One of the biggest gifts of this season of distancing is the time I’ve had to sit and linger with my cup of coffee. I am very aware that this is one of the perks to living alone, which is why I stay a little longer still—I’m having an extra cup of coffee for those of you who were up early answering to the many voices pulling you in a thousand directions. (Or at least this is how I justify it.)
I was sitting in my red reading chair the other day, Eastertide playlist rolling, rocking, sipping, bird-watching—when I noticed I was nearing the end of my cup of coffee, a signal that it might be time to come out of my trance. I looked at the clock and it confirmed what my coffee mug already knew; I should start thinking about the rest of my day. What would my day look like? What should my day look like? What were the must-do’s? What were the want-to’s? My mind wandered through the day ahead and then, like it’s known to do, especially after a healthy dose of caffeine, it wandered even further. How am I going to make it through this week of isolation? Who in my life might need some extra care this week? How much longer will we be here? They’re talking about a process for reopening. What does that mean? What will life look like when it’s finally reopened? What does “reopen” even really mean? What do I need to be doing now to get ready?
I was all questions and no answers; question, piling upon question, until the song switched on my playlist. A slow, plodding, spiritual,
Roll, Jordan roll. Roll Jordan roll. Oh I want to get to heaven when I die, to hear ol’ Jordan roll. My brother/mother you ought to been there. Yes my Lord. A sitting in the kingdom to see ol’ Jordan roll.
I sat there listening, rocking, sipping, bird-watching—when a man came walking down the street, a smile on his face, walking exactly to the beat of my song. As he strolled past my window the questions stopped dead in their tracks and rolled out of view with him.
I don’t have any answers to the questions swarming in my mind. I don’t know what I should be doing during this season to prepare for the next because I have no idea what’s coming. But maybe it’s enough to be present to what is happening around me. Maybe it’s enough to linger over a cup of coffee in the morning. Maybe it’s enough to just roll with it; to surrender to the current and see where it takes us. And maybe, just maybe when we do, we’ll catch a glimpse of heaven rolling by too.
The disciples were out at sea, floating, trying to make sense of resurrection, to figure out what was next, to be productive in the midst of their disorientation, when Jesus appeared on the beach and invited them to breakfast. “Here, have some bread, fish, and maybe even a cup of coffee,” I imagine him saying. “We’ll deal with what’s to come after breakfast.”
This Sunday we will linger over breakfast together. I’d like to encourage you to save your worship video for Sunday morning over breakfast. We will begin worship together and then you will be invited to join us for breakfast, as we eat and sip our coffee or milk or juice together—an act of communion with our risen Lord and with each other before considering what might be asked of us in the days to come. Because maybe it’s enough for now, to linger over a cup of coffee in the morning. Maybe it’s enough to roll with it; to surrender to the current and see where it takes us. And maybe, just maybe when we do, we’ll catch a glimpse of heaven rolling by too.