What kind of Christian?

The man on the train
As our train ambled through the outskirts of London, I thought I would kill some time by quizzing my children on a few items I’d tried to instill in their brains as a little bonus above and beyond their school curricula. I elicited only mild groans and chuckles when I asked, “How did the Gettysburg address begin?” and “Who constituted the Second Triumvirate?” and “Can you count to ten in Spanish?” But when I asked, “Can you name the books of the Bible?” a train rider across the aisle turned, and his eyes flew wide open. He watched expectantly as my son began, “Genesis, Exodus . . .” and when there was an extended hesitation just before “1 Chronicles,” the man interrupted the recitation (to my children’s relief) in a charming cockney accent.

I had noticed this man before; he seemed to want to chat, but I had averted my gaze, not eager to meet anybody on the last day of family vacation. I was soon to find out that his name was Caleb Jones and that he was a Gypsy.

 

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