I had a funny dream last night, and I think it was inspired by this conversation:
The scene: Maggie and Zoe are sitting in the nursing home chapel, enjoying cookies, coffee, and lemonade with George. Six volunteers from another congregation are standing around the table, too.
Zoe: You want some beer, Mom?
Maggie: What? No! No, we don’t drink beer in the morning. We drink coffee, or milk, or juice.
Zoe: Yeah. You will have beer soon.
Volunteers: Please accept this award for Mother and Pastor of the Year.
So, yeah. That was a proud moment in parenting and in ministry. (By the by, what inspired that conversation was the six-pack of New Glarus that we bought on our way through Wisconsin last week. Mike and I each had one beer with supper, each drinking three beers over the course of a week or so. I guess Zoe could tell we liked it!)
Last night, my dream was set in Ireland over St. Patrick’s Day. There were lots of beer vendors, serving cups of beer in the morning. Then the police came and gave some people tickets. For drinking beer in the morning? It was not clear.
Then, some of the beer vendors were serving cups of coffee. I had one. The police came back and gave some people tickets. The offense: drinking coffee on a Sunday.
“Oh, my parishioners will love this!” I laughed. “I can’t wait to tell them!”
No matter how people feel about beer in the morning around here, they are pretty on board with coffee on a Sunday.