Two middle-aged women have just finished cleaning a large house in the Hollywood Hills.  After a day’s work, they return to the flats of East Hollywood to take a load off and drink Tecate.  They sit down on the front stoop of my neighbor’s apartment building where he and I are shooting the breeze.  My neighbor introduces us in Spanish. 

“This is my friend Felipe.  He’s a missionary,” he says.  Oh great, I think to myself, he just ruined my first impression with these two souls.  I shake hands with them. 

“Oh, a missionary.  Like the Mormons,” one woman replies in Spanish.  A predictable side conversation takes place between them about Mormons abstaining from coffee. They laugh.     

“No, he’s not Mormon, and he’s not an Evangelical either,” my friend further explains. Funny, I’ve never been clear on what exactly an “Evangelical” is, but I always thought I was supposed to fit into that category on the religious surveys.  Apparently, he doesn’t think so.  

“This is an Evangelical…” My neighbor holds his fist to his mouth as if it’s a microphone and does an impression of an angry storefront preacher yelling about how God hates homosexuals and how you can’t be a Christian if you aren’t dressing like the people do in his church.  I make a point that there are lots of Jesus-followers not like this, to which he agrees.

“See, Felipe dresses normal,” he points.  With a serious tone, he says, “His church doesn’t hate people or look down on them.  They like to read the Bible.  I’m going to visit his church and read the Bible with him.  Do you want to read the Bible with us?”

The women decline his offer, but now who’s acting like a missionary!

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