Mark Scandrette: June 2008 Archives

When we were planning this tour I expected that we would have a bit of time each day to hang out in neighborhoods and taste the local specialty cuisine--like Stumptown Coffee in Portland. Instead we often arrive just in time to set up and have to leave for the next town just after the show. We were in Portland for only 6 hours and all of that time was spent in a church basement. We spent the night at an RV park in Richfield, Washington--an ex-urb about 30 miles North of Portland. In the morning Tony and I walked to Lava Java-- a café we had seen driving in the night before located in a strip mall across the street from the RV park. We entered the café with low expectations but were surprised to discover they serve Stumptown beans and the two guys behind the counter were as fastidious about coffee as any conscientious barista in San Francisco or Seattle. These guys even knew the names of the owners of Ritual and Blue Bottle--two of the best coffee roasters in San Francisco. One of them had just returned from Guatemala where he had visited a premium coffee plantation. He motioned toward a shrine of photo's along the wall, pointing to the particular supplier he had met. To make small talk while they prepared my Macchiato I mentioned how much I enjoy cup of excellence coffees prepared with a Clover machine. I thought they would be impressed, but instead they both rolled their eyes and pretentiously informed me that The Clover Company had recently been sold to the Man--Starbucks. Clover coffee is so six-months ago!

"How did a specialty coffee café end up in a strip mall in Richfield, Washington across from an RV Park?" Apparently the owner bought the place not knowing anything about coffee but guessing that a café close to the freeway would be a good business/real estate investment. Slowly he began learning about bean quality and small batch roasting and eventually entered the United States Barista Competition. Unfortunately most of the café clientele in Richfield, Washington don't care that these baristas will only prepare traditional espresso drinks in the proper ceramic vessel with only the finest single origin beans and precise blends. Imagine the torture of being a world-class barista who has to fulfill constant requests for a lattes with two shots of hazel nut syrup or explain that you don't make frappuccinos with sprinkles.

Specialty coffee culture is a social phenomenon that is highly networked and relational, strives for beauty, excellence and meaning and signals the future despite its small piece of the market. Thanks to Lava Java for bringing a piece of the future and the richness of coffee to Ritchfield, Washington.

Allow me to disabuse you of the notion, should you be so temped, to think that being on a 32-city tour is in any way glamorous. First it's amazing how much energy goes into set up and take down of a 90-minute revival show. We are getting good at hauling boxes and setting up stage lights, screens, instruments and book displays. Last night we drove half-way through the night, stopped at a truck stop to sleep for a few hours, and today we are driving all day to get to our next show. Showers are at a real premium and usually come every other day or three. We change into our hot and heavy wool costumes in church janitor's closets or hallways--and at one church, my clothes were stolen during the show. We are all chronically fatigued, blurry eyed and way beyond tired. I am grateful and amazed by how well we are getting along and bearing with one another, living and sleeping in such closed quarters. When we made our stop in San Francisco I slept at home with my family. The next day, I greeted Doug, Tony and Dave like long lost friends I hadn't seen for years because it had been 10 hours since our last contact. We are rarely more than 20 feet from one another. The camaraderie of the road is a real reward and our patience with one another through thousands of miles and sleepless nights may be the greatest testimony to the work of the Spirit on this tour.

In the memorandum that we sent out to hosts for the Church Basement Roadshow, we delicately requested a healthy meal before the show (i.e. No pizza). The organizers of our first three shows interpreted "healthy" in exactly the same fashion and presented us with a meal of roasted chicken, green salad, pitas and hummus. We were proudly presented with the leftovers from each of these meals including several large tubs of homemade hummus made by a caring Lebanese mother or Greek aunt. Serendipitously I had gone out the day before the tour and bought two large tubs of hummus myself so that we would have "healthy" snacks as we traveled. Consequently, we now have hummus coming out of our ears and the RV refrigerator is full of this delicious middle eastern condiment. However, the other revivalists and our tech engineer have discovered that I am terribly allergic to hummus. The air quality on the tour bus has been severely affected, and at one recent show an eruption of flatulence disrupted the finale with smirks and uncontrollable fits of laughter among the revivalists. I still maintain that Big Brother Duke was to blame.

While chatting with Mickey Maudlin after our show in San Francisco on Thursday, he happened to mention that Harper One had flown N.T. Wright over for the day to appear on The Colbert Report. Well, the adrenaline rush of the Rollin' Gospel Revival makes it hard to get right to sleep at night, so I found myself up late watching Colbert's interview with Tom Wright about his new book, Surprised by Hope. The last time I saw Tom Wright a group of us were seated together crossing our fingers hoping to get onto a flight out of the Bahamas before an impending tropical storm. For an Anglican bishop and theologian, Tom Wright is surprisingly gregarious and adventuresome--snorkeling with a group of us in the Caribbean and cracking jokes over a glass of wine. On Thursday night he did a great job matching Colbert's energy and humor, while making his point about life after the after life.

Deep within the American psyche is a longing for convertive piety. We are a nation and culture of extremes and polarities: The Saturday night drunk who weeps in repentance on Sunday morning; The Sunday night holy man who leaves his ethical convictions at the door of the church when he steps into the office on Monday morning; The self-proclaimed irreligious person who prays in moments of crisis. Lips that sing the hallelujah chorus part to display the forked tongue and nasty sting of gossip, paranoia and anxiety. “Jesus Christ” is a name exclaimed more commonly and comfortably by the skeptic or hater than the true believer.

Allen Lockwood Withee was born on March 7, 1871 in Wessington Springs, South Dakota. He was raised in the big city by caring traditional parents who valued the simple life and devoted personal piety. At the tender age of 12...