The Ingredient in Beer and Gatorade

A couple of years ago, my friend Jeff wrote an article called "God in the Pub," which was inspired by the Worcester, MA Diocese's one-month outreach idea in which a different clergyman visited a local bar and spoke plainly about prevalent issues involving God and the Church. Some of the clergymen even threw back a Corona or two as they took questions from semi to fully inebriated patrons. Jeff reflected that this was a fantastic new avenue which the Church should consider, as far as inner-city missions is concerned. He made the point that perhaps, if Jesus were around today, bars and pubs would be the places he continually visited, and sitting around and having a drink with the barflies and other indigenous clientele would be the manner in which he engaged in teaching others. Relevant Magazine published this article on their website, and suddenly the post-a-comment section caught fire as half the article's readers vehemently denied such a suggestion as a severely iniquitous assumption (some even questioned Jeff's salvation for thinking such thoughts), while the other half praised Jeff for his forward-thinking, relevant-outreach centered views. Jeff just smiles at both of these sides and has decided not to publish anything online anymore simply to avoid such a blog-esque comment section.

I mention this story only to bring up the fact that bars, drinking, and getting drunk have always been head-of-a-pin issues within our American Church culture. There is a tensity between Christians these days. Those who fall on a more conservative side avoid alcohol like the Plague, acting as if one drop on the tongue is the equivalent of sticking your head in the door of Hell and saying, "See you guys soon." Those who fall on a more progressive side can sometimes be found either enjoying a relaxing happy hour or at least sitting perfectly comfortable with drinking friends (and, of course, these two views do sometimes criss-cross between conservative and non-conservative Christians depending on their individual view - I don't mean to perpetuate a stereotype).

I felt just such a tension less than a week ago, when I found myself feeling not unlike someone completely boozed up. A large group of friends and I went down to a park by the river here in Waco for "Brazos Nights," a series of free concerts on Friday nights this summer. Several people brought coolers of beer or thermoses of daiquiris, but as far as I know, the only person who appeared exceedingly drunk ... was me. This is strange, since all I had to drink that whole day was a Dr. Pepper for lunch, another one later from Sonic (I was cutting loose since it was Friday and I had done well on my Greek test), and an IBC Cream Soda that evening before the concert. Anyway, about an hour into the concert, after I had puffed a little on my pipe, I took a seat on a spread blanket next to some friends, doing my best to barrel out my chest at any mosquitoes who would dare alight on my bare legs. It was around this time that I suddenly - and I do mean suddenly - began feeling significantly lightheaded. I felt as if I had put my head to the end of a bat and spun around a couple of times. I could hear the music, hear my friends laughing, and could answer coherently, but I could not shake the feeling of being quite shaken. I feared I would soon feel like throwing up, and the only reason I could come up with was the extreme heat (it was over 90 degrees and very humid). Eventually, I had to excuse myself, as the feeling did not pass. I staggered away as collected as I could manage, seeking an open area with a nice breeze to cool me down. Little did I know that many of my friends, since they were not sitting by me when we first arrived at the concert, suspected I might be lightheaded because I had had a few drinks.

Now, those that know me know I hardly drink, and when I go out with some friends to a restaurant/bar, it takes me almost a half hour to figure out what drink I want (if any), and I always get something I hate so I drink only a third or a half of it - hardly anything to inebriate me (I get the feeling I am like Doc Brown in Back to the Future III; if I have even a shot of something strong, I'd probably keel over and the bartender would have to make some "wake-up juice"). This night at the concert, I had had only a couple of sodas, but for some reason, was feeling the affects of several beers. Of course, I have never been drunk before, so I'm not sure what that really feels like, though I suspect the same with maybe a bit more hilarity involved.

It turns out I was dehydrated, to a pretty strong extent. I did not throw up (so the vomit streak continues, a la Seinfeld), but I did space out for about an hour in the less-crowded place to which I wandered off. Because the concert was blues music, the songs ran together in my head and when I saw Grayson, Josh, and Chad walking towards me, carrying all our stuff, I assumed I had only been gone about 15-20 minutes. They laughed and told me the actual time, and that some people thought I was passed out somewhere. "Nice to know so many of my friends felt concerned enough to look for my unconscious body," I mumbled, still dizzy, still not feeling well in the stomach-region. Josh had to drive me back to his place, where I collapsed on the couch for another half hour or so before finally feeling clear-headed enough to drive the short distance home.

Dehydration, I discovered, does not at all make for an enjoyable evening activity. And I was once again reminded of God's greatest creation (besides people, I suppose). Water. In Greek, that would be hudor (I thought I would throw that in just to prove I'm learning something this summer). I cannot imagine, whether you're just hot and sweaty, or to a greater extreme, dehydrated, a better drink to quench thirst than water. In fact, I don't think there is a drink that actually, simply quenches thirst besides water. Everything else is packed with some ingredient or another that detracts from the sheer, simple refreshment that water supplies. Do not mistake me - I am quite a fan of these other ingredients. Without them, Dr, Pepper, Kool-Aid, or the occasionally good-tasting beer would not exist. However, for perfect refreshment, the best option is the simplest - God's drink. Even Gatorade doesn't fully quench thirst, even though the commercials lie up and down that it does even a better job than water. It doesn't - that is simply impossible.

It is kind of a metaphor, isn't it? The simplest, most abundant thing is that which people can never match with their own manipulation, their own razzle-dazzle. Yesterday, after running around in the 97 degree heat with my youth group, I was not in need of something that tasted fruity or promised an astonishingly large replenishment of electrolytes, or even something that was all that cold. All I wanted was a big cup of water. When I am tired, worn out, dried up, fainting to go on, it is the best thing - the only thing I need. It tastes better than anything else ... and it is always available to me if I know where to find it.

It is not the greatest of metaphors, nor do I have the desire to try and manipulate it so that it reaches deeper roots into the soil of our lives. It is just a simple truth. Perhaps this post came across like a commercial for water, but that was not my real point. Some of my friends were surprised that I got drunk, when in reality, I was anything but drunk. But the tension there was real - I did not want to seem like a careless person who doesn't know how to exhibit self-control. It bothered me that some of these friends (who don't really know that I'm a bigger fan of soda, which drains us of energy faster than anything I know) thought this true of me. However, I was bothered more by the fact that so important, so essential, a thing like water, I completely disregarded in the stifling evening heat of June. It made me feel as if I had neglected God himself, and though I know this is not true, it has woken me up to one wonder-filled reality.

Do not let the day pass without taking a moment - however brief - to cherish these things of God that we take for granted. Thank him for beer if you like, because it draws you together with friends. Thank him for friends that share your hopes, your dreams, and your love of jokes that you suspect no self-respecting person would crack a smile at. Thank him for a person's capacity to wail out blues music. Thank him for a much-desired summer evening breeze, and how it cools the sweat that glistens upon your neck and arms. And thank him for the freedom to gather with friends and the fact that even if some think your drunk, they love you still in light of that possibility. Oh yes, and thank him for water, which both washes and quenches like nothing else in all the world ever could.