Living in community has its downsides. Often we idealize what it is like to live in radical openness with each other, total commitment. We — appropriately — dream about having people who love you and will stand with you in your time of need. We imagine dinners, coffee, a little more coffee, and maybe one more shot. How lovely to have those we love near us to share our lives.
But there’s also the other side: you take on each other’s sorrows. When your neighbor hurts, you feel the pain in your gut. When your community is stretched thin, you stretch a little bit more. When crisis pops up its head — and it always will — it no longer matters if it is your crisis or not.
I was touched by community this week.
While preparing to celebrate the wedding of two dear friends in the student ministries department at our home with a rousing party, David and I learned that our neighbor’s son was having some health issues that required his parent’s lives to halt while they deal with the crisis. In a matter of minutes after hearing of the issues facing this sweet boy the student ministries department decided to focus on praying for him, putting off our celebration because our friends are hurting. I was impressed with their empathy, their love.
Ecclesiastes says it best: there is a time for everything, dancing, but also weeping. Tonight is the time for praying over our friend. Our dancing will come later. We started out celebrating one kind of love tonight. We ended up celebrating another kind of love altogether.
