Musings from a reconstructed liberal clergyperson of the United Methodist/United Church of Christ persuasion
Wednesday, July 22, 2015
When we moved to Nebraska a couple of years ago, some of my friends bemoaned that we were moving to such a conservative place. We started settling in right away and one of our first stops was at the local bank to set up our account. We were welcomed by a young Vietnamese lady and while my wife was doing business with a young Hispanic man, one of the bankers approached me and asked if he could help me. I told him I was waiting for my wife and he invited me to sit with him and visit. His name was Mohammed Kahlil and he told me he was a Kurd and had emigrated here when he was ten years old. He asked me what I did and I told him I was a retired clergyman. He looked puzzled and I explained that was kind of like a Christian Imam. He asked what I did now and when I said I was a storyteller, he asked me to tell him a story. I told him about the time when my Dad, who was in his nineties, gave up his gun. When I finished, Kahlil said, "I don't have a gun. My brothers all have guns, but I try to live my life according to Mohammed, Mahatma Ghandi, and Jesus." Conservative Nebraska? I thought I would like living here quite well.
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