On Starbucks and Catholics: A mindless explanation of purposeless thought

People prefer to be fed in different ways, and though the end result is often filling, the means can alter the ultimate fulfillment for one person or another. This preference is a product of a natural, lifelong conditioning process, and is the root of capitalist ideals and closed mindedness. It is through this observation that I will liken Starbucks Coffee to the Catholic Church.

Millions of thoughts just raced through your head—you Anti-Catholics probably squealed with joy and hoped for an ensuing paragraph that bashed the Christian organization; you will be disappointed. I have no qualms with the Catholic Church, and find no taste in insulting its oft criticized past. I simply plan to make a connection between the emotional and spiritual fulfillment felt at both establishments.

Because humans have prioritized feeding methods, which I claim in the introduction to this essay, it is difficult for most people to familiarize themselves with the unfamiliar. People like their comfort zones, and how dare something new breech that mental force field. Hence the reason that, despite so many credible recommendations, every time I step up to the menu at Portillo’s Hot Dogs, I stare acquiescently at the Cheeseburger option, and order an Italian Beef. It’s like clockwork, and I wouldn’t dare break my devotion to the thinly sliced meat soaked in Au Jus for a greasy heap of the same meat. Thus, I couldn’t help but blog when a similar situation materialized during my recent trip to Starbucks, and I became, once again, a primary example to illustrate something that irritates me.

I am a Protestant Christian, and have been for a long time. I am also an avid coffee drinker. Through these two things—faith and coffee—I reach a state of complete satisfaction, though in different ways. And just like anything else, I have preferences in the way I am fed these two wonderful things. In short, I like my Jesus and my coffee a certain way.

Let me stop rambling and tell you my story:

Preference 1: Coffee, a backstory

I look forward to two things every night: reading scripture and salivating over the cup of--what my colleague Aaron Shaffer aptly calls-- “liquid hot brown” that awaits me in the morning. I’m not kidding. I even thank God for coffee before my head hits the pillow.

I was thrust into the beverage by Student Teaching, a phase in my life where I had no energy or time or life and needed something to keep my head from constantly smacking the desk below me. Coffee was my answer, and in time I reached a perfect balance of liquefied beans, cream, and sugar that I now prefer—nay—demand in the mornings. Because of my coffee amateurism (all of my friends in college did it as I refused to join the mainstream craze), I never acquired a taste for the Italian culture of the drink. Instead, I bought a 15-dollar coffee maker at Wal Mart, and didn’t know how to respond to “how do you take your coffee?” in any other way than “With a little cream and sugar, I guess.”

Preference 2: Christianity, a backstory

My parents raised me in a Christian home, a part of my life for which I am indescribably grateful. Though my behavior has not always lent itself to my religion, I do my best to adhere to its ideals, and fight to be a man of love and peace who does not judge anyone and accepts everyone.

My family is one of the greatest in American history; my childhood consisted of large gatherings, practical jokes, competitions between cousins, and Christmases celebrated with near strangers who would leave our house feeling like part of the family.

We approached our faith in the same way, and lived by the idea that God accepts us for who we are, so we would do the same to those around us. The message in our church was simple: love everyone, and we did our best. We had flaws, and still do, but that was a primary reason for why we treated others with such respect.

I wear jeans to church, sing simple worship songs and watch strangers step inside the auditorium on Sundays and slowly become great friends. It doesn't matter where you came from, how you got there or how cold you are to the idea of our church, we do our best to warm you up.

The connection

Chicago has a Starbucks on every third street corner, or at least it seems that way. I think it is safe to say that a large portion of coffee drinkers is Starbucks religious, for whom stepping into the sanctuary of indie music and sepia photography is nothing short of a spiritual high. Given my java background, I have managed to stay away from the café monopoly lest I embarrass myself with mispronunciations of the Italian sizes.

It also seems as if one out of every three churches I see are Catholic. Many of my students and friends discuss their Lenten sacrifices in early spring, including my beautiful girlfriend. Like my experience with Starbucks, my limited experience with Catholic Masses leave me worried that I’m not following the right script. It’s not that I don’t belong—the people in Catholic churches are just as welcoming as the congregation of my church, and the staff at Starbucks is always cheery—it’s just that I am unfamiliar with exactly how things work.

Do I wait by the counter to get my coffee, or sit down? Is it okay to just sit in here and work without ordering? How do I order a regular coffee? How do I know what prayer to say? Do I kneel now or just sit? 

There's nothing wrong with any of it; I just wish the instructions were posted somewhere.

Knowing exactly what to order at Starbucks is like knowing exactly what to say in response to a Catholic Priest’s words to the congregation. Kids at Starbucks order their Vente Tazzo Chai Tea Latte’s just as members of the Catholic Congregation say “it is right and just to give him thanks” following a Priest's call to prayer (I don't even know if I got that right). 

Long story short, I can go to Starbucks for coffee and a Catholic service for worship, and I am receiving the right food—it’s just not prepared the way I like it. I love and respect the people who find fulfillment in these organizations, but I’ll stick to my 20 oz. gas station coffee with cream, my protestant church, and while we’re at it, my Italian beef.

Happy Saturday.