Ohhhhh I love mangoes. So much.

I mean, you know I love food. And fruit is probably my favorite food group. And among the fruits, mangoes are at LEAST in the top five (Mangosteen top the list, but that’s a sore subject for another conversation. But even Mangosteen allude to the mighty mango! 🥭)

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It was a Wednesday morning: hump day. Not much to be said about Wednesday mornings – except this one.

I’d gone grocery shopping the evening before, and the Ataulfo mangoes on sale for $0.79 a piece were too much for me to walk by twice, so I bought a half dozen (for myself. In my defense, they’re really small, and I eat more than one meal a day. And they’re mangoes. Mangoes, guys.).

I was eager for my pre-work mango breakfast on this hump day Wednesday. I’d carefully selected my quarry by gentle squeeze and experienced sniff, and this little teardrop of Mexican sunshine was a very promising specimen.

The knife cut through the golden flesh with as much resistance as room temperature Wisconsin grade A butter, and I had to swallow hard to keep the mango free of – uh, mouth droplets 🤤 – as the sweet smell wafted upward from the cutting board.

20 seconds later, I was gnawing on what little fruit remained on the pit, juice dripping from my chin to my elbows. I could scarcely take the time to rinse my hands before texting my sister (who fully understands the elation that food, and especially mangoes, brings to her elder sibling):

"I just ate a really tasty mango. I'm just so happy!! I'm almost giddy. I had to share my joy with someone :D"

I could not contain my joy. There was absolutely no way to keep that internalized sunshine from leaking out a crack and spilling over onto someone nearby. Anyone within earshot was bound to know of the thrilling experience that I was living, and bound to be offered a taste of the fruit that had my eyes sparkling.

The Gospel is like a mango.

Or, at least, it should be.

If the Gospel – the Good News – isn’t something that you so joyfully experience that you cannot contain your glee at the thought of it, isn’t something missing?

“The Gospel is more like steak,” some might argue. But then we get into the discussion of which is best – rare, medium, well, smoked, grilled, sous vide… But a mango is just a mango. It tastes just as wonderful however you slice it.

I have yet to find a clean way to consume a mango; I get juice from my cheeks to my elbows every time I mango. But once again – isn’t that the point? Shouldn’t we be elbows deep in the Good News, rather than carefully dissecting it with fork and knife, arguing about how it should be served? Shouldn’t we be sticky with its sweet nectar, leaving happy little fingerprints (and elbow prints) everywhere we go?

I don’t know what the Gospel equivalent of a mango is for you. For my mother, it is a juicy white grapefruit. My uncle, a sun-ripened strawberry in July. My nephew, a plump cherry tomato. Whatever it may be, may you “Taste and see that the LORD is good” (Psalm 34:8), and allow Jesus’ love to be bubbling over, making all sorts of sticky sweet messes that whet your appetite for more. ❤️🥭