Red Hot Chilli Church

We've tried this in an attempt to bring some colour into the life of those who have a whole week of work to live through this week. Although I shudder at the thought of how anyone could even attempt such a thing, frankly. I mean, imagine. A whole week at work. But we thought we'd help them get through it with some food-related worship-lite activity.

There's all sorts of food-related worship events, of course. Saying grace, I suppose, technically. The inevitable "bring 'n' share" lunch (upgraded to a "faith" meal for those for whom that word is important). The "frugal lunch" concept, where everyone gives any money they save as a result to charity, mission or the "Keep the Thatch on the Vicar" appeal for a new toupee. And then they go home home after their bowl of frugals, whatever a frugal is, and have a proper meal, to make up for it.

And then of course there's Café Church.

You could say that "Tex Mex Church" combines the best of all these ideas. If you were very lax with your definition of the words "best" and "ideas". But still, we thought the combination of a food-based act of worship, with the macho posturing of "who can eat the hottest chilli" would make for an event that was sociable and also attractive to the menfolk. Also I have a theory that the endorphins released in eating a suicidally hot chilli give you the equivalent of a good religious experience. While the burning sensation afterwards may give you the equivalent of a bad religious experience at the hands of the Inquisition.

Of course, when your vocal chords are vibrating in pure agony after a bowl of "Chipotle Apocalypse", you're not going to be singing "Kumbayah" too well. Even if you've changed the word "Kumbayah" to "Tortilla". Although "Did you feel the Mountains Tremble" seemed highly appropriate. "Here I am, Guacamole available" was a nice, gentle song to calm the rising stomach pain. And closing with "Light the Fire Again" seemed to fit very well.

And in retrospect passing around a bowl of Dorset Naga and inviting everyone to "share in a common experience" wasn't very sensible.  Althoug yes, it was a common experience. And yes, it was tradition-forming: an experience we will all share in the years to come as we tell the story of "the day the lager ran out". But we're not doing it again.

Those of us who can still walk without being doubled-up with abdominal pain have been putting cushions out on all the seats in the Moot House. We don't need the power of prophecy this time, to know they're gonna be needed.