I was sitting at a coffee shop across a table from my buddy, David.
David is a retired Naval officer. And now, he’s a highly respected faith leader and business coach. He’s the definition of success. He has a beautiful family. He’s an amazing dad. He has real estate investments. He is generous and entrepreneurial and creative. David is somebody I deeply respect.
And at this coffee shop, sitting across the table from each other… we weren’t talking about Naval warfare. We weren’t talking about business success. We weren’t even talking about faith.
This wasn’t a meeting with an agenda. We weren’t exchanging slide decks or business cards. We weren’t planning or strategizing or visioning.
No. At this coffee shop. On this particular Wednesday morning (I think it was a Wednesday)… we were just being together. Sharing space. Leaning our elbows on the table between us. Filling the air around us with care and stories and questions and support.
I don’t remember the details of the conversation. But I remember my soul feeling full afterwards. And I remember a passing thought about the table we were sharing.
I came home and wrote the opening words of my book, Cathedrals of Connection. Here’s what I wrote.
This table between us is holding a lot. Two warm drinks. Our half-eaten pastries (half-eaten only because there’s no time to take a bite when we’re both so enthralled in the conversation). It holds our elbows and the full weight of our compassionate energy and rapt attentiveness. It’s an altar, this table. Crafted of the same wood that could have ended up in a traditional church pulpit. Shaped from the same tree that could have ended up a cross hoisted high atop a steeple. Formed from the same timber that could have ended up carved into a sturdy but uncomfortable pew. Instead, it sits here in this coffee shop, inviting you and me to use it as our chancel, our lectern, and our worship space.
I’ve shared so many experiences like this. Not all in coffee shops, of course. But in so many other ordinary spaces.
Over the walls of cubicles with co-workers.
In cramped airplane rows with strangers.
On long hikes among jagged peaks.
Sharing gas station snacks on long road trips with friends.
At the bar of some airport hotel or on the sunny patio of a European winery.
Beside the bed of my dying hero, my grandfather.
In the rowdy stands of my favorite team’s giant stadium.
At a simple picnic table in a roadside park.
Church, for me, is simple.
God’s presence is always palpable when I remember how sacred shared moments are. Sacredness isn’t bestowed from a distance—it’s recognized up close, in the space between us.
There’s a famous story in the Bible — Luke 24:13-35. Soon after Jesus is crucified, two of the disciples are walking down a road, away from Jerusalem, toward a town called Emmaus. As they’re walking, a third person shows up and walks with them.
They have no idea who it is.
They’re consumed with the drama of what just happened. They’re chattering about the news and the gossip surrounding the events. They’re probably a little panicky and afraid. They’re distracted by the noise of the big story. Their attention is fixed on the buzz and hubbub and scandal and rumors surrounding the end of Jesus’s life.
They simply do not recognize the person waking with them.
Spoiler: It’s Jesus.
Anyway, they walk along for a while and eventually stop for the evening. And in the story, they make this one really important choice: “they urged him strongly, ‘Stay with us, for it is nearly evening; the day is almost over.’” (Luke 24:29)
They invited him in. They chose to share space with him. They sat down at a table with him. A table made of wood. A table that could have been carved into an altar or an ark. A table that could have been shaped into a pulpit or a pew. A table of wood that could have been carved into a crucifix. But it wasn’t. It was a table. And they sat there with their guest.
“When he was at the table with them, he took bread, gave thanks, broke it and began to give it to them. Then their eyes were opened and they recognized him…” (Luke 29:30)
Only there, at the table with the man they had spent the whole day with… Only then, when they chose to turn and look the man they’d been walking beside right in the face… Only then, when they slowed down and took a breath… Only then, when their attention shifted from the abstract gossip to the real flesh-and-blood across from them... Only when they chose thankfulness and marked the table as sacred... Only then did they realize they were already in the presence of God.
God had been there all along. Just waiting to be noticed.
That coffee shop table between my friend David and me held a lot that day. It held our lattes and the crumbs of our blueberry muffins. But it also held our whole lives for a few brief moments. We shared our hearts and our stories and our dreams and our fears. We shared a connection so sacred that time seemed to stand still.
And when we left, I thought about that wooden table between us.
I realized I had sat in the sanctuary of my favorite church that morning.
And nothing about it looked like a church.
It was the simplest church on earth. A temple of togetherness. A cathedral of connection.
Something ancient… Something eternal… Something divine had been there all along… I had just learned how to notice.
This week’s message is special because it coincides with the public release of Cathedrals of Connection. You can learn all about the book, access book club resources, and order it at https://www.cathedralsofconnection.com/ — THANK YOU SO MUCH to all the people who have bought a copy, asked their library to stock a copy, told people about it, and helped it come to life. THANK YOU!
Questions for Reflection & Discussion
1. Where have you recently experienced deep connection in an ordinary space?
2. What “noise” might be distracting you from recognizing sacred presence nearby?
3. What table in your life could become an altar this week?
4. How might slowing down and choosing thankfulness change what you see?
Thanks Matt. That was good - a breath of fresh air- a break from the tradtional
Phil