Saturday, August 3, 2019

Community Picture


We came for the music. We stayed for the community.

The western sun brilliant in the cloudless sky. Thursday’s twilight approaching.  A sample of a local brew safely perched in the cup-holder in my blue fabric sling chair.  Some Gouda and Wheat Thins for in between sips.  Live jazz like you hear in the big city, right here in downtown small city.  The crowd was an eclectic mix of boomers and millennials, of X-ers and Z-ers, and whatever today’s toddler generation will be named.  No one asked who anyone loved, married, or didn’t. I couldn’t tell the citizens from the guests as a thousand folks mixed and mingled, danced and laughed.

I didn’t love the music. I did love the food. A buffet of food trucks to feed every appetite: Asian, Mexican, Greek, American.  We found old friends and we sat together, laughing about getting old, admiring how diverse our city had become. Where did all of these people come from, we wondered? These were the people our growing economy is bringing to town, giving them gatherings to entice and retain, we surmised. The future and the past all together, sitting in random rows, as dogs and babies entertained.  An unintentional intentional community had formed right around us.

A community drawn by the light; by the bread; by the wine; by the friends of many languages and nations. And by the music.

I asked my wife, only half in jest, ‘I wonder where all of these people go to church?’ The answer is that some 60% of them don’t attend.  And for the other 40%, they divide into churches of many tribes with many rules and admission tests, lest ‘impurity’ stain each other’s tribe.

I can only begin to imagine the joy on Jesus’ face as the community gathers on Thursday nights in the public square…all God’s children.  I can only imagine the quizzical frown on Jesus’ face as the Sunday community continues two centuries of failure to replicate that picture of Thursday’s community.

When did we decide that the people we party with on Thursday could not worship with us on Sunday? Talk about fields ripe for harvest.

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