God and Caffeine
Sunday, St. Michael's was in ful sun dress mode. A seminarian gave the homily; standing fans created gentle breezes between the aisles; the Amsterdam Avenue ADA door was wide open. And, I was on Altar Guild duty.
By now, I have learned to steel myself for a weekend of full-throttle old lady civil warfare, trying not to take sides between anywhere from two to - at last count - four Altar Guild members, each of whom, to varying degrees, has had their fur rubbed the wrong way by someone else in the group. This is on top of trying my best to go down a checklist that doesn't seem to get easier with time. On Saturday, I opened the Lower Sacristy cupboard to see curt postits on two or three pieces of polished silver, with instructions to not fill them, add to them or touch them in any way.
I thought we should remove the postits before setting them out. My partner (who may or may not have taken sides in this Civil War) disagreed and thought, "If ______ wants them removed, she should take them off herself."
Sunday was also a co-counseling day, one of those rare occasions when I had to schedule a session with Sam at my house on the same day as The Sabbath, a day when my feelings and emotions are normally close to the surface and which Christians everywhere deal with by eating a big meal afterward.
For me, it is an excuse to be waited on at a reasonably priced pub or restaurant. And, if the waiter happens to bear an uncanny resemblance to White Jesus, so much the better. But, co-counseling throws a monkey wrench into all of that because sessions are supposed to be conducted while free of the influence of psycho-tropic substances which includes alcohol and coffee.
I try ti adhere to the spirit of these prohibitions. When Sam comes over on week days after work, I start to taper off on the coffee after lunch. In point of fact, I I am using the sa me Trader Joe's k-cup (which is bio-degradable) the whole day. So, it's debatable how much actual caffeine I am ingesting anyway. But, there are enough distractons during the course of a normal week day to crowd out the neurotic and compulsive thoughts that pour into my skull - at least until Sam arrives.
The same is not true during the course of a Sabbath Sunday: Death, Dying, Hell, Damnation, Life After Death, Poverty, Wealth, Good, Evil, That Thing That Surpasseth All Understanding, Forgiveness, Original Sin, Foregiveness of Original Sin. It's all swirling around, for hours on end. And, I wouldn't have it any other way because well, that's what Christians do.
And, that is where coffee comes in. For me. And, probably Crosby, too. Coffee numbs the pain. The alternative is to attend services late in the day like at Intersection, in which case you have a lot less time to deal with the emotions that come up for you.
By now, I have learned to steel myself for a weekend of full-throttle old lady civil warfare, trying not to take sides between anywhere from two to - at last count - four Altar Guild members, each of whom, to varying degrees, has had their fur rubbed the wrong way by someone else in the group. This is on top of trying my best to go down a checklist that doesn't seem to get easier with time. On Saturday, I opened the Lower Sacristy cupboard to see curt postits on two or three pieces of polished silver, with instructions to not fill them, add to them or touch them in any way.
I thought we should remove the postits before setting them out. My partner (who may or may not have taken sides in this Civil War) disagreed and thought, "If ______ wants them removed, she should take them off herself."
Sunday was also a co-counseling day, one of those rare occasions when I had to schedule a session with Sam at my house on the same day as The Sabbath, a day when my feelings and emotions are normally close to the surface and which Christians everywhere deal with by eating a big meal afterward.
For me, it is an excuse to be waited on at a reasonably priced pub or restaurant. And, if the waiter happens to bear an uncanny resemblance to White Jesus, so much the better. But, co-counseling throws a monkey wrench into all of that because sessions are supposed to be conducted while free of the influence of psycho-tropic substances which includes alcohol and coffee.
I try ti adhere to the spirit of these prohibitions. When Sam comes over on week days after work, I start to taper off on the coffee after lunch. In point of fact, I I am using the sa me Trader Joe's k-cup (which is bio-degradable) the whole day. So, it's debatable how much actual caffeine I am ingesting anyway. But, there are enough distractons during the course of a normal week day to crowd out the neurotic and compulsive thoughts that pour into my skull - at least until Sam arrives.
The same is not true during the course of a Sabbath Sunday: Death, Dying, Hell, Damnation, Life After Death, Poverty, Wealth, Good, Evil, That Thing That Surpasseth All Understanding, Forgiveness, Original Sin, Foregiveness of Original Sin. It's all swirling around, for hours on end. And, I wouldn't have it any other way because well, that's what Christians do.
And, that is where coffee comes in. For me. And, probably Crosby, too. Coffee numbs the pain. The alternative is to attend services late in the day like at Intersection, in which case you have a lot less time to deal with the emotions that come up for you.