In downtown Tempe last
Friday night on the corner – the main one – right across from Starbucks and not
far from Hooters, two clean shaven young men set up a lone mic and speaker
which they used to share their faith with anyone and everyone within hearing range.
We watched as many walked by with their faces contorted and twisted like
something from a Saturday morning cartoon. Their looks reminded me of the face I make at the mention of
brussels sprouts. I hate brussels
sprouts. I understand their nutritional value – but their wretched smell makes
my stomach turn and everything within me tense – ready to hurl. Honestly, if my life depended on it,
they might be the one food I would choose death over eating. Give me asparagus, green beans, even
spinach – anything but brussels sprouts.
What if brussels sprouts were the tastiest food one could eat…what if
their smell is keeping me from the culinary experience of a lifetime? I know people who love them – who enjoy
them above all green vegetables. I cannot comprehend any affection for them
anymore than I understand gravity or politics. I checked to make sure the boys hadn’t sprouted brussels
from their heads.
We continued to observe
from the Starbucks across the street. My friends and I watched others walk by
the preaching boys – pretending to not see them – like ostriches burying their
heads. They headed straight for us
– or for the coffee. Coffee –
unlike brussels sprouts – smells like a cozy home on a winter morning. It smells like deep thoughts and rich
emotions. I have always relished
the aroma. However – only in
recent years have I enjoyed to taste.
It took years – and many attempts – and pounds and pounds and pounds of
sugar to convince my taste buds that I liked the flavor as much as I did the smell.
“Eventually” best describes my love for coffee. The aroma wooed me until I
succumbed…. Although it holds no nutritional value – it is addictive and
provides a sense of community.
While drinking our coffee we sat near a lesbian couple and we engaged in
easy and comfortable conversations with an atheist and a psychic. Both of which were more than curios
about who we were and what we were doing.
Our talks were relaxed and interesting and it seemed natural and obvious
to pray with the psychic about his finances before we parted ways. I wondered if I should buy the
preaching boys some coffee.
But by the time we
finished our lattes and macchiatos, the preaching boys had gathered their
things and headed home. The smells
on the street were strong and pungent with coffee, booze, pigeon poo,
cigarettes and patchouli from the Hippie Gypsy store across the street. I wondered about the preaching
boys. I understood their passion
and respected their bold attempt to share their faith, however it didn’t seem
to work for these boys. My own
passion began to taunt me, tease me, provoke me. What can I do?
What will work? How can I
share the most important message of my life with anyone and everyone? What will provide the aroma and taste
people are looking for as well as satisfy their nutritional needs? Have I ever
seen anyone do it right?
Suddenly – I could smell
dough cooking from the brick oven at the Italian restaurant down the
street. It rose above all other
smells and I felt hunger pains hit my gut like a punch. My stomach cursed at me for using
coffee instead of food to fill it. Bread – who have I ever met that didn’t like
the smell or taste of bread? I
couldn’t think of one. Jesus said
he was “the bread” of life – not “the brussels” sprouts which may be good for
you if you can get past the putrid smell, not “the coffee" that holds no
nutritional value and requires you to develop a taste for, but “the
bread”. Bread. Something that
tantalizes, with both its aroma and flavor. Something that settles our cravings and quiets our hungers.
Something we need as the foundation in our diet. I remembered the food pyramid my middle school twins brought
home– and at the base are grains – breads.
Our new psychic friend –
once he found out we were Christians, said he would come to our church if he
lived near us. He said he had
never sat with a born again believer and felt love. The atheist invited us to an event in town – wanted to be
around us again. People – all
people like bread. The thousands
who went for days without eating just to be around the best bread they’d ever
smelled or tasted…the psychic, the atheist, the preaching boys, the crowd in
Hooters, the lesbians in Starbucks, me…
It connects us all. We may
not all sit down to a table of brussels sprouts, and even coffee will lose a
few, but bread will join everyone, everywhere.
Like someone checking
for deodorant, I sniffed myself, making sure I couldn’t smell brussels
sprouts.
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