As I wait for a friend, a barista whisks steaming milk
like a stylist teases hair,
creating the perfect palette
with which to practice one's craft.
"Low fat latte for Scott…"
I look down at my brew.
Looking back at me?
Not vague impressions
of a leaf
or a heart,
but the unmistakable visage of
one who's face we've never laid eyes on
yet whom we immediately recognize.
Jesus is in my latte.
I chuckle. My friend arrives.
We admire the coffee artist's
temporary exhibit.
My heart, filled with concerns,
dozens for today,
a hundred for tomorrow,
smiles and melts.
Maybe that's all we need to know about Jesus.
The way he looks at us,
The way we hear his voice,
The way he touches us,
makes us melt, open and smile.
The barista's name is Daniel,
literally, "God is my judge."
In the Bible, Daniel is a shrewd
yet beloved interpreter of dreams,
whom even a hungry lion refuses to judge.
Why is my life so heavy
with a never ending list
of potential catastrophes,
a lion's den of worries,
any of which, if they came to pass,
would obviously
and without end
be my fault?
This gregarious, latte Jesus laughs through
my angst, silly projections and unconscious fears
of being judged. Whatever God is…Judge?
Unknowable Essence? Wishful Thinking?...
The face of Jesus brings the entire Notion
down to earth and
lightens it up.
I take a sip and watch Jesus
transfigure into Gandalf.
Soon my miraculous visitation is
just an amorphous, toasty beverage
that warms my entire being,
a gift no less divine.
Perhaps God is
nothing more than an
artsy barista, who whisks
each of us into an
ephemeral froth of
divine playfulness,
whom discerning connoisseurs
sip with glee.