Why would anybody want to live in community? I’ve been asking myself this a lot lately. My life is full. Full to the rim with relationships, miscommunications, companionship, suffocation, hospitality and anxiety. I can’t count the sleepless nights, playing and re-playing situations. Frustrated by people, frustrated by my reactions to people.

Reflecting on last weeks meeting, I ponder which direction to go with this posting. Where is the community at right now?

I want to be truthful. I’m learning that holding anxiety and conflict inside can be poison to the human body , to the mind and to relationships. There is something exceptionally healing in the safety of a listener, a sounding board, someone who can relate.

There are things inside of me that grip me with fear. Lies I believe. Maybe my parents believe them, maybe even my grandparents.

Community has caused me a lot of tension. There have been times, that my conveniently buried mess, the ugly stuff no ones supposed to see or know about, has come uncontrollably spewing out of me! This has left me embarrassingly exposed before my friends. Will they accept me..or reject me?

There are plenty of personalities floating around, prying and irking, curious little creatures, eager for intimacy. I instinctively take my Q, and slip into self preservation mode.

A friend shared a story with me: She was commissioned to do a painting. She worked on it faithfully in her art class. Her art teacher took a keen interest in her success as well. Each time she thought she was finished, the teacher would encourage her to keep working at it. There was always something to be tweaked. Finally, she was sure the painting was complete. The teacher came up behind her, looked at the painting and proceeded to paint a big black streak across the canvas. She was so mad, he just wrecked everything! The teacher looked at her and said, “You are afraid of depth.”

Misty hadn’t told me this story metaphorically, but when she said that last line, my stomach started to turn, and I sensed God challenging me. Urging me to let down my guard to the people he’s placed around me. I also heard a warning, it will be painful at times, to see that ugly black streak across the canvas.

Your wondering how this relates to last weeks meeting..? Adam Nash shared his story last Tuesday night with us. He told us memories from his childhood, and parts of his life growing up -a rambunctious pastors kid. I was struck by his transparency. He said he had no regrets (“well, maybe one”, he admitted), because his experiences and even mistakes have lead him down the path to where he is today, shaped him into the person he is now. He talked about his relationship with his father and a common trend all through growing up of seeking approval from his dad. Adam didn’t sugar coat his story for us, he pretty much laid it all out there before us…I guess he was willing to risk our Judgment, fair or unfair.

Vulnerability still causes me a fair amount of discomfort. However I long to have texture and depth in my life. I want to learn to respond out of love, and not fear or lies. Community has brought me to a place where I am utterly dependant on God’s grace and mercy. I am also left to except the grace of my friends.
Once in a while, I catch a glimpse of this painting being worked on. It’s quite an interesting piece, a reflection of me I hardly recognize. There’s still distortion from disproportion, and parts that are almost warped by cynicism. Still, in spite my harsh critique I see something beautiful is emerging. So thank you Adam, your openness has inspired me to continue this pursuit of depth in relationship.
Yours truly,
Tessa

“I will give thanks to your name for your unfailing love and faithfulness, because your promises are backed up by the honor of your name. When I pray, you answer me; you encourage me by giving me the strength I need…don’t abandon me, for you made me.” Psalm 138: 2,3 & 8

I’m sitting across the street from a blinky-light vacancy sign. It’s 1:12 and 7C. The sound of the pastry refrigerator cycles a reciprocating humdrum to accompany our books and tea, laptops and coffee. My mind crawls backward, through a tunnel of days gone by. The week that Mr. Mumby came to town was a slow train coming.

Coming together weekly bonds us. Lately we’ve engaged in collective silence for a couple hours. But Kayle Mumby came, a wandering vagabond, to break the silence. He spoke of angels, a pillar of fire in his back yard, the urgency of Truth, and our responsibility to be agents of justice in this world. We sat and took it all in, deciphering meanings of words, and weighing the rational with faith.

The angel said, “Fresh fire!!! fresh fire!!! fresh fire!!! Tell the people!” He motions with his index finger rigid. “Tell the people, the fire may seem to be withdrawing. But it only withdraws under the door to collect itself, as in a back draft. Do not lose hope. This year it will explode out, and the door will be destroyed. There’s oil in the fire.”

There was a tension in the air. How does one receive a prophetic message? Some of us have had experiences in the charismatic church, which now leave us disillusioned. Some of us come from more stoic upbringings, so some prophetic words sound very weird. But all pasts aside, the message was sure, and simple. What are we to contest in the encouragement from a friend? He says, “I travel around the world, telling people about you; that you lay down your lives for each other.” Those words are not the kind that one plays fast and loose with. It’s quite a thing to say about a group of people. I immediately felt, that I do not live up to such a statement. But who decides? Am I to bring all my energies to bear on my friend, convincing him that I surely am a wretch? That we are hardly worthy of such praise? Since these words were spoken in our hearing, I’ve been looking for their fulfillment from friends around me, and not been disappointed in the least. So then, together, we wait for the fire.

More words, “We talk of Faith Hope and Love, but we talk more about faith and love, and hope has just been tagging along. Friends, keep hoping.” In a place of stalled momentum, these words were fresh water in the desert. In the past, we’ve shared our individual ideas of what “The Project” is actually about. We are as yet unclear as to what this will become, or grow into. But we don’t speak as much anymore about what may or may not be. Instead, our meetings are located in the moment, curious, looking after one another, listening to one another, opening our ears to The Spirit. We pursue obedience without clinging to the results.

In particular Kayle spoke of our duty as Christians to do the work of The Kingdom of God. He mentioned abortion and human trafficking as two key issues that burn inside him. I think this is part of the tension experienced that night… How do you respond when someone you respect challenges you with uncomfortable realities? How do we respond to Reality/Truth, with all its inconveniences? It’s less painful, seemingly less costly to turn the T.V. on and forget about all that.

Surely we don’t pursue such a close quarters living arrangement at the Atangard because it is convenient. It could be fun, and relatively cheap, and maybe original, but it won’t often be convenient. Are we trying to prove something? Well, this is a question I leave unanswered. You may even protest my asking it. But my brother, my sister, regardless if our motives are pure or tainted, our vision distorted, here is our hope: this is not our Project, it is Jesus’.

Speaking for myself, Kayle’s coming and going was a catalyst. Four weeks later, I’m living in the wake of that week. Some people resonate with such Truth, that if you merely brush shoulders with them, even for a moment, you can’t help but be changed for the better.