someone to you with food, and you refused it.

Jamaican Pilgrim: Oh, but I could not take it. I need food from the gas station on the corner, but I need money from you.

Me: No.

Jamaican Pilgrim: You won't give me money for food so I can eat?

Me: No. Good luck.

The Lord works in mysterious ways.