Kansas City. Missouri.

The beat up Chrysler pulled in. 

Are you TY IN? The bulky old man peeked out form the car window. 

I shrugged. I can be. 

His name is Mark and he is from Texas and now lives in Wichita — chatty, a little too friendly for a short cab ride, but not the uncomfortable amount. Not until he told me he is divorced and lives alone in an RV going from town to town visiting old friends. 

I steered the conversation to barbecue. I’ve tried Kansas City Joe, Arther Bryant is where I’m going, Chet told me to try Q39 but a local told me one shouldn’t need a reservation just to get some some ribs. 

Then I’m off to the airport. I told him. 

Mark pulled in the restaurant, not to the front but to the parking lot. “I’ve got an idea. I’ll wait here so you don’t miss your flight.’ He said “ The airport is where I’m going anyway. And I’m very hungry”

Great, I said. Quickly ran through all the scenarios of how this could go badly. my phone was about to die but what do I care if a strange old man wants to join me for some brisket? Chances are I’ll never see this guy again in my life. 

Well, let me get my bag out of the trunk I said, at least the camera footage would be safe if he decided to take the tripod. 

We ordered, and I invited him to sit with me. Here we were in the middle of the empty restaurant made of torn brick wall, sticky floor reflecting muddy tungsten light and waiters laughing from the counter behind. 

It suddenly dawned on me it’s not everyday I’m sitting down with a retired Navy at a barbecue restaurant in downtown Kansas City eating burnt ends for breakfast at ten o’ clock on a Wednesday morning talking about how little it costs to own a plantation house down in the south. 

“Now I just travel and visit friends” he said, “I was a chaplain in the Navy for 30 years, so I’ve met a lot of people all over the world.”

A what?

A chaplain. 

Like a paster?

Yes. 

We got back to the car, and now I became the chatty one who couldn’t stop asking questions. 

What kind of Hymns do you sing during worship? How big was the service? Were there a lot of Christians in the Navy?

I told him I’m a Christian and about our fellowship in Manhattan, but only to get him to talk more about his life being a Navy Chaplain. 

He talked about worship on the sea. And how he does the communion every week, “The Lord’s supper” he calls it. “The way I figure” he said “doing the Lord’s supper every Sunday is not only for ourselves, but also to witness to those around us.” 

He said once he he held a service on a Japanese Tank  landing carrier on the pacific (he added that they’re the first Americans to step foot on the ship since WWIi) and three Japanese sailors were saved. 

“They came to me after the service and asked what I was doing…so I gave them the gospel and prayed with them. Spiritually."

He said not every ship has a chaplain onboard so as soon as he put on that church pin over the the American flag on his uniform, young sailors would approach him either for personal counseling or to get him to lead a bible study. 

Once he held a worship service in the middle of the Red Sea. 

And he had to get used to leading worship inside a submarine. 

“Down in the water you can’t see anything…it’s all radar, ” he said “so I gave a message on faith. Things you can’t see. “

"Was it ever difficult?" I asked. As we were nearing the terminal. 

"Sure. Most of the time I’m the only chaplain on the carrier, even though I have other duties, I do feel alone at times. But I try to snap out of it. We do this thing call deck plating, where I go around and talk to people about God and hand out bibles. Reach out. That’s what Jesus would have done."

"And it’s important to know that there are christians all around us."

He pulled in at the terminal. I forced him to take a selfie with me. 

“It’s really great to meet you brother, God bless you. 

You too Mark. God bless you. 

I’ll see you later..” He said. Went back into his car. 

I smiled. knowing that’s highly unlikely. 

“We’re both going to the same place.” He added. 

“That’s right” I said. “We are.”

I stood outside the terminal. watched his beat up Chrysler disappeared in the heavy fog. The city under the hill had melted into a thin sheet of gray. 

But one day a new city shall rise. Holy and glorious. 

I started humming when the saints go marching in as I went through airport security. 

The new city, I tried imagine more seriously, lashing out the details with my eyes close — the sidewalk, the windows, the living creatures and the angles flying, and of course, the saints. 

I thought about my grandma and her many sufferings while she was on this earth. 

And how much I longed to see her. 

And Mark would be there too — probably standing on top of a USS carrier with a million dollar smile on his face. Alongside Omar Bradley and Douglas Macarthur. 

All his trouble will be gone. 

For the first time, on the edge of my seat 30,000 feet above ground, I imagined myself 

Living 

In that new city.