morning dilemma

I like coffee. A great deal. I always drink it in the morning and often in the mid-afternoon and sometimes even in the evening as the day draws to a close because I like it that much. And even though it is now all, always decaf, because it turns out my digestive system cannot, in anyway, handle caffeine (a sure sign I am becoming an old woman) I still love coffee as much as I ever have. Maybe I love it even more now because I drink it without having to worry about staying up all night (see comment above re: old woman).

So you can imagine my disgust, really there is no other word for it, when I showed up at First United Methodist Church at 9:00 am on Saturday morning to discover that I would have to immediately abandon my coffee. I was there for an all day workshop on being “fired up” in my spiritual life and the fact that I was at some other church at 9:00 am on Saturday for an all day event was disgusting enough. But I was there, coffee in hand, ready to learn something, thinking God would help me set my 9:00 am attitude aside with a little time and help from the morning cup of joe.

Until I realized that, though we were going to be in the Sanctuary all day, and though they had church coffee set up in the foyer for those who were not snobby enough to bring their own vacuum insulated Starbucks cups with Starbucks coffee (which I am snobby enough to do), NO DRINKS ARE ALLOWED IN THE SANCTUARY. None. Nada.

Granted their sanctuary is decorated in almost white carpet and lightly colored pews and granted it is First Church so you have to expect some sort of prudish attitude. But this ban on drinks in our meeting space, this denial of the coffee in my hand as the workshop was about to start was almost more than I could take. I debated. Should I break the rule and sip discretely while sitting in a pew toward the back? That would be arrogant, satisfactory but arrogant. And considering this was a workshop on spiritual vitality, an act of brash rule-breaking didn’t seem a good way to start the day.

Should I stand at the doorway drinking my coffee in obvious protest of having to decide between the sweet black nectar and the workshop session? I did that for a few minutes but I am a sipper and it can take more than 45 minutes to finish off my tumbler. So standing at the door seemed a very awkward and impermanent solution. It would be obvious to all that I was a poor girl, an addict even, who could not relinquish her morning coffee. Which I was but I didn’t need the pity.

Should I toss the rest of my coffee and go into the workshop humbling myself to this ridiculous and false barrier constructed between coffee and the worship of God? Finally that is what I did. I went out the front door (into the 11 degree weather, which, mind you, was not the kind of atmosphere that encourages one to throw out perfectly good, hot, coffee) to toss my remaining liquid in the bushes. Only I didn’t want the door to close behind me lest I be locked out so I stretched and aimed my throw toward the bushes but fell a little short and managed to make a large coffee splat on First Church’s nice clean sidewalk. I only felt slightly sorry. The coffee colored reside felt like a silent memorial to my protest.

Note to all organizers of 9:00 am Saturday meetings. Hold them in rooms where coffee is allowed. It’s the Christian thing to do.