There are few places in parish life more theologically rich than the coffee queue.
This may come as a surprise to those who imagine theology happens primarily in books, pulpits, or committees with very serious agendas. But I assure you — if you wish to observe the human condition in all its glory and complexity — stand quietly beside the coffee urn after Sunday worship.
You will witness impatience and generosity.
Careful negotiation and mild territorial disputes.
The mysterious phenomenon of someone taking the very last cookie and then looking vaguely surprised that there are no more cookies.
In short, you will see life.
And, if it is Eastertide, you will also — if you are paying attention — see resurrection.
Now, admittedly, resurrection is not always obvious in a line that moves at approximately the speed of continental drift. But Easter has a way of revealing itself in the smallest, most ordinary encounters.
A conversation that begins with, “How are you?” and unexpectedly becomes real.
A laugh shared over slightly over-steeped coffee.
A quiet welcome offered to someone standing just a little uncertainly at the edge of the room.
These are not grand moments.
But they are holy.
Because the risen Christ does not confine himself to sanctuaries and stained glass. He appears in kitchens. On roads. Around tables.
And — yes — even in the coffee queue.
Which means that what we are doing there is not merely waiting for caffeine.
We are participating in something deeper.
We are learning, slowly and imperfectly, how to be a community shaped by resurrection.
A community where people are noticed.
Where stories are shared.
Where grace is extended — sometimes even before the second cup.
Now, I will confess that I have occasionally approached the coffee queue with motives that are less than purely spiritual. There are mornings when my primary theological conviction is that coffee is essential to salvation.
But even then — perhaps especially then — Easter joy has a way of sneaking in.
In the warmth of the room.
In the kindness of familiar faces.
In the gentle reminder that we do not walk this life alone.
And so, in this season of resurrection, we discover something rather wonderful:
That even the most ordinary moments —
even the slightly chaotic, mildly caffeinated, occasionally cookie-deprived moments —
are places where Christ is alive.
Not in spectacle.
But in presence.
Not in perfection.
But in people.
So the next time you find yourself standing in line for coffee, take a moment.
Look around.
Listen.
You may just discover that what you are part of is not merely a queue…
…but a quiet, joyful unfolding of resurrection life.
Even there.
Especially there.
Alleluia.
A Companion Prayer
Risen Christ,
meet me in the ordinary places of this day.
In conversations and small encounters,
in laughter and in waiting,
in moments that seem simple and easily overlooked —
let me see your life at work.
Give me eyes to notice others,
a heart ready to welcome,
and a spirit shaped by your joy.
And in all things,
even the smallest,
teach me to live as one who knows
that you are risen.
Alleluia. Amen.