| Coffee Cup Theology |
“Coffee Cup Theology”
Luke 11:9-13
July 8, 2007
A number of years back, during the last weeks of July and the first week
of August, I spent my time at Garret-Evangelical Seminary in Evanston,
Illinois just north of Chicago for the expressed purpose of developing
tools for the ministry that I am a part of: the ministry that all of you are
also a part of. I studied and discussed a multitude of different subjects in
the courses I took at seminary. Church polity, worship design,
administration, counseling - just to name a few. All of the classes had
their moments. Some were quite enlightening, some rather dull... some
definitely stretched my understanding of God.
Indeed, how we explore and understand God, theology, was of particular
interest to me. I suppose partly because I enjoy the development of
ideas and looking at faith from a variety of angles. Some of the specific
areas of theology we discussed at seminary included soteriology - which
is the study of salvation; ecclesiology - the study of the church;
eschatology - the study of end times; hermeneutics - the interpretation of
scripture; and, Christology - the study of Christ.
I’ve also read and discussed various aspects of process theology,
systematic theology, liberation theology, feminist theology... you get the
idea. I found that exploring and discussing theology wasn’t particularly
hard. In a sense, it was child’s play. In fact, I discovered that I had begun
the process of theologizing back when I was around nine years old.
At the age of nine I didn’t have a clue that I was a budding theologian.
Looking back, however, I can see some of seeds of thought that were
planted. The area of theology that I first began to comprehend was
pneumatology - the study of the Holy Spirit. Of course, I didn’t
understand what the word meant at the time. How could I? I really never
heard the word until I began seminary study. But the concept was there
at age nine. I just gave it my own name. I call it “Coffee Cup Theology.”
I have been a part of the United Methodist Church all my life. Prior to the
merger in 1969 with the Evangelical United Brethren it was known
simply as The Methodist Church. I am aware of the differences between
the Methodist Episcopal Church and the Methodist Protestant Church. I
have been steeped in Methodist tradition. So, I know what I am talking
about when I say that one of the most sacred of the Methodist rituals -
that which could be called the holiest of the holies, is the church meal in
“Fellowship Hall.”.
I remember row upon row upon row of paper covered tables in the
basement “Fellowship Hall” of First United Methodist Church in Iowa
Falls, set up in anticipation of the potluck meal. There was room for
hundreds to sit together and indulge in the delights of the communion-
after-communion.
Following an often-times wordy grace… led by the pastor in his most
religious voice… each person would take one of the off-white china
plates that the church owned, and carefully peruse the fecundity of foods
displayed on the long kitchen counter. By the time the end of the counter
was reached, a person’s plate would be a mountain of delights.
A place at the table would then be found and the “true” worship
experience could begin. By the time I was nine, I had already had years
of practice in this rite thanks to the faithfulness of my grandparents in
taking myself and my sisters to church.
Now at each place setting was a coffee cup. One did not serve
themselves coffee, but waited patiently at their seat while brown plastic
pots of the brew were hand delivered. This was a pretty traditional
church, which meant the women’s society - The United Methodist
Women - would be the ones to serve the coffee.
The story I am about to tell you is true. The facts may have been
changed, but the story is true. By the age of nine I was a seasoned
coffee drinker - at least at home. Having learned the art from my
maternal great-grandfather. But, I had not yet had my first complete
communion in the church. I had plenty of the small cups of grape juice
shared with others in the most sacred of experiences while we knelt at
the rail. But the true test of belonging to the church lay in being served
coffee at the potluck in “Fellowship Hall.”
The Sunday arrived, however, when “The” church basement meal was
going to be a reality. I knew this was finally to be the mystical moment.
Gnosis - full knowledge - would be attained this particular noon as the
UMW served me my first cup of church coffee.
I watched with rapt anticipation as the servers came along the opposite
side of the table pouring cup after cup of the holy blackened water. I
glanced up between bites of chicken and pea salad to see the bearer of
the urn round the end of the table and, with painstaking slowness, move
closer to where I was sitting. Cup after cup of coffee was being poured
until the handmaiden of the Lord reached my grandmother’s cup filling it
with brown nectar, then it began it’s journey into my grandfather’s cup
and... and… the pot stopped flowing. Disregarding all of God’s
promises Jacob’s well had run dry.
I began to panic. That is, until God intervened and, like a tag team
wrestler, another of the churches sainted women showed up with a fresh
pot filled with the balm of Gilead. Thank you, Jesus.
She finished pouring the coffee into my grandfather’s cup. I am positive
that I saw each molecule of coffee slowly drip, drip, drip, into the cup.
And then.... and then...
...she walked right past me. My faith was shattered.
You who have experienced faith shattering moments know the pain-filled
moment I was in the midst of. You who have experienced exclusion know
the embarrassment my soul endured.
But wait. God gave me the ability to reason and I reasoned that they
must have to fill the long-term members’ cups first and then the
novitiates’ cups would be filled next. It was a lesson in faith, a lesson in
patience. As the Apostle Paul writes:
“We also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering
produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope.
And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love
into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us.”
Hope does not disappoint, so I waited and I hoped for the servers of
coffee to come around again. I persevered and hoped that those
sanctified communion stewards would return and fill my cup. They did
return... but they didn’t fill my cup. Once again they walked right past
condemning me to the isolation of the uninitiated.
If suffering produces perseverance, then I persevered. The third time
they came by I meekly raised my hand. I politely asked, “Could I please
have a cup of coffee.” I then held my breath.
“Why, of course, Charles, just turn your cup over.”
“Just turn your cup over.” One of the most profound statements ever
made to help me through life and it is the core of my “Coffee Cup
Theology.” Just turn your cup over.
One of the remarkable things about our relationship with God, whether
God is experienced as Creator, as Redeemer, or as Sustainer - Father,
Son, or Holy Spirit - one of the remarkable things is that God never
forces God’s Self upon us. We have to turn our cup over, open our
hearts, before God’s presence can pour into us.
That holds as true now as during that first moment when I invited God
into my heart. Jesus says,
“I say to you: Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock
and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives;
those who seek find; and to those who knock, the door will be opened.
Which of you parents, if your child asks for a fish, will give them a snake
instead? Or if they ask for an egg, will give them a scorpion? If you then,
you who are hurtful, know how to give good gifts to your children, how
much more will your Father in heaven give the Holy Spirit to those who
ask him!"
From my precarious perch in life it seems as though I often fail to ask for
the Holy Spirit to fill me. Or as the theologian Augustine once said: “God
is always trying to give good things to us, but our hands are too full to
receive them. If our hands are full, they are full of the fears that would
separate us from God. And not only our hands, but also our hearts,
minds, and attention are clogged, filling up the spaces within us, spaces
where grace might flow.”
Augustine could have said: “Not only do we forget to turn our cups
over.... at times we are afraid that if we do, God will refuse to fill us up...”
At times, I forget to turn my cup over, expecting God to do all of the work.
At other times I am fearful that if I do... it will remain empty. And then... I
begin to wonder what is going on, what happened to the promise of
peace, why am I not feeling right spiritually.
God, can I please feel your Spirit. God will you please fill me with you
Holy presence?
“Why, of course Charles, I’ve been waiting for you to turn your cup over,
waiting for you to open your heart and let me in, waiting for you to slow
down and ask. Just a thought. AMEN.
Luke 11:9-13
July 8, 2007
A number of years back, during the last weeks of July and the first week
of August, I spent my time at Garret-Evangelical Seminary in Evanston,
Illinois just north of Chicago for the expressed purpose of developing
tools for the ministry that I am a part of: the ministry that all of you are
also a part of. I studied and discussed a multitude of different subjects in
the courses I took at seminary. Church polity, worship design,
administration, counseling - just to name a few. All of the classes had
their moments. Some were quite enlightening, some rather dull... some
definitely stretched my understanding of God.
Indeed, how we explore and understand God, theology, was of particular
interest to me. I suppose partly because I enjoy the development of
ideas and looking at faith from a variety of angles. Some of the specific
areas of theology we discussed at seminary included soteriology - which
is the study of salvation; ecclesiology - the study of the church;
eschatology - the study of end times; hermeneutics - the interpretation of
scripture; and, Christology - the study of Christ.
I’ve also read and discussed various aspects of process theology,
systematic theology, liberation theology, feminist theology... you get the
idea. I found that exploring and discussing theology wasn’t particularly
hard. In a sense, it was child’s play. In fact, I discovered that I had begun
the process of theologizing back when I was around nine years old.
At the age of nine I didn’t have a clue that I was a budding theologian.
Looking back, however, I can see some of seeds of thought that were
planted. The area of theology that I first began to comprehend was
pneumatology - the study of the Holy Spirit. Of course, I didn’t
understand what the word meant at the time. How could I? I really never
heard the word until I began seminary study. But the concept was there
at age nine. I just gave it my own name. I call it “Coffee Cup Theology.”
I have been a part of the United Methodist Church all my life. Prior to the
merger in 1969 with the Evangelical United Brethren it was known
simply as The Methodist Church. I am aware of the differences between
the Methodist Episcopal Church and the Methodist Protestant Church. I
have been steeped in Methodist tradition. So, I know what I am talking
about when I say that one of the most sacred of the Methodist rituals -
that which could be called the holiest of the holies, is the church meal in
“Fellowship Hall.”.
I remember row upon row upon row of paper covered tables in the
basement “Fellowship Hall” of First United Methodist Church in Iowa
Falls, set up in anticipation of the potluck meal. There was room for
hundreds to sit together and indulge in the delights of the communion-
after-communion.
Following an often-times wordy grace… led by the pastor in his most
religious voice… each person would take one of the off-white china
plates that the church owned, and carefully peruse the fecundity of foods
displayed on the long kitchen counter. By the time the end of the counter
was reached, a person’s plate would be a mountain of delights.
A place at the table would then be found and the “true” worship
experience could begin. By the time I was nine, I had already had years
of practice in this rite thanks to the faithfulness of my grandparents in
taking myself and my sisters to church.
Now at each place setting was a coffee cup. One did not serve
themselves coffee, but waited patiently at their seat while brown plastic
pots of the brew were hand delivered. This was a pretty traditional
church, which meant the women’s society - The United Methodist
Women - would be the ones to serve the coffee.
The story I am about to tell you is true. The facts may have been
changed, but the story is true. By the age of nine I was a seasoned
coffee drinker - at least at home. Having learned the art from my
maternal great-grandfather. But, I had not yet had my first complete
communion in the church. I had plenty of the small cups of grape juice
shared with others in the most sacred of experiences while we knelt at
the rail. But the true test of belonging to the church lay in being served
coffee at the potluck in “Fellowship Hall.”
The Sunday arrived, however, when “The” church basement meal was
going to be a reality. I knew this was finally to be the mystical moment.
Gnosis - full knowledge - would be attained this particular noon as the
UMW served me my first cup of church coffee.
I watched with rapt anticipation as the servers came along the opposite
side of the table pouring cup after cup of the holy blackened water. I
glanced up between bites of chicken and pea salad to see the bearer of
the urn round the end of the table and, with painstaking slowness, move
closer to where I was sitting. Cup after cup of coffee was being poured
until the handmaiden of the Lord reached my grandmother’s cup filling it
with brown nectar, then it began it’s journey into my grandfather’s cup
and... and… the pot stopped flowing. Disregarding all of God’s
promises Jacob’s well had run dry.
I began to panic. That is, until God intervened and, like a tag team
wrestler, another of the churches sainted women showed up with a fresh
pot filled with the balm of Gilead. Thank you, Jesus.
She finished pouring the coffee into my grandfather’s cup. I am positive
that I saw each molecule of coffee slowly drip, drip, drip, into the cup.
And then.... and then...
...she walked right past me. My faith was shattered.
You who have experienced faith shattering moments know the pain-filled
moment I was in the midst of. You who have experienced exclusion know
the embarrassment my soul endured.
But wait. God gave me the ability to reason and I reasoned that they
must have to fill the long-term members’ cups first and then the
novitiates’ cups would be filled next. It was a lesson in faith, a lesson in
patience. As the Apostle Paul writes:
“We also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering
produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope.
And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love
into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us.”
Hope does not disappoint, so I waited and I hoped for the servers of
coffee to come around again. I persevered and hoped that those
sanctified communion stewards would return and fill my cup. They did
return... but they didn’t fill my cup. Once again they walked right past
condemning me to the isolation of the uninitiated.
If suffering produces perseverance, then I persevered. The third time
they came by I meekly raised my hand. I politely asked, “Could I please
have a cup of coffee.” I then held my breath.
“Why, of course, Charles, just turn your cup over.”
“Just turn your cup over.” One of the most profound statements ever
made to help me through life and it is the core of my “Coffee Cup
Theology.” Just turn your cup over.
One of the remarkable things about our relationship with God, whether
God is experienced as Creator, as Redeemer, or as Sustainer - Father,
Son, or Holy Spirit - one of the remarkable things is that God never
forces God’s Self upon us. We have to turn our cup over, open our
hearts, before God’s presence can pour into us.
That holds as true now as during that first moment when I invited God
into my heart. Jesus says,
“I say to you: Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock
and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives;
those who seek find; and to those who knock, the door will be opened.
Which of you parents, if your child asks for a fish, will give them a snake
instead? Or if they ask for an egg, will give them a scorpion? If you then,
you who are hurtful, know how to give good gifts to your children, how
much more will your Father in heaven give the Holy Spirit to those who
ask him!"
From my precarious perch in life it seems as though I often fail to ask for
the Holy Spirit to fill me. Or as the theologian Augustine once said: “God
is always trying to give good things to us, but our hands are too full to
receive them. If our hands are full, they are full of the fears that would
separate us from God. And not only our hands, but also our hearts,
minds, and attention are clogged, filling up the spaces within us, spaces
where grace might flow.”
Augustine could have said: “Not only do we forget to turn our cups
over.... at times we are afraid that if we do, God will refuse to fill us up...”
At times, I forget to turn my cup over, expecting God to do all of the work.
At other times I am fearful that if I do... it will remain empty. And then... I
begin to wonder what is going on, what happened to the promise of
peace, why am I not feeling right spiritually.
God, can I please feel your Spirit. God will you please fill me with you
Holy presence?
“Why, of course Charles, I’ve been waiting for you to turn your cup over,
waiting for you to open your heart and let me in, waiting for you to slow
down and ask. Just a thought. AMEN.
DeWitt United Methodist Church
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“Coffee Cup Theology”
Luke 11:9-13
July 8, 2007
A number of years back, during the last weeks of July and the first week
of August, I spent my time at Garret-Evangelical Seminary in Evanston,
Illinois just north of Chicago for the expressed purpose of developing
tools for the ministry that I am a part of: the ministry that all of you are
also a part of. I studied and discussed a multitude of different subjects in
the courses I took at seminary. Church polity, worship design,
administration, counseling - just to name a few. All of the classes had
their moments. Some were quite enlightening, some rather dull... some
definitely stretched my understanding of God.
Indeed, how we explore and understand God, theology, was of particular
interest to me. I suppose partly because I enjoy the development of
ideas and looking at faith from a variety of angles. Some of the specific
areas of theology we discussed at seminary included soteriology - which
is the study of salvation; ecclesiology - the study of the church;
eschatology - the study of end times; hermeneutics - the interpretation of
scripture; and, Christology - the study of Christ.
I’ve also read and discussed various aspects of process theology,
systematic theology, liberation theology, feminist theology... you get the
idea. I found that exploring and discussing theology wasn’t particularly
hard. In a sense, it was child’s play. In fact, I discovered that I had begun
the process of theologizing back when I was around nine years old.
At the age of nine I didn’t have a clue that I was a budding theologian.
Looking back, however, I can see some of seeds of thought that were
planted. The area of theology that I first began to comprehend was
pneumatology - the study of the Holy Spirit. Of course, I didn’t
understand what the word meant at the time. How could I? I really never
heard the word until I began seminary study. But the concept was there
at age nine. I just gave it my own name. I call it “Coffee Cup Theology.”
I have been a part of the United Methodist Church all my life. Prior to the
merger in 1969 with the Evangelical United Brethren it was known
simply as The Methodist Church. I am aware of the differences between
the Methodist Episcopal Church and the Methodist Protestant Church. I
have been steeped in Methodist tradition. So, I know what I am talking
about when I say that one of the most sacred of the Methodist rituals -
that which could be called the holiest of the holies, is the church meal in
“Fellowship Hall.”.
I remember row upon row upon row of paper covered tables in the
basement “Fellowship Hall” of First United Methodist Church in Iowa
Falls, set up in anticipation of the potluck meal. There was room for
hundreds to sit together and indulge in the delights of the communion-
after-communion.
Following an often-times wordy grace… led by the pastor in his most
religious voice… each person would take one of the off-white china
plates that the church owned, and carefully peruse the fecundity of foods
displayed on the long kitchen counter. By the time the end of the counter
was reached, a person’s plate would be a mountain of delights.
A place at the table would then be found and the “true” worship
experience could begin. By the time I was nine, I had already had years
of practice in this rite thanks to the faithfulness of my grandparents in
taking myself and my sisters to church.
Now at each place setting was a coffee cup. One did not serve
themselves coffee, but waited patiently at their seat while brown plastic
pots of the brew were hand delivered. This was a pretty traditional
church, which meant the women’s society - The United Methodist
Women - would be the ones to serve the coffee.
The story I am about to tell you is true. The facts may have been
changed, but the story is true. By the age of nine I was a seasoned
coffee drinker - at least at home. Having learned the art from my
maternal great-grandfather. But, I had not yet had my first complete
communion in the church. I had plenty of the small cups of grape juice
shared with others in the most sacred of experiences while we knelt at
the rail. But the true test of belonging to the church lay in being served
coffee at the potluck in “Fellowship Hall.”
The Sunday arrived, however, when “The” church basement meal was
going to be a reality. I knew this was finally to be the mystical moment.
Gnosis - full knowledge - would be attained this particular noon as the
UMW served me my first cup of church coffee.
I watched with rapt anticipation as the servers came along the opposite
side of the table pouring cup after cup of the holy blackened water. I
glanced up between bites of chicken and pea salad to see the bearer of
the urn round the end of the table and, with painstaking slowness, move
closer to where I was sitting. Cup after cup of coffee was being poured
until the handmaiden of the Lord reached my grandmother’s cup filling it
with brown nectar, then it began it’s journey into my grandfather’s cup
and... and… the pot stopped flowing. Disregarding all of God’s
promises Jacob’s well had run dry.
I began to panic. That is, until God intervened and, like a tag team
wrestler, another of the churches sainted women showed up with a fresh
pot filled with the balm of Gilead. Thank you, Jesus.
She finished pouring the coffee into my grandfather’s cup. I am positive
that I saw each molecule of coffee slowly drip, drip, drip, into the cup.
And then.... and then...
...she walked right past me. My faith was shattered.
You who have experienced faith shattering moments know the pain-filled
moment I was in the midst of. You who have experienced exclusion know
the embarrassment my soul endured.
But wait. God gave me the ability to reason and I reasoned that they
must have to fill the long-term members’ cups first and then the
novitiates’ cups would be filled next. It was a lesson in faith, a lesson in
patience. As the Apostle Paul writes:
“We also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering
produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope.
And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love
into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us.”
Hope does not disappoint, so I waited and I hoped for the servers of
coffee to come around again. I persevered and hoped that those
sanctified communion stewards would return and fill my cup. They did
return... but they didn’t fill my cup. Once again they walked right past
condemning me to the isolation of the uninitiated.
If suffering produces perseverance, then I persevered. The third time
they came by I meekly raised my hand. I politely asked, “Could I please
have a cup of coffee.” I then held my breath.
“Why, of course, Charles, just turn your cup over.”
“Just turn your cup over.” One of the most profound statements ever
made to help me through life and it is the core of my “Coffee Cup
Theology.” Just turn your cup over.
One of the remarkable things about our relationship with God, whether
God is experienced as Creator, as Redeemer, or as Sustainer - Father,
Son, or Holy Spirit - one of the remarkable things is that God never
forces God’s Self upon us. We have to turn our cup over, open our
hearts, before God’s presence can pour into us.
That holds as true now as during that first moment when I invited God
into my heart. Jesus says,
“I say to you: Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock
and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives;
those who seek find; and to those who knock, the door will be opened.
Which of you parents, if your child asks for a fish, will give them a snake
instead? Or if they ask for an egg, will give them a scorpion? If you then,
you who are hurtful, know how to give good gifts to your children, how
much more will your Father in heaven give the Holy Spirit to those who
ask him!"
From my precarious perch in life it seems as though I often fail to ask for
the Holy Spirit to fill me. Or as the theologian Augustine once said: “God
is always trying to give good things to us, but our hands are too full to
receive them. If our hands are full, they are full of the fears that would
separate us from God. And not only our hands, but also our hearts,
minds, and attention are clogged, filling up the spaces within us, spaces
where grace might flow.”
Augustine could have said: “Not only do we forget to turn our cups
over.... at times we are afraid that if we do, God will refuse to fill us up...”
At times, I forget to turn my cup over, expecting God to do all of the work.
At other times I am fearful that if I do... it will remain empty. And then... I
begin to wonder what is going on, what happened to the promise of
peace, why am I not feeling right spiritually.
God, can I please feel your Spirit. God will you please fill me with you
Holy presence?
“Why, of course Charles, I’ve been waiting for you to turn your cup over,
waiting for you to open your heart and let me in, waiting for you to slow
down and ask. Just a thought. AMEN.
Luke 11:9-13
July 8, 2007
A number of years back, during the last weeks of July and the first week
of August, I spent my time at Garret-Evangelical Seminary in Evanston,
Illinois just north of Chicago for the expressed purpose of developing
tools for the ministry that I am a part of: the ministry that all of you are
also a part of. I studied and discussed a multitude of different subjects in
the courses I took at seminary. Church polity, worship design,
administration, counseling - just to name a few. All of the classes had
their moments. Some were quite enlightening, some rather dull... some
definitely stretched my understanding of God.
Indeed, how we explore and understand God, theology, was of particular
interest to me. I suppose partly because I enjoy the development of
ideas and looking at faith from a variety of angles. Some of the specific
areas of theology we discussed at seminary included soteriology - which
is the study of salvation; ecclesiology - the study of the church;
eschatology - the study of end times; hermeneutics - the interpretation of
scripture; and, Christology - the study of Christ.
I’ve also read and discussed various aspects of process theology,
systematic theology, liberation theology, feminist theology... you get the
idea. I found that exploring and discussing theology wasn’t particularly
hard. In a sense, it was child’s play. In fact, I discovered that I had begun
the process of theologizing back when I was around nine years old.
At the age of nine I didn’t have a clue that I was a budding theologian.
Looking back, however, I can see some of seeds of thought that were
planted. The area of theology that I first began to comprehend was
pneumatology - the study of the Holy Spirit. Of course, I didn’t
understand what the word meant at the time. How could I? I really never
heard the word until I began seminary study. But the concept was there
at age nine. I just gave it my own name. I call it “Coffee Cup Theology.”
I have been a part of the United Methodist Church all my life. Prior to the
merger in 1969 with the Evangelical United Brethren it was known
simply as The Methodist Church. I am aware of the differences between
the Methodist Episcopal Church and the Methodist Protestant Church. I
have been steeped in Methodist tradition. So, I know what I am talking
about when I say that one of the most sacred of the Methodist rituals -
that which could be called the holiest of the holies, is the church meal in
“Fellowship Hall.”.
I remember row upon row upon row of paper covered tables in the
basement “Fellowship Hall” of First United Methodist Church in Iowa
Falls, set up in anticipation of the potluck meal. There was room for
hundreds to sit together and indulge in the delights of the communion-
after-communion.
Following an often-times wordy grace… led by the pastor in his most
religious voice… each person would take one of the off-white china
plates that the church owned, and carefully peruse the fecundity of foods
displayed on the long kitchen counter. By the time the end of the counter
was reached, a person’s plate would be a mountain of delights.
A place at the table would then be found and the “true” worship
experience could begin. By the time I was nine, I had already had years
of practice in this rite thanks to the faithfulness of my grandparents in
taking myself and my sisters to church.
Now at each place setting was a coffee cup. One did not serve
themselves coffee, but waited patiently at their seat while brown plastic
pots of the brew were hand delivered. This was a pretty traditional
church, which meant the women’s society - The United Methodist
Women - would be the ones to serve the coffee.
The story I am about to tell you is true. The facts may have been
changed, but the story is true. By the age of nine I was a seasoned
coffee drinker - at least at home. Having learned the art from my
maternal great-grandfather. But, I had not yet had my first complete
communion in the church. I had plenty of the small cups of grape juice
shared with others in the most sacred of experiences while we knelt at
the rail. But the true test of belonging to the church lay in being served
coffee at the potluck in “Fellowship Hall.”
The Sunday arrived, however, when “The” church basement meal was
going to be a reality. I knew this was finally to be the mystical moment.
Gnosis - full knowledge - would be attained this particular noon as the
UMW served me my first cup of church coffee.
I watched with rapt anticipation as the servers came along the opposite
side of the table pouring cup after cup of the holy blackened water. I
glanced up between bites of chicken and pea salad to see the bearer of
the urn round the end of the table and, with painstaking slowness, move
closer to where I was sitting. Cup after cup of coffee was being poured
until the handmaiden of the Lord reached my grandmother’s cup filling it
with brown nectar, then it began it’s journey into my grandfather’s cup
and... and… the pot stopped flowing. Disregarding all of God’s
promises Jacob’s well had run dry.
I began to panic. That is, until God intervened and, like a tag team
wrestler, another of the churches sainted women showed up with a fresh
pot filled with the balm of Gilead. Thank you, Jesus.
She finished pouring the coffee into my grandfather’s cup. I am positive
that I saw each molecule of coffee slowly drip, drip, drip, into the cup.
And then.... and then...
...she walked right past me. My faith was shattered.
You who have experienced faith shattering moments know the pain-filled
moment I was in the midst of. You who have experienced exclusion know
the embarrassment my soul endured.
But wait. God gave me the ability to reason and I reasoned that they
must have to fill the long-term members’ cups first and then the
novitiates’ cups would be filled next. It was a lesson in faith, a lesson in
patience. As the Apostle Paul writes:
“We also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering
produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope.
And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love
into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us.”
Hope does not disappoint, so I waited and I hoped for the servers of
coffee to come around again. I persevered and hoped that those
sanctified communion stewards would return and fill my cup. They did
return... but they didn’t fill my cup. Once again they walked right past
condemning me to the isolation of the uninitiated.
If suffering produces perseverance, then I persevered. The third time
they came by I meekly raised my hand. I politely asked, “Could I please
have a cup of coffee.” I then held my breath.
“Why, of course, Charles, just turn your cup over.”
“Just turn your cup over.” One of the most profound statements ever
made to help me through life and it is the core of my “Coffee Cup
Theology.” Just turn your cup over.
One of the remarkable things about our relationship with God, whether
God is experienced as Creator, as Redeemer, or as Sustainer - Father,
Son, or Holy Spirit - one of the remarkable things is that God never
forces God’s Self upon us. We have to turn our cup over, open our
hearts, before God’s presence can pour into us.
That holds as true now as during that first moment when I invited God
into my heart. Jesus says,
“I say to you: Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock
and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives;
those who seek find; and to those who knock, the door will be opened.
Which of you parents, if your child asks for a fish, will give them a snake
instead? Or if they ask for an egg, will give them a scorpion? If you then,
you who are hurtful, know how to give good gifts to your children, how
much more will your Father in heaven give the Holy Spirit to those who
ask him!"
From my precarious perch in life it seems as though I often fail to ask for
the Holy Spirit to fill me. Or as the theologian Augustine once said: “God
is always trying to give good things to us, but our hands are too full to
receive them. If our hands are full, they are full of the fears that would
separate us from God. And not only our hands, but also our hearts,
minds, and attention are clogged, filling up the spaces within us, spaces
where grace might flow.”
Augustine could have said: “Not only do we forget to turn our cups
over.... at times we are afraid that if we do, God will refuse to fill us up...”
At times, I forget to turn my cup over, expecting God to do all of the work.
At other times I am fearful that if I do... it will remain empty. And then... I
begin to wonder what is going on, what happened to the promise of
peace, why am I not feeling right spiritually.
God, can I please feel your Spirit. God will you please fill me with you
Holy presence?
“Why, of course Charles, I’ve been waiting for you to turn your cup over,
waiting for you to open your heart and let me in, waiting for you to slow
down and ask. Just a thought. AMEN.