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Toward Good Community

Good Community

In my last article, I talked about the journey toward redemption, how we walk in and toward God's restoration together, and how relationships actually help facilitate that restoration in our lives. I guess what I was getting at there was the oft-discussed concept of community.

Denise has written about community before, showing us how good community is all about selflessness and taking care of each other. This kind of community is vital to our spiritual development and our ability to communicate what Jesus is like, and it's something we need to actively pursue.

The thing about good community, though, is that it's hard.

Roadblocks

We face a lot of obstacles as we seek to forge good relationships — selfishness of course being the huge, glaring, imposing one. It's hard to get out of ourselves enough to see what other people are going through. And even when we're consciously trying to meet the needs of others, it's sometimes hard to know what their needs are. They don't always tell us, and we don't always know how to ask. It's hard to create an atmosphere where burdens can pass freely between us.

Then there's the matter of differences. There's a certain tension in the air when you're good friends with someone who, say, has a different view of money than you do. Or there may be ideological differences to get around. And every now and then, there's someone in your circle who somehow ignites every insecurity you have. Every time you're around this person, you're torn between nurturing him and . . . well, I don't know. Keying his car, perhaps. (Or am I the only one who experiences this?)

Differences (and insecurities) have a way of creating conflict, and conflict has the potential to put the kibosh on any dynamics of grace and selflessness you may have managed to establish.

If you're trying to create good community from scratch, I think one of the hardest things to do is change existing relationships. Once you've established certain rules and routines, it can be hard to go deeper.

About a year and half ago, I came to realize that my friendships just weren't about burden-sharing. My Sunday school class would get together at someone's apartment and watch a DVD Bible study, and then during the "discussion" portion, I would share vivid anecdotes full of personal information. But everybody else would say something completely general, usually starting with "I think sometimes we . . ." My attempts to move the relationship toward sharing life's struggles were awkward and unsuccessful. Our preexisting patterns of interacting were, for me, a road block.

I think most of the obstacles to good community are found in our own hearts. We have trouble knowing and meeting the needs of others because our fears make it hard for us to fully engage in relationship. We have conflict because we're jealous, and we're jealous because we're afraid of being compared and found wanting. Relationships require all of us, and sometimes parts of us don't work quite right.

Starting Over

My own relationship with community has been a tumultuous one (and here perhaps I should clarify that some of the social struggles I've experienced stem from anxieties that are slightly more acute than normal).

As I mentioned earlier, last year I came to the conclusion that a) I didn't have a very strong support network, and b) I really needed one. So I tried to make some changes. I started going to a different church, and simultaneously — and by what I am sure was totally the grace of God — I fell into a new group of friends.

Nonetheless, despite my heightened sense of creating community, I still struggled. I'd carried the things that made relationships difficult for me into new relationships. When there were tense moments in our group, I'd narcissistically panic and assume that I would soon be voted out, only to find out later that the problem wasn't me at all.

One afternoon during a lengthy layover in the St. Louis airport, I had lots of time to read Blue Like Jazz by Donald Miller. I got to the chapter where he talks about how he'd struggled with not liking himself, and how that had hindered him from loving others. And suddenly I had something of a revelation: The way I felt about myself was hurting my ability to care about others and trust them to care about me.

This was a nice little insight into some of my relationship struggles. But I can't be the first to have noticed that changing the way you see yourself and the world is not an easy thing to do.

A few months later I was talking to my priest, and because I tend to get confessional when I talk to priests, I started telling him all about a conversation I'd recently had. A friend had come to me describing a problem and asked for my input; and when I told him what I thought, he told me I was wrong, which I found extremely irritating.

"You were angry because he dumped on you," Father George diagnosed.

"Well, no, not really," I said. "I really like it when people dump on me, actually. I listen to people's problems for the same reason I cook for people: to make them love me." (See what I mean? I would never say this to someone who was wearing, say, a hoodie from Hollister as opposed to a cleric's collar.)

His eyes sparkled and he nodded, then shrugged. Then he said a lot of other things that I don't really remember, but as he talked I realized something else: No one is ever going to love me enough. But that doesn't mean I'm not OK. I'd always been the kind of person who just couldn't get loved enough. Insecure is probably the word, and I probably relied too heavily on relationships to make me feel loved and at peace.

Recognizing that no one relationship could perfectly offer me a sense of significance made relationships much easier. Suddenly, the potential consequences of my friends not completely loving or accepting me were much less dire. With the pressure off, I was freer to love them without expecting them to somehow fix me, and I worried less about my status in the group.

What I Mean Is . . .

I'm pleased to report that things are looking up as I reach for community. It's still a work in progress — I have yet to be fully honest with my roommate, for example, about the fact that I don't like Radiohead as much as she thinks I do. And today I stole some of her parmesan cheese from the fridge. But I'm enjoying the process of learning to love and be loved by the wonderful, flawed, complex human beings in my life.

If you're struggling with finding community, here are a few words of advice from one of the most socially awkward people alive:

• Be prayerful. It's trite, but true. And I think relationships are important enough that sometimes God surprises us by getting us community-ready in ways we didn't pray for.
• Take action. Whether you're trying to strengthen an existing relationship or forge a new one, take the initiative. Host a get-together. Make conversation. Consistency is your friend — when you're spending regular time with a group of people, it fosters a sense of belonging.
• Get help, in the form of therapy if you need to. I'm not kidding. Sometimes we need help sorting out what's behind feelings of loneliness or why it's so hard to build bridges.
C O F F E E  S H O P


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How can you work on forming stronger relationships?

Join the discussion!

• Don't expect perfection. You're going to make mistakes, and other people might (will) hurt you. And sometimes group dynamics just don't gel as easily and happily as we'd like. Be patient.

It's worth it, the effort and the prayers and the moments of what-do-I-do-now. Good community is what nurtures our souls. And it's something we can't live without.