wanna get away?

One day I had an early morning flight out of the regional airport in Lexington, Kentucky.  I arrived before sunrise, checked in, and then stood sleepy-eyed in the security line. Only one of the TSA checkpoints was open, so it took about 30 minutes to get through the long line.  Passengers kept looking at their tickets, then at their watches, then at the line… over and over again before breathing out long sighs of frustration that they might miss their flight.

 

Finally on the plane, I sat next to a guy who was about my age.  We did not talk for most of the flight.  But as we began our descent he looked over at me and asked, “What do you do in Lexington.”  I told him I was a seminary student at Asbury Seminary.

 

“Is that where you train to be a priest?” he wondered.

 

“Not really,” I told him, and then briefly explained that we were a Protestant seminary were I was preparing to be a Methodist minister, not a Catholic priest, but that in the end Catholics and Protestants were all Christians.

 

We went back to sitting in silence, and I started to flip through the Sky Mall catalogue, looking at all the clever – but ultimately useless – ways in which I could be separated from my money.  But soon my neighbor wanted to continue with some small talk, and so he stated, “This sure was an early flight this morning.  I hated getting up while it was still dark to be at the airport.”

 

“Yeah,” I half-heartedly responded, “and it didn’t help that we had to stand in that security line for so long.”

 

“I know!” he quickly shot back.  Suddenly very awake, he sat up in his chair and began to make his case:

 

“I mean, why do we all have to stand in that line?  Do you and I look like Muslims?  We know that all the terrorists are Muslims and Arabs, so why don’t they just pull them out, check them, and let the rest of us go about our business!”

 

I took a deep breath, and without looking up from my magazine I said, “Well, it is tricky.”

 

Without missing beat he asked the perfect next question:  “So at that seminary, do you study Islam and other religions, or just Christianity?”

 

“No, there are classes on Islam and what not, but I haven’t taken any of those.”

 

“Why not?

 

“Well, my father is a Muslim, so I figure I’ve got that one taken care of.”

 

I didn’t have to turn my head to see the blood run from his face and his jaw fall open.  He sat frozen in his seat for about ten seconds of stunned silence.  Then his voice made a squeaking sound like he was either starting puberty all over again, or else his lungs were reminding him to breath.

 

“Really?”  he squawked.  “Wha… whe… where is he from?” 

 

I could tell by the way he asked that he was hoping I would have a different answer than what I did.  Please let him be an American, I could sense him begging in his mind.

 

“Oh, he’s from Baghdad, Iraq,” I said while licking my finger, turning the page and not looking up.

 

That last statement shot down the conversation for a good minute.  Finally, in an attempt to pull his entire leg out of his mouth, he tried to back-peddle.

 

“You know, it is kinda sad when people say things about people that they have no idea about, I mean groups that… you know…uh…”

 

“Dude, it’s okay.  Don’t worry about it,” I said to try and help him out.  

He turned and stared out the window, and in another minute we were on the ground.  There was no good-by.  No wishes for a good trip.  I just grabbed my bag and headed off for my next flight, leaving my neighbor to wonder if he was sure about everything he had come to believe about Muslims and Arabs, and if they were all really terrorists who were out to get him.