day thirty-six: tuesday breakfast

I arrive about 7:25 a.m. and they're already at our usual table, halfway through their first cup. As soon as I sit down our waitress puts the once-white mug in front of me, stained from what must be decades of use. This is no coffeehouse organic fair-trade blend or skinny sugar-free soy cinnamon dolce latte. It's just coffee...black.

This mug is entirely too clean. Clearly this photo is from the internet.

I could order for them: two pancakes with two eggs (scrambled) and bacon for Larry; French toast for Paul; one egg scrambled with ham, grits, and a biscuit for Andy. If Margaret were here, she would have an omelet with sausage patties, no grits. What else could they order? This is Tuesday breakfast.

Ever since I started working at this church, for almost three years, I've held "out-of-office hours" on Tuesday mornings at a local breakfast joint. It's an idea I stole from my advisor and mentor in divinity school, Diane Lipsett. And I'm glad I did. I've gotten to know the 20-or-so people who have come over these three years in a way I couldn't have sitting behind my desk in my office. But I would expect nothing less when we sit down to share a meal together, to share life together.

Tuesday breakfasts not only feed my cholesterol levels and caffeine addiction, they feed my being. It's nice to just talk - no sermon, no lesson, no agenda - just talk. They seem less like parishioners and more like people. I feel less like a minister and more like a human being...just another person, eating bacon and drinking coffee, getting ready to go to work for the day.

How I feel on Sundays at church...priestly.

How I feel on Tuesdays at breakfast...human.

I picked up the check. "I've got it today guys." In other words, thanks for letting me be me and get to know you as you, even if it's just for an hour once a week.