When Coffee is more than Coffee

The new Starbucks in Mamaroneck is closing. It just opened, but I guess there are too many coffee shops, bakeries and delis on the avenue that have people’s loyalty.

Nevertheless, designer coffee is popular today. My daughter Erin does not drink Folgers and we grind our coffee at home. You can get coffee from Seattle (it seems to be the center for brewing good designer coffee), Kona Coffee from Hawaii and Fair Trade coffee that we import through the ELCA / LWR fair trade recommendations (http://www.lwrcoffee.com). Of course, there is Starbucks, and if you are Kathy you go to Trader Joe’s for Ethiopian coffee. Many of us still like Dunkin’ Donuts coffee and it appears still to be popular. In addition to closing in Mamaroneck Starbucks has recently closed hundreds of locations. Maybe Americans are feeling the effects of a stalled economy and have less expendable cash to buy $4 lattes.

When I am in Sacramento I visit a donut shop with my father located in a small tired shopping area. It is run by a Korean family and is called MASTER DONUTS. I have my favorite donut that I have been buying for years. It is made there and is made of butter milk and tastes great. This little place is popular with locals, mostly an older crowd coming in for donuts and coffee and even for something more important—fellowship. The Korean woman and her husband are on a first name basis with almost everyone. They welcome me like an old friend and they are always smiling. I just enjoy sitting out on the sidewalk on some old plastic chair and a rusty table where I set my coffee and enjoy the morning. It is almost always sunny in Sacramento and the weather has a Mediterranean feel to it.  I am happy to be in a T shirt and sandals with my dad and looking forward to a refill that is free. A big cup of Joe couldn’t taste better.

This place sells more than coffee and you will always hear a friendly hello.

Sometimes I read the Sacramento Bee and sometimes I talk and sometimes I listen to what people are saying. You can overhear conversations on every subject from politics to religion. You get a different take on the world. Points of view are freely shared, there is always some laughter and people look forward to seeing each other on a daily basis. I guess you could call it just plain fellowship with a sense of community to those who attend regularly. It is a haven for retired people who have the time to slowly go through the morning in conversation. Others just stop in for a quick cup off coffee to go. We move fast these days and many don’t find time to convers.  We are on our way like the bunny in Alice in Wonderland—“I am late… I am late for a very important date”, he says as he looks at his watch and runs off.  Fellowship and community around a donut, it happens.  It also happens at another table around bread and wine.  Sometimes coffee is more than coffee, and bread and wine is more than bread and wine.

It’s Not the Years, It’s the Mileage

I was recently at a Mets game, standing at the concession stand to buy some beer. The girl politely asked me for my ID. I looked back at her with what I am sure was a surprised look on my face. She said, again, “I need to see your ID”. I smiled and said, “Thank you for the compliment. I cannot tell you how long it has been since I have been ‘carted’.” I am not going to tell you just how long it has been since anyone has asked for my ID with regard to purchasing alcohol and it felt great to be asked.

I was reminded of aging issues while visiting my family on vacation. My dad and I went shopping for a few things for dinner. Actually, we were picking up cantaloupes that are sweet and delicious this time of year. I dream about them when I am in New York. The grocery store that we go to is called SAFEWAY, a popular supermarket chain. It is a very nice store. My dad who is deep into his 80s, still drives and carries things. I call him the “energizer bunny”. Age to me is only a number—“how old would you be if you didn’t know how old you were?” is an interesting question. Of late people are saying that 60 is the new 40. Yet, as I look at dad, he has gotten slower and a little more bent over and time is not on anyone’s side. Al Gore who just turned 60 said—“60 is the new 59.”

As dad and I entered the check-out lane, we were greeted by the cashier who was visibly upset by the fact that actor Morgan Freeman was in an auto accident and at this time his condition was unknown. She said:” I hope he will be OK, I didn’t know he was 72 years old.” She made you feel that even though she didn’t know him personally she was greatly concerned about his welfare. At this point the old lady in front of us said—“Gee, he is young, I am 90 years old.” I took a second look and this lady talked as clear as a bell and looked great. She stood up straight and was writing a check with ease for her purchase. She could have passed for years younger. I said, putting my hands on my dad’s shoulder—“He is 88 1⁄2”. She looked at him and said: “You got to hang in to 100.” We smiled. The cashier said: “We all need goals.”

I smiled when I saw the interview with Dana Torres who, at 41, was representing our country as a champion Olympic swimmer in Beijing. When asked what she would tell her two-year old daughter, she said, “You’re never too old to achieve your goals.” Just ask Sara and Abraham.

We all need goals. Psalm 90 puts it this way: “Teach us to number our days and apply our hearts unto wisdom.” That’s a goal.

Where Do Sermons Go?

There is a recent article in the Christian Century questioning the importance and effectiveness of preaching. Where Do Sermons Go? is the title. It is an interesting question that I really had not given much thought to, mainly because I do not hear a lot of sermons - I simply give them. However, after reading this article I had a chilling feeling that perhaps all of the work I put into a Sunday morning could be for naught. I do not get a huge response each Sunday even though this past week I did get an email from someone saying that that Sunday’s sermon was excellent. Perhaps I should frame it or perhaps I should hire someone to take a video of the congregation while I am preaching. Could some be writing their grocery list or sleeping with their eyes open as their faces look a bit glazed over, or could people just be distracted by children making noises and moving around?

What really happens as people listen? I like to think that their lives are transformed, their hearts opened to new possibilities for loving others, and their minds stimulated to such a degree that endorphins are shooting off. Unfortunately, I know better.

People laugh and tell me, “Can’t you use an old one? No one will know.” Actually, when I look into the files and read an old sermon, I sometimes cannot remember I wrote it and, of course, I am almost shocked by what I wrote then. I have moved on…

Luther said, “We need a living voice of the Gospel”, or in Latin, viva vox. By this he meant the Gospel needs to be proclaimed from the heart. It is not something to be read from the Bible, it is to be proclaimed. I still have trouble sleeping the night before Sunday morning, and writing a sermon is always agony. I remain hopeful, however; I cannot worry about how effective I am. That is up to the Holy Spirit and to God. I am simply called to be faithful to this task, offering up the highest level of sincerity and effort as I open my mouth and words start to come out. My favorite quote on preaching is:

The preacher pulls the little chord that turns on the lectern light and deals out his note cards like a riverboat gambler. Two minutes from now he may have lost his listerners completely to their own thoughts, but at this minute he has them in the palm of his hand. (…) In the front pew the old ladies turn up their hearing aids, and the young lady slips her six-year-old a Lifesaver and a Magic Marker. A college sophomore, home for vacation, who is there because he was dragged there, slumps forward with his chin in his hand. The vice president of a bank who twice that week has seriously contemplated suicide places his hymnal in the rack. A pregnant girl feels the life stir inside of her. A high-school math teacher, who for twenty years has managed to keep his homosexuality a secret for the most part even from himself, creases his order of service down the center with his thumbnail and tucks it under his knee. (…) The stakes have never been higher. (From: Telling the Truth; The Gospel As Tragedy, Comedy & Fairy Tale by Frederick Buechner).

On Patriotism

Time Magazine ran an article on patriotism. Part of the article included a statement by both political candidates on what they thought patriotism meant. Barack Obama wrote that patriotism was faith in simple dreams that would allow all people to pursue their lives in freedom. McCain wrote that patriotism was more than holding your hand over your heart during the national anthem. Love of country was giving back and being a good citizen.

I am a child of the sixties and can remember when I was very much against the Viet Nam war. It was a very difficult time in the history of our country. I even demonstrated against that war in Golden Gate Park in San Francisco. I was very angry over what happened to our country during that time. Now, many years later, I am walking down the main street of Mamaroneck Avenue seeing that giant flag waving and dominating the street. It is something to behold. When I first saw it 30 years ago I felt I was in a small town in Illinois or Indiana.

Many years ago our church sponsored a refugee family from Laos. The Sayasaks … we found them a place to live, painted their apartment, found them jobs, gave them food, and gave money to start a new live. I remember they bought a car, an old taxi cab with well over 100,000 miles. It was a wreck and what I felt was a bad purchase. One day they stopped at my house to give me a gift and we noticed that the beat up old cab had no oil. It was burning oil and lots of it. I had a few quarts in my garage that I gave them. As I said goodbye to them, I notice a bumper sticker on the back of the car. It said: “I love America” with a big heart on it.

Not long after 9/11 had happened, Kathy and I traveled to the heart of Ground Zero wearing gas masks. The rubble was still smoking – we met firefighters who were friendly and worked for hours. We also visited with workers at St. Paul’s Church, very close to the site, who were passing out food and helping workers take naps on the pews. As we walked back to the site with tears in our eyes, I looked at a dusty old fire truck with a bumper sticker on it that said: “Proud to be an American”.

As I walked in this year’s Memorial Day parade I noticed that big flag over the center of the street. Wow…A big flag for a country with a big heart. It is big enough to say that civil disobedience could be an act of patriotism and to provide a sanctuary for those oppressed and in need.