“All I can remember is Sunshine”

Recently, I was sitting in a coffee shop. Aside from the fact that I was out of town, it was a morning much like any other morning. I sipped on my coffee, I wrote in my journal. A smile lingered on my face after a friendly barista named Ken told me I “radiate sunshine”.

It was early, and the coffee shop was mostly empty. Across from me were two gentlemen, each sitting at an adjacent table. They spoke loudly; it was difficult not to overhear their conversation. In the first minute or so, I got the gist:

The two were friends, or at least co-regulars. They spoke with candid familiarity. One man was a Christian pastor. The other man was a Hindu Buddhist. And they were debating righteousness.

I admit: I eavesdropped. In my defense, the two were making no attempt to keep their conversation private. The coffee shop was just public and quiet enough that their dialogue became the obvious focus.

Eventually, I realized that my attempts to journal would be in vain. There was no way I could focus on my writing when this genuinely enlightening conversation was happening. And so I did what any delightfully curious (and maybe slightly shameless) person would do — I approached them. It went a little something like this:

“Excuse me! I’m so sorry to interrupt you, but I have a request. I couldn’t help but to overhear your conversation — and I admit, I’m intrigued. Do you mind if I continue to eavesdrop?”

Much to my delight, both men gestured warmly to chairs at their tables, encouraging me to pull up a seat. They introduced themselves. (For their privacy, I’ll refer to them as Jack, the pastor, and Bob, the Buddhist.) They asked me my name and religious affiliation. And before I knew it, I was part of this strange little intellectual circle.

It sounds like the start of a joke, I know. A Christian Pastor, Hindu Buddhist, and a Pagan Queer walk into a coffee shop. But I swear to you, this was an actual event that took place.

Our conversation spanned righteousness, morality, and accountability. We discussed the role of forgiveness and sin in our lives. There were some areas in which we aligned, and many areas in which we diverged. Our debates were respectful, but pointed. In one particular part of the conversation, Jack put his hand to his chest earnestly.

“I have sinned,” he confessed. “I’ve sinned more than the two of you combined.”

Bob and I looked at each other, each wearing the same expression: oh, is this a competition now?

“I’m not sure about that,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “You see, I’m queer, and according to that book of yours,” I pointed to the Bible on his table, “every moment of my existence has been a sin.”

Bob laughed. Jack looked a bit flummoxed.

“I, too, have lived in sin,” he emphasized. “I’ve spent weeks of my life in jail.”

Bob laughed harder. “I’m pretty sure those are different things, Jack.”

I laughed, too. Despite the fact that we were debating something quite serious, it all felt very silly. After all, how often do we get to play out the setup of a classic joke? To stumble into the scene of a 90s sitcom?

When we parted an hour and a half later, we did so on good terms. I thanked them for humoring my curiosity. They thanked me for brightening their morning.

On my way out, I went to the barista to grab a coffee to go.

“I’m so sorry,” Ken said, “I’ve forgotten your name. All I can remember is Sunshine.”

I smiled. “That’s even better.”