Today is Tuesday, which for me means stumbling out the door half awake with bed head at 7 a.m. to have breakfast at a local diner with a small group of men. I’ve been doing this for years. The breakfast is so much a part of my routine that a year and a half ago when I was fasting alone in the woods of Northern California on my four day “sacred quest” as a part of my sabbatical, the night I would usually be awakening to go to our breakfast I dreamed that I was at the diner. The lovable but irritable waitress who knows our orders by heart is there (mine is always a carrot muffin) but my male friends are missing. In my dream I am aware that I am supposed to abstaining from food, and wonder about the consequences of eating when I’m supposed to be fasting. Since none of my men friend know I’ve eaten, should I just pretend I haven’t been eating?? I realize in the dream that there is something about this that just doesn’t work.
Our conversation at these breakfasts ranges from the profane to the profound, with probably a bit more of the profane. We grumble and we express gratitude. We end by holding hands and briefly praying together. It does us good. We feel a bit more connected as we go forth into this world which so often resembles the racing of rodents.
There is a group of women who meet in the booth next to us who gather to discuss CS Lewis or “The Purpose Driven Life.” They look and talk a good deal more like what a group of church folk are supposed to look and talk like. Nonetheless, we, too, are a part of the Body of Christ.