Community

“The Rabbi’s Gift”
summarized from M. Scott Peck, The Different Drum, Community Making and Peace.

This story concerns a monastery that had fallen on hard times. Once a great order, it had become decimated to the extend that there were only five monks left, the abbot and four others – all over seventy in age.

In the woods near the monastery there was a little hut that a rabbi from a nearby town occasionally used for a hermitage. It occurred to the abbot to visit the hermitage and ask the rabbi if by some possible chance he could offer any advice to save the monastery.

The rabbi welcomed the abbot and commiserated with him. “I know how it is,” he said. “It is the same in my town, almost no one comes to the synagogue anymore.” They read the Torah and prayed together. As he was leaving the abbot asked, “Is there nothing you can tell me that would help this dying order?”

“I have no advice to give,” said the rabbi. “The only thing I can tell you is that the Messiah is one of you.”

The abbot returned to the monastery and told the other monks what the rabbi had said. In the days and weeks and months that followed the old monks wondered about the rabbi’s words. Could it be the abbot? What about Brother Thomas? Everyone knows that Thomas is a man of light. Brother Eldred gets angry, but he is always right. Could it be me? As they wondered, they began to treat each other and themselves with extraordinary respect on the off chance that one might be the Messiah.

Because the monastery stood on the edge of a beautiful woods, people would come to picnic on the grounds. As people visited the grounds and wandered into the chapel, they sensed an aura of respect that radiated from the place. There was something strangely attractive and compelling about it.

Hardly without knowing why, people began to come and visit and pray at the monastery and talk to the old monks. Some of the younger men stayed to talk and eventually one asked if he could join them. Within a few years, the monastery had once again become a thriving order, and thanks to the rabbi’s gift, a vibrant center of light and spirituality in the land.

One of the great gifts of our youth fellowship programs is the mix of students across different grades, different schools and even different towns. The JYF and MYF groups have become strong communities where young people work to understand each other’s gifts and graces – as well as challenges -- and respect what each brings to bear and share across their differences. It is hard work, as all community life is, but the rewards have been quickly realized by these groups. Hopefully, as we all approach each other seeing the light of hope in each, we can magnify that respect and strengthen our communities even further.

The Sunday Picnic

(from Laura Leigh Benson-Greer's father, passed on to me from Marjorie Thompson)
The story goes like this:
You know those kinds of days. The announcement is made -- "Let's all meet after church on Sunday for a picnic. You bring supper and we'll provide the iced tea." But if you were like me, you came home at the last minute. All you could find was one dried-up piece of baloney and two slices of dried-up bread, one an end piece. And you got mustard all over your knuckles trying to get the last little bit from the jar. You wrapped your sandwich in an old paper bag and went to the picnic. When it came time to eat, you sat at the end of a table and pulled out your sandwich. But the folks next to you had brought a real spread! The lady had cooked all day and had homemade fried chicken and potato salad and homemade rolls and big sliced tomatoes and two chocolate pies to top it off. And they turn to you and say, "Why don't we just put our food together!" "No, I couldn't do that, " you murmur, with your eye on the chicken. But they insist saying they just LOVE baloney sandwiches. So there you sit, eating like a king when you came a pauper.

This Sunday we had a picnic like that. I planned to make these killer cupcakes, but set-up for Sunday School took longer than I thought. Then I dyed my hair the wrong color and spent hours trying to re-color it. So I showed up with less than a feast. But it hit me again.
Isn't life with God like that. We do our best, put together our baloney sandwiches, and what we're offered is a feast of blessings. This week for me its the kids. They are all growing into such wonderful, strong, caring, thinking, beautiful people. We parents do our best, bring our best to the table, but then God's spirit fills them and they become so much more than we could have ever imagined.