Jesus in My Latte

As I wait for a friend, a barista whisks steaming milk

like a stylist teases hair,

creating the perfect palette

with which to practice one's craft.


"Low fat latte for Scott…"

I look down at my brew.

Looking back at me?

Not vague impressions

of a leaf

or a heart,

but the unmistakable visage of

one who's face we've never laid eyes on

yet whom we immediately recognize.


Jesus is in my latte.

I chuckle. My friend arrives.

We admire the coffee artist's

temporary exhibit.

My heart, filled with concerns,

dozens for today,

a hundred for tomorrow,

smiles and melts.


Maybe that's all we need to know about Jesus.

The way he looks at us,

The way we hear his voice,

The way he touches us,

makes us melt, open and smile.


The barista's name is Daniel,

literally, "God is my judge."

In the Bible, Daniel is a shrewd

yet beloved interpreter of dreams,

whom even a hungry lion refuses to judge.


Why is my life so heavy

with a never ending list

of potential catastrophes,

a lion's den of worries,

any of which, if they came to pass,

would obviously

and without end

be my fault?

This gregarious, latte Jesus laughs through

my angst, silly projections and unconscious fears

of being judged. Whatever God is…Judge?

Unknowable Essence? Wishful Thinking?...

The face of Jesus brings the entire Notion

down to earth and

lightens it up.


I take a sip and watch Jesus

transfigure into Gandalf.

Soon my miraculous visitation is

just an amorphous, toasty beverage

that warms my entire being,

a gift no less divine.


Perhaps God is

nothing more than an

artsy barista, who whisks

each of us into an

ephemeral froth of

divine playfulness,

whom discerning connoisseurs

sip with glee.