Tonight, I went down to eat some pizza at Tarek’s. It had been over a week since I’d been there, and he wanted to know where I had been. I had a horrible headache this evening, so when he asked me how I was doing, I told him the truth. “Even better!” He said as he was throwing the pizza dough up in the air. I was confused, “Why is having a headache better?” He tried hiding the smirk on his face, “Because after a week of vacation, you deserve a headache for not working!”

I ordered my usual sausage pizza, and tried reaching as far back into the fridge as I could, hoping for a cold Coke. Outside, there were some wobbly tables set up, and I sat there waiting for my pizza and for Jen to show up. Tarek followed me out for a smoke break and to ask how my trip in Bari went. Customers flowed in and out, which kept him running back and forth from our table to the pizzeria. His wife, Noha, came with the family in tow, and I had the opportunity to meet Adam, their newest as of two months ago. We chatted a bit and then Tarek brought out some espresso, symbolizing the end of the meal. He makes no hesitation to tell the other customers, when they ask for coffee too, that he only makes coffee for his friends.

As we finished up the coffee, he remembered a story from this week that he wanted to share. He couldn’t remember exactly how I came into the story, but a customer stopped by who Tarek identified as “a communist” and somehow he asked the communist if he knew who I was. The commie shook his head, “Nah, I don’t know who Josh is.” Tarek started to tell him about me, “Oh, well Josh is an American priest here in town that I’m friends with and who comes by to eat my pizza all the time. Every Sunday, Josh comes by and picks up the bread that I make for them to use for their Mass.” Tarek said that the commie stopped him in the middle of his story, “Wait a minute, you’re telling me that you, a Lebanese Muslim, makes bread for the Mass for an American Priest!?” Tarek smiled real big, and said, “Yea, why wouldn’t I? Josh is a friend of mine.” The commie shook his head again in disbelief, “Lebanon and America aren’t supposed to get along. Muslims and Christians aren’t supposed to get along. If a journalist got ahold of this story, it would be all over the news!” Tarek smiled again, “Yea, well I don’t think of it as some sort of publicity effort. We’re friends, and that’s what friends do.” Tarek closed his eyes, imitating the response of the commie, and made an Italian gesture with his hand, quoting him, “E’ veramente bellissimo!”

Now, I’m not really a priest and what we do on Sunday’s isn’t really a Mass. But Tarek’s lived in Italy now for over a decade, and for Italians it’s very hard to think about Protestants without framing them up into Catholic categories. At the table though, I didn’t feel the need to correct his misdescription of what I’m doing in Italy because despite his using the right kinds of categories to describe me, Tarek was able to get one thing completely accurate, and that one thing carries the Gospel in with it–that one thing is our friendship. I like how the beauty of such a friendship can give a commie hope in this mixed up world and have the kingdom break through their preconceived notions of how followers of Jesus are supposed to react to the marginalized. E’ veramente bellissimo!