Sometimes banter slides unintentionally into a conversation where, unexpectedly, heart begins to speak to heart.
I went into one of my coffee places today and said to the two staff, "So where are the happy people today?"
Without a half second pause my bantering partner said, "Aw ye just missed them! Ye'll have to put up wi' us miserable b*ggers!!"
"How did Christmas and New Year Go?" I asked.
And her voice wobbled.
She spent the holidays in bed, then a few days in hospital.
"I've had my bloods taken, and I've a scan next week."
And so friendly banter becomes a bridge from one heart to another.
As a regular we've gotten used to each other's sense of humour. Now all that laughter and joking and kidding each other on, changes into something altogether more meaningful; the encounter of one soul seeking comfort and companionship in a lonely place, with another soul who has his own fears and needs.
There are few more testing moments of faith and love and hope, than in those conversations when we are invited to listen, to walk beside, to be a friend. Banter is a prelude to that moment of trust when heart speaks to heart.
In a few quiet sentences we talk about next week's scan, and afterwards, and when I'm in next week, and the one after. We may talk again. We may not. Whether or not, the promise of my prayers and the sharing of her story now mean we are more than sounding boards for each others banter. Her story and how it unfolds has become important to me, because she has told it, and I have heard it. How that story turns out now matters, because such a conversation becomes a covenant of care, and underlying the words the unspoken acknowledgement that something precious has been handed over.
Pastoral theology and a life of pastoral ministry never fully prepare you for such astonishing trust and courage.
Comments