Sabbath Devotional :: Community

Photo: A quilt that I made — I love quilts as a material reminder and embodiment of how community can make us feel: warm and enveloped

I think one of the most beautiful things about my faith tradition is the ways it embodies community. This week I was reading a social media post from a political/community organizer I follow who recently had a medical procedure, and they were mourning the lack of community in their life as they were dealing with their recovery and some of the limitations and hardships they were experiencing. I thought back to the many times my ward communities have shown up for me, from my ministering sisters bringing me dinner after I had a minor surgery a few years ago, to a bishopric member sending a thoughtful text to check in at a time when I was traveling a lot to assist my family through a period of change, to the way my local ward has helped me feel very welcome and settled as a single person alone in a new city. In my various wards and stakes I have been blessed with so many friends — some for a season, some who still remain close friends today. This is not something I have taken for granted, but I think I have taken it for granted that everyone has this type of support and fellowship, when that is often not the case.

Our shared faith, our reason for being in community fosters a deep level of connection — we are part of the body of Christ, and with it, accept the charge to be “willing to bear one another’s burdens, that they may be light; . . . mourn with those that mourn; yea, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort,” as we also stand as witnesses of Christ. And in Christ we have a beautiful example of how to foster community — time and again Christ wept and mourned with his friends, showing up for them and seeing them, prior to enacting his blessings and miracles as their Lord and Savior.

But in spite of so many stories and experiences attesting to the good and power of community to be found in the church, there are stories reflecting the opposite. It can be hard when political strife creeps into our congregations, when we are sitting next to neighbors who hold very different opinions than us, who might enact their beliefs in our shared faith in very different ways. I have learned and grown a lot in these instances, too, of how to learn to love, appreciate, or serve people who feel very different from me. These are things the Savior taught us as well, with His longsuffering patience and kindness even toward those who despised and persecuted Him.

In her book “Searching for Sunday,” Rachel Held Evans quotes writer Richard Beck: “The sacrament brings real people — divided in the larger world — into a sweaty, intimate, flesh-and-blood embrace where ‘there shall be no difference between them and the rest.’” Rachel Held Evans continues, writing “I would be lying if I said I relished this “sweaty, intimate, flesh-and-blood embrace” without reservation. . . .On a given Sunday morning I might spot six or seven people who have wronged or hurt me, people whose politics, theology, or personalities drive me crazy. The church is positively crawling with people who don’t deserve to be here . . . starting with me. But the table can transform even our enemies into companions. The table reminds us that, as brothers and sisters adopted into God’s family and invited to God’s banquet, we’re stuck with each other; we’re family. We might as well make peace. The table teaches us that faith isn’t about being right or good or in agreement. Faith is about feeding and being fed.”

I remain grateful for my Church community, when it is good to me and even when it tries me. And I feel even more grateful for my Savior, who gave us the blueprints of how to love our neighbor, in every scenario from ideal to less-than. And I am especially grateful for our MWEG community, which I think embodies this Christlike love and care.