Jesus said, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.” (John 8:12)

Advent means “coming.” We light these candles as we prepare for the full coming of God’s kingdom.

People who know me know that I love coffee.

It started in high school with my purchase of a Toddy coffeemaker, a precursor to the cold brew systems of today. It produced low acid coffee and tasted the way coffee smells.

Then I graduated to a stovetop espresso pot. Good in a different way. I’ve gone on to roast my own beans and made coffee in a variety of ways—Keurig, Nespresso, Neapolitan style, French press, the stove-top siphon, Cometeer pods.

As I drank my morning coffee a few days ago, a coffeehouse came to mind from my past. It was so long ago, that the memory was like a dream, almost surreal.

The coffeehouse was in the capital city of a country that no longer exists. It was located just down the street from the dictator’s palace. I remember the oversized propaganda publicity on the sides of buildings. Giant faces, repeated of the same man. Giant political symbols overwhelmed the buildings they were on, especially dwarfing the people walking by them on the street.

Dictators don’t tend to like Jesus. He doesn’t listen to them the way they want. No, not very cooperative this Jesus—bigger than the propaganda and small enough at the same time to walk alongside the common people on the street. By his very existence he shows that their power is fleeting; Jesus is eternal and caring.

This coffeehouse was a place of refuge for searching people. These people grew up being taught that the reality of the material world was all there was. The leader of their country was their ultimate truth, a sort of savior. Except it became obvious to them that he was no savior. And so here was this little café where they could go and discover the truths of Jesus.

Before I got there, I imagined it to be a certain way. But it was shockingly not that.

Where was the cappuccino machine, the espresso pot, the oversized brewer like we have in the church kitchen? Or even just a home kitchen size Mr. Coffee brewer.

There was none of that. I have to tell you that the coffee they served was honestly not that great. In fact, it was instant coffee, out of a jar.

But people weren’t going there for the coffee. They wanted to say anything, ask anything. And open the Bible in that place. There is no keeping the Word silent.

They weren't really a part of their city or country. They were outsiders, like those other shepherds from long ago, watching their sheep at night. Out in the fields, the angels came, the heavenly sky, radiant with songs that you could see and light you could hear. Glory to God.

A sanctuary hidden in plain sight, where the forbidden things could be spoken, considered, believed.

Could it be true? Dare it to be true?

These coffeehouse shepherds weren't actually tending sheep, but they were being sought by the Lamb, and when they dared to believe, the Lamb became their Shepherd. In their country where almost nothing was true, they discovered ultimate truth.

This café was not a dream, but there is another one I visit in my dreams.

I step into that café and it’s bigger than it looks; busy and full, with room for more. Every time I dream it, different people are there in varying combinations.

Tyler, my friend from Five and Hoek Coffee brews coffee and espresso and the counter is staffed by Leonita, the cheese lady from Caputo’s that Lorraine and I pray for. Joe Bayly is there with a man who looks like he doesn’t belong. Ken Taylor is talking with William Tyndale and the Apostle John. Marr Miller is sitting with the videographer friend that Lorraine and I know from Singapore. My publishing friend from Nigeria is laughing and talking with Jonathan from Tenofthose and Brother Andrew.

My sister Barbara is having cake with Marge and Deby, somehow, they seem to know my friend Wambura, from Kenya, who joins them to round out the table for four. Bonnie and Ramon are there enjoying café au laits with Pavel and Barnabas and Norm and Sue.

Peter and Anita are at a corner table cooking up something with Mary, Martha and Lazarus.

My friend Jim, who never liked coffee, is pouring himself a cup of tea at a table with three empty seats, one for his wife, one for Lorraine and one for me. My mom is enjoying coffee with Lorraine’s mom and Vera, who translated for us in Russia and helps kids learn about God.

Tim is ordering Vietnamese coffees for Jack and Ed, Erik and Asaph.

At a table near the back, I recognize my only son at a table seated with a man who I only see from behind. Pip smiles at me. I draw near them and see the man he’s sitting with from the side and then the front. He’s younger than I ever knew him and yet, somehow, I realize that this man is my dad. And Lorraine’s dad is there with them, an open Bible before him.

I glance into the party room, where the hot chocolate freely flows. Our Kindergarten teachers are in there—Becky, Jennie, Claire, Kevin, AJ, Tom and Barb, Linda, Greg, Megan and Grant—and all those other adults who somehow look like our kids, with Kevin leading them all in singing “I’m Gonna Sing, I’m Gonna Shout, Praise the Lord.”

Then my dog licks my face. I wake up and it’s all gone.

Time for a walk and Bible readings and a cup of coffee to start the day.