I Am a Drug Addict!
I admit it. I have been a drug addict for over fifty years, and I do not see any deliverance in sight. This drug affects my sleep, how often I take a piss, my mental alertness, and even my moods. Without it, I am a bastard to be around and get very little done. I have tried to curtail the intake of this drug, but it still haunts me daily. In fact, I am partaking in this drug as I write this essay.
This drug, which goes by the name coffee, has been around for a long time. In fact, it supposedly was first discovered in 805 CE when a goat herder named Kaldi in the Kefa region of Ethiopia noticed that after his goats chewed the red berries off a certain local plant, they had much more energy. He was intrigued by this, so he picked off a few berries and chewed away. Sure enough, he too felt a vitality that was especially welcome in his line of work.
When Kaldi visited a local monastery, he gave a monk some of these berries, and after tasting them, the monk said they were disgusting and threw the rest in the fire. When the aroma hit the noses of the rest of the monks, many of them came to the fire to observe what the source of this fragrance was that was so appealing. They realized it was the berries that Kaldi had brought, so they raked the fire to save as many as possible. After that, they experimented by grinding them and adding hot water to make a beverage, and thus the first cup of coffee was served!
The monastery was thrilled with this new discovery, for they too felt the invigorating effect of this brew, especially during long nights of prayer. Word spread about this miracle berry, commonly called a bean, and by the 15th century, the coffee “bean” was being cultivated and traded throughout the Middle East. The followers of Islam had a real hankering for this bean, probably because the Quran forbids alcohol but didn’t say anything about this new “drug” that would give them a good buzz. Whatever the case, the effects of this bean were now well entrenched in the human way of life, and its popularity continued to grow.
By 1615, Europe had come to enjoy the benefits of this drug as well. At first, some clergy regarded it as the “bitter invention of Satan” and tried to ban it, but Pope Clement V111 intervened, declaring it delicious and worthy of consumption. With his blessing, coffeehouses sprang up in London, Paris, Vienna, and other cities throughout Europe.
By the 18th century, the desire for this Satan brew expanded to the New World. Plantations in the Caribbean and South America were established to meet the demand, and before long, it was introduced to the colonies, where it rivaled the old English tradition of tea drinking. Today, the average American coffee drinker consumes over three cups per day. It is estimated that worldwide, about 2.25 billion cups of coffee daily pass through the lips of the addicted souls who yearn for its benefits. I am sure Kaldi had no idea the effects he would have on human history when he first threw that berry in his mouth and gave it a good chew.
How did I get addicted to this powerful drug? It all started when I became a Christian at seventeen and began attending a church in Covina, CA, called Agape. Most of the people who attended this church were young and coming out of the counterculture, where powerful drugs like marijuana and LSD were part of life. After repenting of their sins and becoming followers of Jesus, the newly converted followers of Christ had abandoned their drugs of choice and replaced these urges with the powerful coffee bean. At Agape, people drank coffee before church, sometimes during the service, and especially afterward, when they went to various establishments for lunch or a coffeehouse to fellowship with one another.
So, when I first started attending Agape, I faced a major challenge. I had never drunk a cup of coffee before and wasn’t thrilled about starting anytime soon because I didn’t like the taste. But how was I going to fit in with my fellow followers of Jesus if I didn’t partake in this sacred drink with them?
A few months after my conversion, I drove to Salt Lake City to visit my oldest sister Vicki, who had become a Christian years before me. I looked to her and her husband, Santo, for spiritual guidance and support, so the long trek was worth it to me. They had moved to Salt Lake City with a few other people from Agape to start a new church. And it was on one of my first visits to Salt Lake that I took the plunge into the evil drug, which became the beginning of a fifty-year addiction. Why didn’t I convert to Mormonism, which condemns its consumption?
While I was at Vicki and Santo’s house, I heard about a young woman who attended their church but was struggling with her faith. She was backsliding, a term used when a believer was slipping back into inappropriate behavior. She had spoken with various people at the church, but for some reason she wanted to discuss her challenges with me. Now that I look back, she was probably attracted to me and wanted a partner to tag along in her journey into debauchery, but I digress. After hearing this request, I was intimidated because I knew very little about the Christian faith at the time, but I thought I would give it a shot. So, we decided to meet at a restaurant called Sambos, which was very popular at the time. They no longer exist because of the political incorrectness of the name.
As we began to talk, I was very nervous and had no clue what I was going to say. I also noticed she ordered a cup of coffee, and this action pushed me into a moral dilemma. Was I going to make the leap and become a serious Christian and member of the Agape churches and partake in this vile drug, or was I going to refuse this social contract between believers and possibly be shunned from their fellowship? Not wanting to offend this fine young lady, I compromised and ordered a cup, thinking I would take a few sips to make it seem I was a true believer.
One reason Sambos was so popular was that they advertised that the customer’s coffee cup would always be full, meaning that every time the waitress came by, she would fill your cup without even being asked. So, as nervous as I was, I did not realize that my intention to take a few sips turned into an exorbitant amount of coffee for a newbie to the drug. By the time we finished our conversation, my body felt really weird. My shoulders were tense, my stomach was upset, my mind was racing, and my speech was rapid-fire. I was completely wired! But my physical reactions were just beginning.
By the time I got back to Vicki and Santo’s house, I was a physical wreck, and this lasted throughout the day. It got so bad that at one point I was sitting in the bathtub and convulsing like I was seriously withdrawing from a heroin bender. By the next day, the side effects were still present, but at least I was functional. So, what did I do? I began the new day with a cup of coffee, and the rest is history. From that day forward, I became a full-fledged coffee-drinking believer, and most of my fellowship experiences centered on the black brew.
After I left Agape and was attending Pacific Christian College in preparation for Christian ministry, there was a short interlude when I drank hot tea, but I never grew a hankering for it as I had for coffee, so back to the Devil’s brew did I run. A few years later, while I attended Fuller Theological Seminary, I was introduced to the high-octane Guatemalan blend that was a mainstay in the seminary’s coffeehouse. This brew was a hit because, like the early monks who drank the magical bean centuries ago to stay awake during their nightly prayer sessions, the Guatemalan blend could definitely get you through that late-night push to finish a paper or bring you back to life if you were exhausted from a long night of study or church-related activities. When I drank this Guatemalan concoction, which I gladly partook of every day, my shoulders would uncomfortably tense up, but my mind became alert like a cat on the prowl, which gave me an advantage when I debated a theological position with a friend between lectures.
After leaving Fuller, I came to realize that coffee was the main beverage of choice in every church that I ministered in or visited, so for many years my addiction was well fed by my fellow believers. When I became an elementary teacher, the teachers’ lounge offered easy access to the evil brew on every campus I was on. Again, feeding my addiction was very easy and cheap. Now that I am retired, unfortunately I must pay for this evil brew on my own. But like any addict, I am willing to pay the financial price for my daily fix that enables me to get through the day and the whitener that is needed to keep my teeth from turning bright yellow.
As I have grown older, I have also learned to control my addiction as much as possible. I now limit my intake to two or three cups in the morning, which is necessary to overcome the sluggishness I feel when I wake up from taking the nightly medication that helps me sleep and prevents the pain that constantly roams through my old bones and muscles. I also learned to refrain from drinking Satan’s brew after lunchtime because the caffeine will keep me from falling asleep at night, and it causes me to get up too many times during the night to piss.
Will I ever quit this addiction? Probably not. Do I curse the name of Kaldi for introducing this drug to humanity? Not really, because when all is said and done, I have enjoyed my decades of hankering for a good cup of Joe, especially when I am partaking in great conversations with others or when I need a little mental alertness when I am reading or writing. In fact, now that I think about it, I raise my coffee mug in appreciation to the goat herder who has brought such delight into my life. Long live the memory of Kaldi! Yes, ma’am, I will take a refill. Thank you.
P.S. I do not know what ever happened to the young lady in Salt Lake City. I know she stopped going to Agape in Salt Lake City, but maybe she landed at another fellowship because of the great wisdom and Spirit-led words I spoke to her at that eventful breakfast. Or, maybe she found another young buck who was willing to help a damsel in distress and lured him onto her wayward journey. Either way, since she was the one who started me on a dreadful journey that has brought so much joy to my life, I raise my coffee mug to her as well.