Lord Grantham had just spewed blood all over his dinner guests on “Downton Abbey” last night when my phone rang. I recognized the name on my phone, so I answered, since calls at that time of the night from church members are usually important.
Usually. The person on the other end wasn’t who I expected. It was a different member of that family who had been enjoying a few cocktails that evening. He asked, “Pastor, can I talk to you?”
Sounded serious. I said, “Sure.”
After a longer than expected period of silence, the caller asked me, “So what do you want to talk about?”
What? I said, “You called me. What’s up?”
“Oh, not much. What’s up with you?”
“You know, it’s kind of late,” I said, “Can I call you back later on this week?”
“Sure.” Click. And just like the call was over. And none too soon.
Stirred, not shaken 