”All the believers were one in heart and mind. No one claimed that any of their possessions was their own, but they shared everything they had. With great power the apostles continued to testify to the resurrection of the Lord Jesus. And God’s grace was so powerfully at work in them all that there were no needy persons among them. For from time to time those who owned land or houses sold them, brought the money from the sales and put it at the apostles’ feet, and it was distributed to anyone who had need.” Acts 4:32-35
Since I was a very little girl, I have found this to be a deeply intriguing and provocative passage of scripture. The aspects of it that have captured me over the years have shifted and evolved as I have grown and learned. It evokes rumination of the (unfulfilled) promised Year of Jubilee. The description of unity and selflessness seems ethereal, otherworldly (Narnian, perhaps), and a bit unattainable, but oh-so-desirable. I shared my love for this passage with a group of high-schoolers recently, and their response was that such a reality is nearly impossible within the modern Church and society that they have experienced. By their own profession, most of them had seldom witnessed sacrificial community living. The idea was foreign to them.
These are the thoughts that have been rolling through my mind this week. Our little family just moved into a living space in our church that will be our temporary home until we move to Zambia. Two dear friends of ours also live in the church. Our quarters are separate, but we share responsibilities and some common spaces. Teresa’s room doubles as the nursery on Sunday morning, and kids’ Sunday school meets in our living room. The guys’ rooms are right off of the sanctuary, which functions as their living room during the week. It is a space that embodies fully the term “house church,” and I love it deeply and dearly.
We very much desire to live in community. We know that community is a value, a need, an ambitious goal, and a command for the Christian. In spite of this—or perhaps, because of this—community can be hard, and raw, and challenging. Certainly, community can be a way to find friends who will help you occupy your free time or move stuff out of your apartment. But it can also be a space to strip away facades, allow for vulnerability, invite accountability, and struggle through the pain of repentance and growth together. Of course, it is easy to say you want those things; it is another thing altogether to actually embrace them with humility and grace (just to be clear, I am not in any way suggesting that any of us are having “roommate issues.” We're not. I’m just reflecting on the nature of community living in general). So for the next six weeks, we will live in this little micro-community with our housemates, having moved from our private personal apartment where we were a 10-minute walk from friends into a series of rooms that connect and merge with others’ rooms and, often, others’ place of worship.
We very much desire to live in community. We know that community is a value, a need, an ambitious goal, and a command for the Christian. In spite of this—or perhaps, because of this—community can be hard, and raw, and challenging. Certainly, community can be a way to find friends who will help you occupy your free time or move stuff out of your apartment. But it can also be a space to strip away facades, allow for vulnerability, invite accountability, and struggle through the pain of repentance and growth together. Of course, it is easy to say you want those things; it is another thing altogether to actually embrace them with humility and grace (just to be clear, I am not in any way suggesting that any of us are having “roommate issues.” We're not. I’m just reflecting on the nature of community living in general). So for the next six weeks, we will live in this little micro-community with our housemates, having moved from our private personal apartment where we were a 10-minute walk from friends into a series of rooms that connect and merge with others’ rooms and, often, others’ place of worship.
Two years ago we moved to Chicago with no contacts and no prospects, and we were embraced by those with whom we now share not only materially things but also lifestyles, diets, experiences, and language. Soon we’ll be on our way to a different continent and a different community, one where we will strive to learn to share all of those things but will inevitably experience a fair amount of growing pains along the way. But I think that’s okay, because the hard part—the nitty-gritty, the perpetual need and reach for redemption, the clumsy intentionality, the stumbling humanity of it all—I think that’s part of what makes it true community
One in heart and mind. Shared everything they had. No needy person’s among them.
It’s not our reality, and it isn’t Zambia’s reality, and it will not be a global reality this side of eternity.
And yet, it is certainly our call.
A step of faith; an attempt at intentional service; a push into sacrifice, and hope, and joy, and profound love. A foretaste of glory shared so long ago by a community that “had everything in common” and pursued shalom through grace-fueled sacrificial love.
And yet, it is certainly our call.
A step of faith; an attempt at intentional service; a push into sacrifice, and hope, and joy, and profound love. A foretaste of glory shared so long ago by a community that “had everything in common” and pursued shalom through grace-fueled sacrificial love.
