In our house, there are two types of coffee: ‘Nice’, and ‘Crap’. It’s become a standing joke – my husband prefers one, and I prefer the other. Thankfully we both agree on ‘nice’ tea, so divorce isn’t on the cards.
After a few weeks spent on placement, I recently reflected on hospitality expressed through the provision of a good cuppa. The parish was experiencing long term tension, going back so far that I doubt if anyone can remember why they became so upset in the first place. A small group of key figures is vying for supremacy over each other, fearing loss of control and struggling with the shame of appearing to be vulnerable. Most of the community has moved on and is blissfully unaware, but the ministry team is struggling with the toxic Few.
I reflected on a meeting of the Few and compared it with all the other events I’d observed and there was one common factor; coffee. Yes, I know it’s a church community and Christ should be the thread drawing them all together, but coffee won. Mostly strong, plunged in a cafetiere and served steaming, with fresh milk, placed on the table in mugs and prompting murmurs of satisfaction.
To win victory over death, Jesus sacrificed his body and blood for us all, crucified as one of the least. My mind began to combine images and I imagined Christ at the last supper, surrounded by disciples cradling mugs of Italian Roast and passing round a coffee and walnut sponge cake. If Jesus is central to our lives, he should also be central to the table, inhabiting this space in the form of bread and wine on the table. How blasphemous is it to replace wine and bread with coffee and cake?
In the Old Testament, God feeds the Israelites with manna and quail. During his earthly ministry, Jesus shared countless meals, an event which was repeated following his resurrection. God provides our food and invites us to sit and eat with him as a shared act of fellowship. Facing someone across an empty table can be intimidating and adversarial (as the Few demonstrated all too well at their meetings), but a table filled with food and drink is exciting to the senses, welcoming and affirming. Are we missing a link between the drop in church attendance and the new ‘religion’ of café culture? Over coffee, we talk, chat, gossip and share the good, the bad and the ugly. We warm ourselves physically, seeking comfort. The reality is that much of society heals itself in Costa, not church.
But what of Holy Communion? The table at which Christ is host, breaking his body and shedding his blood for us? Inviting us all to sit and eat with him?
The placement church invited me to preach at a service where I also assisted at Holy Communion. I was startled (as was the priest) to find no fair white linen ready for use… no corporal, no purificator… only a single sheet of kitchen roll. The inside of the chalice was smeared with dried wine from the previous service.
Yet afterwards, hot coffee was enthusiastically shared in clean mugs, with a side order of biscuits and chat.
We – and I mean all of us, including the disgruntled Few – can only meet in body, mind, and spirit by truly sharing in the body and blood of Christ, not just at Holy Communion, but to recognise an echo of that meal when bread and wine is replaced with cake and coffee. Both, in different ways, are a gift of the heart and should be received accordingly. For many, church represents formality and this suggests that a casual meal outside the confines of a service may be as constructive, healing and affirming, as a Eucharist – neither one can fully replace the other.
We read in Psalm 23:
You prepare a table before me
in the presence of my enemies.
You anoint my head with oil;
my cup overflows.
Café-faith dictates an expectation that the coffee cup should overflow, with a choice of latte, Americano, cappuccino, the table spread with pastries and toasted Panini.
At God’s table, and at the tables in our homes, we should explore what it means to love and be loved as equals, not only to heal conflict, but to prevent it. We worship a God who provides for us beyond measure; we honour our Lord by offering that abundant goodness to all.
That is why I happily make my husband his preferred ‘crap’ coffee, and he perks my ‘nice’ brew each day; desires met, preferences honoured, and with love, as God would have it.
Image: 1yearofsingle.tumblr.com
Mustard seeds and acorns 