The Preacher - Part 1

(This is a work of Fiction interspersed with doses of reality)
One Saturday afternoon, I was enjoying a steaming cup of coffee in a cafe in Oxford Street, watching the world swirl all around me. Although the cafe is buzzing with chatty shoppers alongside strains of jazz and blues music in the background, the real action lies outside where thousands of people from all walks of life race to and fro, making the most of their weekends. It was a particularly sunny day and the sunlight streaming through the windows brightened the dull woodwork and sober colours inside the cafe.

Looking around me I noticed on my right were a pair of young lovers holding hands, looking misty eyed at one another and laughing to softly, ahead of me sat a small group of elderly ladies who were clearly enjoying their day out and playing crossword games. There were other tables occupied by people either on their own or with others. I also noticed a middle-aged man with his hair tied in a ponytail wearing a long raincoat, a baseball cap and a pair of gloves sitting by the window in the far corner looking out into the street.

As I was preparing to leave in stormed a rather large heavyset man wearing a noticeably shiny Crucifix around his neck stormed in clutching a shoulder bag. He looked around and began distributing leaflets all around the cafe. He began talking to some of the people asking if they had heard of Jesus and if they knew that the only way to Heaven was through Christ alone. There was a woman wearing a headscarf and I noticed her discomfort when he went up to her and began raising his voice proclaiming the sole validity of his religious beliefs as opposed to any other.

His words were to me anyway, nothing new. I have patiently listened to passionate discourses about religious and/or spiritual beliefs from various people over the years and each one of them has displayed the same enthusiasm and firmness of belief in theirs being the only way to God or salvation. I have learnt to take it in my stride of course after all; don’t we all have the right to choose what is the most appropriate path for ourselves?

Back to the cafe and the murmur had died down by now. The preacher had moved from the Muslim lady to others and seemed to be encouraged by the quietened response he received. He now had an audience. While I need not repeat his words dear reader, it will suffice to say that his preaching was perceived more as a disturbance and the staff at the cafe were exchanging nervous looks at one another. I suspect they must have been trained for this sort of occurrence and a member of staff would call local security sooner or later.

The preacher turned his attentions to the man in the trench coat in the far corner and approached him asking him if he believed in God and more importantly believed in Christ as the only way to salvation. The pony-tailed man did not respond or look at the preacher, he kept his head down, drinking his coffee quietly. The preacher seemed to get somewhat agitated and raised his voice throwing a few pamphlets down at the table calling him a sinner and that his redemption lay in repentance. Suddenly the pony-tailed man raised his head and looked directly at the preacher. I was not close enough to understand what transpired between them but the preacher abruptly stopped and stood frozen for a moment. He then turned and moved rapidly towards the exit. He appeared to be in the greatest of hurry to leave the cafe and knocked an empty chair down in the process.

Everyone looked at the pony-tailed man who I suspect may have been of mixed caucasian and middle-eastern descent. He was of medium height and had a trimly cut beard. He looked around and our eyes met for a lingering moment. He then stood up and walked towards the exit. After he left, the murmuring around the cafe returned to normal, this time with relief in the air.