why organized religion should include coffee in its rituals

So this morning I was pretty sure God either hated me or didn't exist. Both were reasonable options. Perhaps I was more fond of the old testament God—a God with a responsibility to take care of me as part of his tribe. We have a covenant, I get protection and he gets, er, allegience and sacrifice.

Then I made coffee and put on Antony and the Johnsons. As I opened a new container of Ethiopian Yirgacheffe organic dark roast, my eyes were opened. Perhaps, if God exists, he (or she) isn't so bad. The smell was strong and earthy, dissipating clouds of disbelief. Antony trilled in the living room. Ahhhhhhh. OK, maybe God doesn't hate me.