Coffee hour and the beauty of lingering with one another

The room buzzed with low-level panic and wry confessions. Around the conference table sat a handful of pastors and Christian educators, checking in before the beginning of the fall, swapping stories over pastries and coffee about the chaos of the upcoming program year.

“I just need two more Godly Play volunteers,” one said, scrolling through her phone. Another shook his head, “We’ve had six people say maybe, which I think adds up to one actual human.”

They all laughed, but it didn’t mask their exhaustion. Piles of curriculum samples, calendars and sticky notes blanketed the table. Someone joked about cloning themselves.

The familiar mix of pressure and good intentions filled the air. If they could just pull off Rally Day, launch confirmation, reboot youth group and schedule the Advent planning meeting, then they might breathe. Maybe. Briefly.

But underneath their frantic planning I felt a deeper hunger, barely named: not just for full classrooms but for some way to hold space for grief, for joy, for change, for the Spirit. It made me think about the traditional church fellowship at my church’s coffee hour. It was a taken-for-granted program that gradually returned post-COVID and became one of the more vital activities at my church.

As the pace of life quickly picked up in the post-pandemic world, coffee hour gave us an opportunity to hold on to something countercultural: the practice of slowing down, of lingering with one another. No agendas, just coffee and catching up.

This seemingly simple act — unhurried conversation over coffee, doughnuts and bagels —revealed something deeper: the power of lingering. I began to wonder if the practice of lingering might offer one of the most necessary and countercultural forms of ministry and leadership available to us today.

In a landscape shaped by urgency, performance and measurable outcomes, pastors and church leaders are often rewarded for moving quickly — casting bold visions, launching programs, troubleshooting crises.

But what if the most faithful work isn’t always in the momentum but in the pause? Lingering — setting aside our to-do lists, staying a moment longer than necessary, listening more than speaking — is not just a spiritual discipline but a pastoral move. It shifts the center of gravity away from control and toward communion. It reminds us that ministry is not merely about managing time or people but about cultivating presence — deep, attuned, spacious presence — with God, with others and with ourselves.

In a world that demands constant acceleration, to linger is to live with intention. It asks something of us: to relinquish the comfort of efficiency, to notice what we usually overlook, to dwell long enough for something sacred to surface. It is not passive. It is attentive. It is deeply human.

Theologically, lingering is woven throughout the biblical narrative as a way of being attuned to God’s presence. From Moses turning aside to witness the burning bush, to Jesus delaying his arrival at Lazarus’ tomb, to the two disciples on the Emmaus road urging, “Stay with us,” the sacred often reveals itself in the break, in the detour, in the refusal to rush past the ordinary. Lingering echoes the divine pace of creation itself, where God rests not out of exhaustion but delight. It invites leaders to embody a Sabbath rhythm, resisting the idolatry of urgency in favor of presence, patience and trust.

In a church culture often shaped by the capitalist logic of growth and production, the practice of lingering becomes an act of spiritual defiance. It’s a way to recover the slow, relational movement of the Spirit. It reminds us that God is not only found in the whirlwind of activity but also in the still, small voice that emerges when we choose to wait and watch.

adrienne maree brown’s book “Emergent Strategy” offers a compelling framework for understanding lingering not as inertia but as adaptive wisdom. Her call to “move at the speed of trust” resonates in church life, where trust is often assumed but rarely examined.

When leaders linger — with congregants after worship, in neighborhood conversations, in board meetings — they communicate that people matter more than plans. They allow relationships, questions and silences to breathe.

In doing so, they make space for transformation that cannot be programmed or predicted. She emphasizes the idea that the patterns we enact on a small scale shape the world around us. This resonates with the pastoral reality that how we spend a single conversation reflects the kind of community we’re cultivating for the long term.

brown’s insights remind us that transformation emerges from organic, iterative and deeply human processes. Lingering allows us to notice what is growing beneath the surface and to listen for what is trying to emerge, rather than forcing premature outcomes. When faith leaders take this posture, they cultivate an embodied response to the Spirit’s unfolding work.

In my current role, I’m guiding our congregation through a strategic discernment process to shape our priorities and values for the next three years. Rather than rushing to vision statements or measurable goals, we’re beginning where brown suggests: by changing our pace. We are lingering with questions, stories and longings that often go unspoken.

Sometimes we’ll begin a meeting with a time of silence for a few minutes. Sometimes we’ll chat after a meeting (especially if there are goodies!). A few times I’ve tried something a little less organized; rather than creating a meeting agenda, I’ve emailed a question for a broader discussion ahead of time. We then begin the meeting with this question and allow what emerges in the discussion to shape the “agenda,” without the pressure to make specific decisions or plans.

It’s a chance to dream and daydream together, let our minds wander, and allow space for the unexpected and surprising to emerge in our work.

Inspired by brown’s insistence that what we pay attention to grows, we are listening carefully and lovingly to our past, our place and one another. And lingering has become a spiritual practice that helps us notice patterns, tend to trust and build a foundation not just for programs but for shared imagination. In this way, discernment becomes less about directing the future and more about cultivating the conditions in which something faithful can grow here and now.

Lingering isn’t always easy; it requires patience and a willingness to surrender control. But in a time when so much feels uncertain or in flux, this practice offers a path toward meaningful connection and clarity.

What are the moments you’re tempted to rush past in your own ministry? Where might you stay a little longer — not to produce something but to witness what’s already unfolding? Perhaps the work of faithful leadership begins not with strategy but with softness and stillness in which we choose to linger.