My wife far outpaces me as a world traveler. By the time she and I got married, she had already traveled multiple times throughout Europe and had visited at least ten countries. I’m six years older than her, and to date, I’ve only visited two: one was a short-term ministry trip to England to preach during seminary; the other was a series of workshops for orchestral conducting in Sofia, Bulgaria. Perhaps I’ll blog about that trip sometime in the future.

So no, there’s really no comparing my wife’s and my travel experience. She wins hands down. There is, however, one bragging right I have, though: I’ve been to Africa and she has not. Obviously, I don’t brag about this out loud. In fact, I’m taking a great risk putting it in writing…

In 2006 I traveled with a ministry team to Ethiopia. Our church in Fairbanks had a sister church in Addis Ababa, and in the early 2000s, some women in our church had spearheaded a ministry to open a child-sponsorship program to supplement the Compassion ministry operating in the area. The church in Addis was located near a massive refugee camp, the result of decades of political upheaval and civil war. Compassion had completely exhausted its resources and wasn’t able to sponsor any more children, yet there were hundreds of children in the immediate area in desperate need of basic provisions, not to mention spiritual care. These ladies from Fairbanks partnered with Addis Kidan Baptist Church to begin to pair up sponsors in Alaska and the Pacific Northwest with children in Addis.

By 2006, this new child-sponsorship ministry (called Meet the Needy) had been operating for several years, and there were well over two hundred children who were sponsored through it, many of whom were considerably older than they were when they first found a sponsor. The primary purpose of our trip was to update the information on these children, connect with the pastors in Addis, and take care of other administrative details.

This is where I came in. I was the team photographer, charged with the hallowed and sobering task of documenting the trip as well as taking updated photos of all the children in the program.

There’s too many memories to share from that ten-day trip to Ethiopia. Perhaps one day I’ll work some other experiences into a few blog posts. But one event in particular was on my mind recently as I explored some old photos I found on my hard drive.

Ethiopia has a love affair with coffee. No, this isn’t the kind of love affair the typical American has with their grande non-fat vanilla latte. This love affair goes much deeper. Most experts agree that coffee’s origin as a beverage can be traced back to Ethiopia. There are many legends and folk stories about that famed Ethopian man named Kaldi and his caffeinated donkey, and most if not all are more fiction than fact. But there seems to be little doubt that within all these various stories lies a kernal of dark-roasted truth.

Ethiopia is the source of some of the best coffee in the world. The Harar region is particularly esteemed as a producer of superior-quality beans. Packages of Ethiopian coffee sit on the shelves of countless retail stores, roasted by large operations and small craft roasters alike. Ethiopian coffee, as with virtually all African coffees, has higher acidity than other regions, leading to a brighter cup with more citric notes.

Less commonly known is how coffee integrates so powerfully into Ethiopian culture. In fact, coffee is so important that there’s an entire ceremony involving its brewing and serving. In Ethiopian culture, it is the height of hospitality and friendship to experience this ceremony as a guest in a home, and an even higher honor for the host to serve it. My team and I were honored recipients of one of these ceremonies as we visited the house of a fellow pastor in Addis during our trip.

The ceremony is led by the woman of the house. Throughout the process, which in certain circumstances can last upwards to three hours, green coffee beans are roasted on a wide, shallow pan over open fire, then hand-ground in a wooden mortar and pestle. Meanwhile, fresh, aromatic grass leaves are spread onto the floor, and a clay pot is filled with water and placed over hot coals. Once the coffee is roasted and ground, it is poured into the pot, which is then placed back over the coals where it comes to a boil and then immediately removed from the heat.

To serve the coffee, a tray is brought out arranged with small, handle-less cups spaced closely together. The performer takes the pot filled with brewed coffee and in one continuous stream pours the coffee into each cup, from a height of approximately twelve inches. Once poured, the coffee is delivered to each guest, who in turn offer compliments to the host for her skill and the quality of the coffee.

I look back at that experience and can very confidently say that it was the best cup of coffee I’ve ever tasted. My friend and fellow pastor Eric Johns who was with me would undoubtedly agree. Now, with everything I know about coffee now, having roasted my own coffee and researched the most scientific approaches to brewing coffee for maximum flavor, there are admittedly elements to the Ethiopian coffee ceremony that do not comport with what I know about proper coffee brewing preparation. But you know what…it doesn’t matter. It was the best cup of coffee I ever had.

I think the reason I remember that cup of coffee so much is because of what it meant to be a recipient of that ceremony. The small cup that sat in my hands was representative of friendship, humility, service, and fellowship with men and women I did not know but understood I was inextricably linked with through Christ. Here I was, half-way around the world, in as foreign a land as I could be, and yet there was a bond I had with these people that transcended borders, cultures, ethnicity, and language. It was a bond that was symbolized culturally by a cup of coffee, but wasn’t summarized by it.

In Psalm 133, David captures the unity of believers in his own cultural way:

“Behold, how good and pleasant it is when brothers dwell in unity! It is like the precious oil on the head, running down on the beard, on the beard of Aaron, running down on the collar of his robes! It is like the dew of Hermon, which falls on the mountains of Zion! For there the LORD has commanded the blessing, life forevermore.” (Psalm 133:1-3)

The oil he describes dripping down over Aarons head and onto his beard and collar, while perhaps not as appealing to us 21st century folks, was culturally and spiritually significant to them. This was the oil used to anoint Aaron as Israel’s high priest (cf. Lev 8:12), consecrating him for special service to God.

It was Aaron, as Israel’s high priest, who symbolized the unity of the nation. As he performed his high priestly duties, he entered into the presence of God as representative of the nation. As part of his apparel, he wore a linen ephod which displayed twelve stones representing the twelve Israelite tribes. It was Aaron who was integral to the Day of Atonement ritual, where his acts would provide atonement for the sins of the people. He alone carried that responsibility.

So as David contemplated the beauty and goodness of believers living together in unity, his mind naturally went to the nation’s high priest, who embodied that unity in his office. As New Covenant believers, we are joined together by Jesus who is our great High Priest. Everything Aaron embodied as a consecrated but sinful mediator, Jesus fulfills in perfection. Through him, the hostility that once existed between Jew and Gentile has been removed. Believers are reconciled with God but also with each other, as Paul so clearly establishes in Ephesians:

“For he himself is our peace, who has made us both one and has broken down in his flesh the dividing wall of hostility by abolishing the law of commandments expressed in ordinances, that he might create in himself one new man in place of the two, so making peace.” (Ephesians 2:14-16)

This is why a cup of coffee could taste so good. It really wasn’t the coffee that mattered. That was just a symbol. It was the fellowship we had together that brought Christian significance to a cultural ceremony.

Today we’re separated. We’re isolated. We’re socially distanced. We walk around in masks in the midst of a culture which is explosively divisive. Believers cannot afford to act as if Christ’s death has not accomplished anything. Every time we meet together, we experience, participate in, and proclaim the unity and fellowship accomplished by the death and resurrection of Jesus our high priest. Cherish it. Long for it. And where ever possible, participate in the fellowship of the saints expressed in the local church. And the next time you drink that cup of “church foyer coffee,” remember that it’s not really about the coffee.