Coffee in Church: Part 2
To allow coffee in the church service, or not to allow coffee in the church service—that was the question! I chose not to prevent people from bringing beverages into our services. Here’s why.
First, there are no divine commands prohibiting beverages in a service in a church building—in large part because there are few instructions about church services and none about church buildings.
Some may claim that 1 Corinthians 11.17-34 prohibits eating and drinking in church. It’s a long passage and the details of the context aren’t entirely clear. Paul’s solution to the problem, however, is clear: “So then, my brothers, when you come together to eat, wait for one another” (11.33). It is clear that (a) Christians were eating at church meetings and (b) Paul offered regulatory instruction but didn’t disallow the practice. There is nothing inherently evil about food and drink in church.
Prior to the 4th century Christians met in homes and secret places to avoid persecution. They prayed and sang together, studied Scripture together, and as noted, ate together and shared in communion as part of that meal. After the 4th century, Christianity was legalized and Christians began building public buildings for worship. They were called basilicas, modeled after Roman public meeting places and intentionally distinguished from pagan temples (which housed idols but weren’t constructed as meeting places for large groups).
At the same time Christian leaders began using the terminology of Jewish Temple worship to speak of Christian worship, e.g. making connections between bishops and high priests, churches and the Temple, the communion table and the altar. Church architecture over the next centuries developed to follow that language and churches were built to be—and viewed as—Christian temples. Rails separated the congregation from the holy place where the priest served and the inside of the church became sanctified—a sanctuary.
These developments were man-made traditions. They are old, long-standing traditions but that doesn’t make them divinely commanded. There may be great value in these traditions, but they are still subject to change.
The change was introduced by the Protestant reformers of the 1500s. They moved the sanctification from the building to the congregation. The people are the church sanctified by the Holy Spirit in them. God dwells in them—not the church building. They are God’s house, the Temple (e.g. Ephesians 2.19-22; 1 Peter 2.4-5).
The Reformers didn’t make radical changes in attitudes toward church buildings as sanctuaries. Protestants still treated their buildings with reverence while at the same time unwittingly planting seeds that would eventually germinate into radical changes.
Strangely enough those radical changes on how church buildings were viewed eventually arose among conservatives—evangelicals in particular. From the mid-19th century on, mainline denominations retained traditional formats (e.g. architecture, robes, liturgy) but became extremely liberal in doctrine (e.g denying the miraculous, the virgin birth, the deity of Christ). Conservatives retained traditional doctrine but gradually jettisoned traditional formats, largely in the name of making better connections with changing culture—which increasingly lost its concern for ecclesiastical symbols.
Evangelicals—meaning ‘gospel-preaching’—were concerned with evangelism, with reaching a culture that was changing with the saving message of Jesus Christ. The old symbols, once rich with meaning that was now lost to the common man, were shed—and that included the use of buildings. In the 1940s, amid much contention, churches began to add social halls and gyms that allowed practical opportunities for personal connection with people. By the time I entered ministry in the 1980s, a church having that kind of space was a necessity and not an option.
Church architecture soon focused more on practical efficiency and economy and “sanctuaries” became multipurpose rooms—by definition the opposite of a holy place. Holy places are set apart only for special use; multipurpose rooms are intentionally built to be used in many ways.
I don’t think this change from church building as sanctuary to church building as multipurpose is without theological significance. The old traditional churches were built to create a sense of God’s transcendence. In cathedrals, basilicas, and even many churches, attention is drawn upward. There is amazingly detailed artwork on the ceiling where it can only be appreciated by God. The artistry of the buildings and their décor is magnificent and grand, to make one feel small in the presence of a great God. There is nothing wrong with this tradition and upon entering these places one can still experience the same feelings. Many, in fact, recognize that modern church architecture does not give that feeling.
Modern evangelical architecture seems to me to focus, not on God’s magnificence or transcendence, but on His immanence—that God is with us, became man, walked among us, and still, by His Spirit in His people works in the world through such ordinary people in simple and ordinary ways. Our buildings reflect that. They are functional and economical. The people, not the architecture, must be the bearers of the message of the gospel. That is the evangelical tradition.
Our churches don’t point you to a God who is distant and far away, but to a God who has come down and walked among us and who works among us. He is a God “with skin on him”.
And He ate and drank among us and with us.
So now, people accustomed to having beverages in public places come into our services and they bring their morning Joe with them. If I welcome them at the door with a smile but insist their coffee is unwelcome in “the holy place”, I am asking them to behave according to a symbol whose meaning was lost to our culture long ago and which my own tradition does not honor. It gives too much weight to a trivial detail that contributes more to driving them away—I believe unnecessarily so—than drawing them to the Savior we’re trying to point them to.
First, there are no divine commands prohibiting beverages in a service in a church building—in large part because there are few instructions about church services and none about church buildings.
Some may claim that 1 Corinthians 11.17-34 prohibits eating and drinking in church. It’s a long passage and the details of the context aren’t entirely clear. Paul’s solution to the problem, however, is clear: “So then, my brothers, when you come together to eat, wait for one another” (11.33). It is clear that (a) Christians were eating at church meetings and (b) Paul offered regulatory instruction but didn’t disallow the practice. There is nothing inherently evil about food and drink in church.
Prior to the 4th century Christians met in homes and secret places to avoid persecution. They prayed and sang together, studied Scripture together, and as noted, ate together and shared in communion as part of that meal. After the 4th century, Christianity was legalized and Christians began building public buildings for worship. They were called basilicas, modeled after Roman public meeting places and intentionally distinguished from pagan temples (which housed idols but weren’t constructed as meeting places for large groups).
At the same time Christian leaders began using the terminology of Jewish Temple worship to speak of Christian worship, e.g. making connections between bishops and high priests, churches and the Temple, the communion table and the altar. Church architecture over the next centuries developed to follow that language and churches were built to be—and viewed as—Christian temples. Rails separated the congregation from the holy place where the priest served and the inside of the church became sanctified—a sanctuary.
These developments were man-made traditions. They are old, long-standing traditions but that doesn’t make them divinely commanded. There may be great value in these traditions, but they are still subject to change.
The change was introduced by the Protestant reformers of the 1500s. They moved the sanctification from the building to the congregation. The people are the church sanctified by the Holy Spirit in them. God dwells in them—not the church building. They are God’s house, the Temple (e.g. Ephesians 2.19-22; 1 Peter 2.4-5).
The Reformers didn’t make radical changes in attitudes toward church buildings as sanctuaries. Protestants still treated their buildings with reverence while at the same time unwittingly planting seeds that would eventually germinate into radical changes.
Strangely enough those radical changes on how church buildings were viewed eventually arose among conservatives—evangelicals in particular. From the mid-19th century on, mainline denominations retained traditional formats (e.g. architecture, robes, liturgy) but became extremely liberal in doctrine (e.g denying the miraculous, the virgin birth, the deity of Christ). Conservatives retained traditional doctrine but gradually jettisoned traditional formats, largely in the name of making better connections with changing culture—which increasingly lost its concern for ecclesiastical symbols.
Evangelicals—meaning ‘gospel-preaching’—were concerned with evangelism, with reaching a culture that was changing with the saving message of Jesus Christ. The old symbols, once rich with meaning that was now lost to the common man, were shed—and that included the use of buildings. In the 1940s, amid much contention, churches began to add social halls and gyms that allowed practical opportunities for personal connection with people. By the time I entered ministry in the 1980s, a church having that kind of space was a necessity and not an option.
Church architecture soon focused more on practical efficiency and economy and “sanctuaries” became multipurpose rooms—by definition the opposite of a holy place. Holy places are set apart only for special use; multipurpose rooms are intentionally built to be used in many ways.
I don’t think this change from church building as sanctuary to church building as multipurpose is without theological significance. The old traditional churches were built to create a sense of God’s transcendence. In cathedrals, basilicas, and even many churches, attention is drawn upward. There is amazingly detailed artwork on the ceiling where it can only be appreciated by God. The artistry of the buildings and their décor is magnificent and grand, to make one feel small in the presence of a great God. There is nothing wrong with this tradition and upon entering these places one can still experience the same feelings. Many, in fact, recognize that modern church architecture does not give that feeling.
Modern evangelical architecture seems to me to focus, not on God’s magnificence or transcendence, but on His immanence—that God is with us, became man, walked among us, and still, by His Spirit in His people works in the world through such ordinary people in simple and ordinary ways. Our buildings reflect that. They are functional and economical. The people, not the architecture, must be the bearers of the message of the gospel. That is the evangelical tradition.
Our churches don’t point you to a God who is distant and far away, but to a God who has come down and walked among us and who works among us. He is a God “with skin on him”.
And He ate and drank among us and with us.
So now, people accustomed to having beverages in public places come into our services and they bring their morning Joe with them. If I welcome them at the door with a smile but insist their coffee is unwelcome in “the holy place”, I am asking them to behave according to a symbol whose meaning was lost to our culture long ago and which my own tradition does not honor. It gives too much weight to a trivial detail that contributes more to driving them away—I believe unnecessarily so—than drawing them to the Savior we’re trying to point them to.