People have been talking an awful lot about community these days. I keep hearing the word mentioned in everything from Sunday sermons all the way down to simple everyday conversations. It seems as though the Church is starting to reawaken to model of the Body that the early apostles set out for us and everyone’s excited. Changes are happening and lives are being transformed by this “new” way of thinking, but sometimes I can’t help but wonder if people really realize how horrible community really is. And by horrible, I mean completely beautiful.
It has been almost exactly a year now since I left Africa and I am still finding myself being constantly shaped and formed by the community of Christ that I found. During my time there, I was living and working with about 350 other brothers and sisters on a hospital ship off the coast of West Africa with an organization called Mercy Ships. Mercy Ships is an incredible ministry of the Kingdom of God committed to bringing hope and healing to the poorest of the poor in underdeveloped nations. The work I did and the experiences I had while I was there were incredible to say the least, but when I think back over my journey to Africa and back, it’s the people I met that made it what it was.
When you’re living and working and sleeping and eating and singing and traveling and sweating and crying and serving with the same people for months and months, you expect that you’re going to get to know them pretty well. What you never anticipate, however, is how well you’re going to get to know yourself. It’s probably better that you don’t anticipate it, though, because otherwise, you may never do it. When those deepest darkest parts that are so ugly and easy to ignore when you’re all by yourself are brought to light, all you want to do is run away. But when you live in constant community, there’s nowhere to run away to. There were times on the ship when people would literally hunt me down and sit me down and make me talk. At the time, I hated everything about those moments. They were awkward and uncomfortable, but they were necessary. I began to know myself more. I began to know my brothers and sisters more. I began to know my Jesus more.
We showed each other our souls whether we wanted to or not, hoping and praying that our brutal honesty would not come back to haunt us. The fear of rejection that plagues us as fallen people had to be driven out because there was simply no room for it in what we were called to do. And what I discovered was that those times when I found it the hardest to love myself because of the things I saw in my heart, were the times when they loved me the most. The sincerity that existed between us was gorgeous and our humble admissions of need to each other created incredible connecting ties. We rejoiced in each other’s victories and hurt in each other’s pains. We built our community on the common bond that none of us where anywhere close to complete, but that we would all help each other get a little bit closer to it everyday.
To put it simply, Africa taught me how to love- love much; love well; love longer than convenience allowed; love until it hurt and then love more; love sacrificially, intentionally, and completely. I learned what true community means and how uncomfortable it needs to be and it is because of this, that I will never be the same.
