Come Hungry

The churches I came of age in didn't have a snack bar. They didn't have coffee on brew. They didn't have breakfast spreads. In fact, the church I attend now didn't have these things until 10 or so years ago. 

You woke up on Sunday morning, ate breakfast in your own home, got in the car and went to church, not expecting to eat. If you found that you needed a little something, there was a bite of holiness coming somewhere in the middle of the service - Communion. 

And boy, was it good. 

Seriously, it was good. At just the moment when your mouth was getting parched from singing, when your body was starting to feel its emptiness in prayer, when you started to think about the essence of time and what exactly it meant to be all-in on God, they would pass the plates and that little cracker and that little sip of juice would hit just right. And it would mean something. 

These days, so many churches have coffee bars that it's hard to remember what that was like - when Jesus was the only thing to satisfy you in the service. 

That's not a complaint. Not necessarily. It's just an observation. When you come into church and head straight for a pot of coffee and a pastry, it takes away part of the body's craving for Communion. You aren't as hungry when the plate is passed. You aren't feeling an ache inside of yourself that longs for something to just take the edge off, to take the angst away. You're full already. 

That pastry is delicious. The little cracker? Not so much. 

That coffee hits just right. The juice? It's bitter. (Ironic, huh? But let's be honest - most of you don't drink real coffee; you drink caffeine with a ton of sugar in it. Real coffee, friends, is more bitter than grape juice.)

The New Testament tells us how foolish it is to show up to church hungry, to not have fed yourself in the comfort of your own home. How it creates a separation between groups of persons. How it establishes a foolishness in the gathering. 1 Corinthians says, "Don't you have your own homes in which to eat and drink?" 

When you come to church hungry because the church feeds your stomach, there's something about it that doesn't quite feed your soul any more. It's hard to explain, but if you pay attention, you'll know what I'm talking about. It makes church comfortable, with all the amenities of a social gathering and good friends and all of a sudden, that ache that draws you toward Christ, that thing that helps you engage because church is the only thing going on...it's gone. 

That's really what it is. When you taste the pastry on your tongue, you miss something of the holy moment. You do. Because you already have a sensory input that is delightful and strong; you aren't looking for anything else. Why would you? 

But if you're not distracting yourself with all the accoutrement, you can be really present. Fully present. Totally engaged. If God is all the church has to offer - God, Jesus, goodness, fellowship, and at just the right time, a little bite of bread and a little sip of juice - it just hits different. 

If you don't believe me, pass on the coffee bar one Sunday. Just one Sunday. And see how not being distracted changes the real Table you're sitting at.