29JanFeb05CoffeeHouseConversations

C O F F E E H O U S E

CONVERSIONS SERVING UP JAVA AND JESUS IN SMALL-TOWN OHIO BY

PETER

LARSON

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Frank Hunt, left, and Allen Willoughby, right, pose in front of the coffeehouse’s modest marquis. “This is a stealth ministry,” says Hunt. “No banners, no advertising, no mass mailings.We just let Jesus bring people here.” space in an old auto parts store in a blighted section of town.

The joint venture was dubbed Sugartree Ministries.

Although they come from different backgrounds, Foster and Willoughby share a deep experience of God’s grace in their lives.“Thirty years ago I was into drugs and alcohol, and it took the mercy of God to redeem me,” says Willoughby.

“The people who have stuck with this ministry are people who have been redeemed—misfits who have experienced grace.”

Foster tells a similar story. “About eight years ago, I got involved in the Kairos prison ministry,” he says.“That was a new experience, to walk into a prison and have the gate close —bang—and you’re on their turf but you’re in Jesus Christ.

At some point I realized that it could easily have been me in that prison. I guess I’ve always been for the underdog.”

From the start, Foster and Willoughby committed themselves to practicing radical hospitality. Anyone who walks in the door at Joe’s Java is welcome—absolutely anyone. Hunt describes this as xenophilia, a Greek word that means love for strangers.“We don’t stereotype people or put a stigma on them,” says Hunt. “That might mean opening the doors to Mexicans, Nigerians, and Filipinos or someone with spiked hair and a drug problem. People who can’t embrace that, they move on.”

Before long, the Sugartree ministry began to branch out in all directions.Along with the coffeehouse and soup kitchen, they added a clothing ministry.Soon, a large number of Mexican immigrants began coming for clothes and saw it as a safe place to gather.In response,Foster and Willoughby convened a meeting of local pastors which led to the founding of a Latino community center in a building next door. Later, when they sensed a need to teach English, 20 college students from Cedarville University volunteered to teach English as a second language.

In just six years Joe’s Java has grown from a hole-in-the wall coffeehouse to a cutting-edge ministry that attracts Christian bands from all over the nation. Some of them are big-name acts that could easily fill halls with 5,000 or 10,000 seats. But for some reason they come here.

One Christian band, the Philadelphia-based Dancing Davids, rented a van and drove to Ohio to play a two-night gig at Joe’s Java.The band’s conga player flew in at his own expense to join them.“I think we paid them $200,” marvels Willoughby.“After the show I asked them,‘Why do you come here and go to all this expense?’They said,‘We come because Jesus is here.’The band prayed for me for 45 minutes in the

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t’s Saturday night in Wilmington, Ohio, and the moon is slowly rising above the grain elevators on the edge of town. Up the street a crowd starts to gather outside Joe’s Java. Clustered under the streetlights is a strange collection of skate punks, street kids, goths, aging hippies, college students, and families with small children in tow.

At 7:30 p.m. the doors swing open, and the crowd surges upstairs into a dimly lit room thick with the scent of incense.

On stage a band named Madison Greene is playing an eclectic blend of Celtic,African, and Cuban fusion. In the back of the room, barristas serve up steaming espresso and mocha lattes while customers dance to the rhythm of conga drums and guitars.

If you think this is anything like Starbucks, you’re wrong.

At Joe’s Java the customers are not rich and trendy but downand-out.They include ex-convicts, drug addicts, alcoholics, high school dropouts, illegal aliens, and the working poor.

The music here is unashamedly Christian, and the walls are covered with pictures of Jesus.With every cup of coffee, Joe’s Java serves up a strong dose of unconditional love.

“The Holy Spirit is doing some incredible things here,” says Allen Willoughby, 51, one of the co-founders of the ministry. “A couple of nights ago the band stopped playing, but people didn’t want to leave. It wasn’t the entertainment —it was the presence of the Lord. So at midnight we started going through the crowd, praying for them.”

“This is a stealth ministry,” explains Frank Hunt, 42, a Celtic Franciscan monk who serves on staff.“No banners, no advertising, no mass mailings.We just let Jesus bring people here.”

The dream for Joe’s Java began in 1997 when Willoughby teamed up with a local Methodist minister, John Foster. Foster had started a feeding ministry, serving sandwiches off the back of a pickup truck to street kids and homeless people.Willoughby, an artist and musician, had a vision to start a Christian coffeehouse.After praying together for several months, they rented

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kitchen. I was in tears.”

In the early years bands would cancel at the last minute or not show up at all. That’s not a problem now. “I get so many emails from bands that I have to turn some of them away,” says Willoughby. “I don’t call bands anymore—they call me. I probably get 50 letters a week from groups wanting to play here.”

Mike Blair, 27, lead singer for the Detroit-based band Madison Greene, first played at Joe’s Java four years ago.“This place represents what God can do when people are open to his call,” says Blair.“I’ve seen it go from a struggling, obscure coffeehouse to where it is today. Now you’ve got bands like Disciple and EastWest wanting to play here. And the crazy thing is they’ve done it with no budget. It’s been amazing to watch it happen.”

The problem with most Christian bands is that they’re playing mostly for Christians, says Blair.At Joe’s Java that’s not the case.“Joe’s Java is not a church venue,” says Blair.“They fly under the radar. They draw people who are not Christian, because they’re not preaching or trying to be religious.”

Cory Miller, an 18-year-old skater and rollerblader from Mount Pleasant, began coming to Joe’s Java a year ago.“People here make you feel comfortable,” he says.“You don’t feel out of place. And they’ve got real good bands.”

Cassey Nicholas, 21, agrees.“We were playing bongos and jambay drums one day when some women from Joe’s Java invited us to join their drum circle. I’ve always been scared of churches, so I didn’t know what to expect. But when I came here I found out that God loves me the way I am.”

By summer of 2003 the ministry had expanded to the point where they needed more space.When a local computer chip manufacturer closed down, the 16,000-square-foot building was offered to Sugartree. On Christmas Eve, 2003, they served their first meal in the new building.“The strange thing is that we are paying the same rent here that we paid for our old space, which was 2,500 square feet,” says Michael Snarr, a political science professor at Wilmington College who serves on the Sugartree board.

Twelve area churches provide financial support to Sugartree, but for most of their needs they rely on manna: God provides exactly what they need exactly when they need it. “We’re not a group that’s into signs and wonders, but we sure see a lot of them,” says Willoughby. Recently, when the speakers were blown out and there was no money to replace them, a trucking company donated $5,000. Willoughby recalls another time when the ministry urgently needed $300. Suddenly, a

Mexican man walked in and gave them a check for $280.“A judge had given him the choice of 40 hours of court-ordered community service or making a donation to Sugartree,” says Willoughby. When the ministry needed some new kitchen equipment, the local White Castle hamburger distributor invited them to come to his warehouse and take whatever they needed. Once, when the ministry was awaiting a shipment of army surplus blankets, they arrived on the first day of a ferocious cold snap, exactly when they were needed.

“This place is a master class on faith,” says Hunt.“There are times when we had literally no food on the shelves and then a truck appears and suddenly the shelves are full again.”

But the greatest miracle at Joe’s Java is the individual lives that have been changed and transformed.“Many of our staff have found the Lord through Joe’s Java,” says Willoughby.

“After a Bible study one night we had three people who wanted to be baptized, all of them 20 to 21 years old. One night we found a young guy who was going to the bathroom under the porch. Now he’s a phenomenal young Christian.”

It’s been a long, hard road since they first opened the doors of Joe’s Java, but Foster and Willoughby have no regrets.“It’s very difficult, trying to love people,” Foster reflects. “There are some people that you get very exasperated with. But, as followers of Jesus, we are forced to love—commanded to love.

I do it simply to be a servant. Whoever walks in here, we give them a foot washing:We wash their feet.” ■ Peter Larson is pastor of Lebanon Presbyterian Church in Lebanon, Ohio, and a contributing editor to PRISM.

Detroit-based band Madison Greene brings their Celtic, African, and Cuban fusion to the stage of Joe's Java.

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