In the fading end of a chilly first day of spring
and glad to be out of the wind,
two gray-bearded preachers sit next to a window, 
sipping beer and waiting for their pizza order
from across the street.

This evening, they decided to meet
inside an old furniture warehouse/appliance store,
converted several years ago into something more benevolent:
a microbrewery at the corner of Thirteenth and Frederick
in Saint Joseph, Missouri.

There’s a fairly good chance—
if you’re interested in such circumstance—
that they are the only two dudes in the joint
who are discussing the theological implications
of art, music, and sunsets:

the way a painting can shift one’s focus,
the way a minor chord can elevate the spiritual
and emotional impact of a song,
and the way such distinct and contrasting colors
can fit together so perfectly in a storm sky sunset.

Not completely unlike 
the way the contradicting events of our lives—
births and deaths, joys and sorrows, hurts and healings—
eventually blend into seamless meanings and beings
of all that is our journey.

Indifferent, and possibly oblivious 
to all else that surrounds them,
the sounds of pulsing voices and passing cars,
they order a second round from the bar—
another stout, another something with more hops.

They take large bites from huge slices 
of pepperoni and spicy sauce over thick yeasty crust, 
sipping beer and pondering the source
of violent imaginations and pacifist interpretations,

and how in the world such simple pleasures
as pizza and beer can bring such nearness
of contemplation and satisfaction,
and giving thanks to the God
who has given us all good things.