Lessons About Community Over Coffee

Much of what I know and practice I have learned at a Starbucks. For me, it is where community and connection are as steady as and unique as a craft beverage. Not long ago, I thought of Robert Fulghum's All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten. Fulghum’s main idea was clear: the same rules that help kids get along, like playing fair and sharing, also help adults build a healthy society.

If Fulghum’s classroom was his first example of community, mine has been a series of Starbucks stores over the past fifteen years. Each one shows how building a beloved community takes effort, care, and sometimes a bit of luck. Some people work in church offices or rented spaces. I often work at a small wooden table by the window, with my usual drink, music playing, and baristas who always remember my name and order. "Tall, dark with a splash of almond, Mr. Willis?"—never Dr. Johnson, which feels just right. Besides the warm greetings and the smell of coffee, unseen connections make this place feel like a modern gathering spot. The Wi-Fi keeps us linked to the world, the lighting makes it easy to stay longer, and the steady hours give us a reliable place to gather, quietly supporting this shared space and strengthening the community.

The Starbucks storefront, with its green siren sign, is probably the most common "third place" in American towns and cities. In the late 1990s and early 2000s, sociologists and ethnographers began discussing the idea of a "third place." It’s not home or work, but a public living room where strangers and neighbors can connect. Where the church lobby once served this purpose, now it’s a spot with faux-wood floors, mismatched chairs, and the steady sound of the espresso machine. Here, the marketplace and a sense of sanctuary mix together, sometimes awkwardly, but always in plain sight.

But what does it mean to see democracy through the daily routines at Starbucks? It starts with realizing that democracy, like coffee, is made fresh every day. It’s a habit that needs care and practice. Starbucks is a business, but it’s also a place where everyday life plays out: a parent talks with a child about screen time, a candidate or pastor meets people at the big table, and old friends gather every Thursday to debate politics with the patience that comes from years of friendship.

Even though Starbucks is a big company, it’s still a fragile community. The baristas, often young and underpaid, show a kind of emotional intelligence that no computer can match. They work hard and also make people feel welcome. The chalkboard showcases the latest drink and a local cause, offering more than just coffee. The tip jar shows how people are feeling that day. A napkin with a bathroom code, handed over quietly, shows both care and trust. People from all walks of life—wanderers, writers, students, and those without homes—find not just a seat, but a bit of dignity, even if they aren’t always fully accepted.

We are a diverse group, sometimes hurt but still hopeful, brought together by countless small interactions. The beloved community isn’t perfect; it’s something we practice, as delicate and important as the work behind the counter. Mistakes happen—milk gets burned, the register breaks, someone leaves upset. But there’s always a chance to make things right. Once, a barista spilled a caramel macchiato, and the customer, though annoyed at first, got a real apology and a free drink. The tension faded with a smile and a reminder of our shared humanity. Fulghum was right: say you're sorry, clean up your mess, share the crayons. Or, in the third place: remember the name, make the drink right, hold the door.

It’s easy to think of Starbucks as just another big chain, the same everywhere. But that’s not the real story. Democracy, like coffee, is local. It grows in the unique habits of each store, each neighborhood, and every barista-customer relationship. It’s built slowly, cup by cup, and conversation by conversation, from the ground up.

As a public theologian and spiritual entrepreneur, I’ve learned that the most radical thing we can do is acknowledge who and what’s already around us. The concept of a beloved community isn’t some far-off dream. It’s something we craft consistently, fresh each morning, with just enough space for a splash of almond milk.

Rev. Dr. F. Willis Johnson is a spiritual entrepreneur, author, scholar-practioner whose leadership and strategies around social and racial justice issues are nationally recognized and applied.