Encounters #3: “I’m visiting a community”
At English L’Abri I contribute three hours a day to working around the property. I take another three in which to look for answers to my questions. I pay for a bed, three meals a day, and two tea breaks. Nearly all of my time revolves around community.
Therefore the correct response remained, “I’m visiting a community.” Still, no stamp appeared. My passport lay open, the customs agent’s eyes remained glazed, and the question was repeated, “What is the purpose of your visit?”
I decided to ramp it up a notch since the word community continued to baffle him.
“I’m visiting a religious community. I’m very religious. It’s like a monastery. I’ll probably pray a lot.”
His eyes focused immediately into a baffled but humorous stare.
“So, you’re going to a monastery… to pray… to Jesus… for three months.”
After a minor Machiavellian struggle inside my conscience, but without breaking eye contact I smiled and said, “Yep, that’s pretty much it.” He laughed, shook his head, stamped my passport, and replied, “Well, say a prayer for me then.” To date, God has received three on his behalf. But in actual fact, I pray far more here than I thought I would. Community can do that to a person, generally because they rarely see it coming.
In some circles, L’Abri conjures great visions of the ideal, and mistakenly requires little explanation. Mostly, I don’t run in those circles, and nearly all my verbal fumbling for description has been met with supportive but confused well-wishing for my visit to England. I’m not visiting England, I’m visiting a community. Even knowing this, I still find myself asking “What is community?” and, “Did I really ask for this?”
Community is subtle. It can be found with a garden fork, a wheel-barrow, or a dust-mop and rags. But somehow gathering around ideas, or a cup of tea in the morning, or even a film discussion seems more obvious. But the question remains, is that community?
Community is exchange. It seems very clear after a great lecture, a game of volleyball, or a particularly good meal and conversation. But what is community? It seems less clear with despair, brokenness, or criticism. Yet they must be faced, and they are very punctual guests here. They arrive smiling or crying, quietly or grumbling, in subtle shades or broad brush strokes. But they are often given back with slow slender hints of hope, grace, and longing.
Community is participation. This stands out as people share their talents at High Tea, pray together on a Monday morning, or take trips with each other on a day off. But is this community? More often community walks alongside of someone in their questions and personal darkness, it argues against itself in order to learn boundaries, and refuses to draw back from the radical other who thinks, talks, and acts so differently.
Community is no easy thing. For at its heart, it implies something gathered around, not merely what is done. And so we gather here in this place, whether we see it coming or not, asking for the extension of hospitality even before we are able to articulate it, participating as much or as little as we are able and asking with stuttering, frustrated or broken speech for this subtle exchange.
By Jeff Adam’s (Student at L’Abri, spring term, 2008)
Therefore the correct response remained, “I’m visiting a community.” Still, no stamp appeared. My passport lay open, the customs agent’s eyes remained glazed, and the question was repeated, “What is the purpose of your visit?”
I decided to ramp it up a notch since the word community continued to baffle him.
“I’m visiting a religious community. I’m very religious. It’s like a monastery. I’ll probably pray a lot.”
His eyes focused immediately into a baffled but humorous stare.
“So, you’re going to a monastery… to pray… to Jesus… for three months.”
After a minor Machiavellian struggle inside my conscience, but without breaking eye contact I smiled and said, “Yep, that’s pretty much it.” He laughed, shook his head, stamped my passport, and replied, “Well, say a prayer for me then.” To date, God has received three on his behalf. But in actual fact, I pray far more here than I thought I would. Community can do that to a person, generally because they rarely see it coming.
In some circles, L’Abri conjures great visions of the ideal, and mistakenly requires little explanation. Mostly, I don’t run in those circles, and nearly all my verbal fumbling for description has been met with supportive but confused well-wishing for my visit to England. I’m not visiting England, I’m visiting a community. Even knowing this, I still find myself asking “What is community?” and, “Did I really ask for this?”
Community is subtle. It can be found with a garden fork, a wheel-barrow, or a dust-mop and rags. But somehow gathering around ideas, or a cup of tea in the morning, or even a film discussion seems more obvious. But the question remains, is that community?
Community is exchange. It seems very clear after a great lecture, a game of volleyball, or a particularly good meal and conversation. But what is community? It seems less clear with despair, brokenness, or criticism. Yet they must be faced, and they are very punctual guests here. They arrive smiling or crying, quietly or grumbling, in subtle shades or broad brush strokes. But they are often given back with slow slender hints of hope, grace, and longing.
Community is participation. This stands out as people share their talents at High Tea, pray together on a Monday morning, or take trips with each other on a day off. But is this community? More often community walks alongside of someone in their questions and personal darkness, it argues against itself in order to learn boundaries, and refuses to draw back from the radical other who thinks, talks, and acts so differently.
Community is no easy thing. For at its heart, it implies something gathered around, not merely what is done. And so we gather here in this place, whether we see it coming or not, asking for the extension of hospitality even before we are able to articulate it, participating as much or as little as we are able and asking with stuttering, frustrated or broken speech for this subtle exchange.
By Jeff Adam’s (Student at L’Abri, spring term, 2008)