ATLANTA, GA—Religion and alcohol in the South can be a touchy issue. I had heard that Southern Baptists sometimes have two refrigerators, one without alcohol and one located in an out-of-the-way place filled with beer that they refer to as the “Catholic Fridge.” I had also read that it was considered rude to greet a Southern Baptist neighbor if you saw them in the liquor store. So, when I was walking through Atlanta’s Old Fourth Ward and saw a building with signs emblazoned “Church (it’s a bar!),” I was intrigued. Despite the neighborhood’s liberal reputation, it seemed like a bold choice for a drinking establishment.
From the outside, the building might pass as a city church, but unexpected twists like neon lights start to suggest that something is different. This is Sister Louisa’s Church of the Living Room & Ping Pong Emporium, a dive bar filled with religious-inspired art. The door clearly reads: NO OPEN OR CONCEALED BIBLES ALLOWED ON PREMISES.
I arrived promptly at 4 PM as the doors were being unlocked and walked into a room full of objects, paintings, signs, and bottles. Where I am usually interested in the role of beverages in the church, this establishment pushed me to consider the role of religion in bars. This particular bar has been extremely successful since it opened in 2010–its theme has something to do with that.
I sat down and ordered a sangria that came from a large fruit-filled vat on the bar. As I sipped on the drink, the bartender kindly gave me a rundown of the concept that surrounded us.
The bar’s owner, Grant Henry, attended seminary in the 80s. He was becoming a deacon in a Presbyterian church but eventually left due to some fundamental disagreements. He became an antique collector and opened a shop called Resurrection Antiques and Otherworldly Possessions in the Church of the Living Room. Simultaneously, he invented a character called Sister Louisa–a sort of pen name for his art.
The bartender explained that Henry started hosting cocktail parties to showcase his art and his antiques. At first, he mixed cocktails at his own house. But, to learn how to make these cocktails, he became a bartender. Ten years later, he opened Sister Louisa’s as a permanent space for the collection.
The walls of Sister Louisa’s Church of the Living Room & Ping Pong Emporium are lined with paintings by Sister Louisa herself. Many are images of Jesus Christ with words painted on top in speech bubbles. Almost all of them have a religious theme.
Aside from the decorations, Church has plenty of alcohol. The bartender described it as “a gay bar sometimes,” but it is really a neighborhood dive. Because of its noteworthy theme, it has a strong tourist draw and it also attracts plenty of local ping pong players. There are regular karaoke events with church organ music and DJs facilitate nights of dancing. So, if there were any doubts, it is a functioning bar.
For all the kitsch and distraction, the bar has devout regulars. One of them has been immortalized in a painting on the wall above the bar. Another regular explains that the bar provides “a good kind of chaos” and calls it his “place.” Surely, for these regulars there is a sense of community here.
In fact, the owner once said in an interview with WABE radio, “I do feel like Sister Louisa’s Church is a church. I believe that the parishioners at Sister Louisa’s Church are as caring and diverse and whole and sincere and righteous and sinful as the parishioners at any church in the neighborhood, and we have a lot of churches in the neighborhood.”
It is an interesting thought. It goes without saying that many churches provide alcohol to their parishioners, but the bar is something different. While church’s offer community via exclusivity, bars are generally inclusive. Sister Louisa’s Church of the Living Room & Ping Pong Emporium is more inclusive than most. A church would prefer that you pray only within their denomination, but, even if you are a regular at a bar, little offense would be taken if you have a drink at another establishment.
Which brings us to the underlying concept–Church (it’s a bar.) The bar sells alcohol soaked in religious imagery. They make an alcoholic slushie called the Blood of Christ with the Southern staple Cheerwine. Cans of Original Sin hard cider decorate the walls. Action figures stand around crosses. Reliefs of the Virgin Mary and Jesus Christ peer down over the liquor bottles. Praying hands hold a ping pong ball. On the walls, the Last Supper and Adam and Eve are reimagined. An expansion of their bar is known as the “Church Annex.” It is unmistakably religious–but it does not overtly espouse its own religion.
The bartender assures me that the theme is all kitsch. It is not, he says, “institutionalized hypocrisy.” Nevertheless, the bar has gotten a decent amount of flack for its controversial choice of decoration. The establishment has been skewered on Tik Tok. Gangs of adversaries have slandered it with 1 Star Reviews without ever stepping in the doors. The Church sometimes receives harassing phone calls. Small groups of opponents have even picketed outside of the bar doors.
The anger, it would seem, comes from perceived irreverence and sacrilege. The apparent parody of religion in the name of drinking definitely offends some. This offense, as well as the bar’s success, prove the salience of drink in religion. Whether prohibited or required, drink carries importance that transcends its mere liquid form. The controversy and novelty of Sister Louisa’s is an interesting play on the relationship.
So, whether the idea of Sister Louisa’s offends you or entices you, it is important to consider why. At the root of it all, Grant Henry is an artist and Sister Louisa’s is making Atlanta consider the role of drink in religion.
On the streets of Oaxaca, two pre-Hispanic beverages sit side by side. Tejate, a complex drink based on corn and cacao, and agua de chilacayota, a refreshment made from a local gourd, are daily refreshments. While both of these drinks are emblematic of Oaxaca, tejate is laborious to make, involving hours of slow, hand mixing.
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