Three beautiful things happened recently that reminded me just how much we need community right now, and how powerful it can be when we actually show up for one another.

The first happened on Sunday. I was sitting in church listening to our lead pastor preach on the question Who Needs Church? It’s been the theme of our sermon series for the past few weeks, and I’ve appreciated how it’s gently dismantling some of the myths we carry about what church is supposed to be. Hint: it’s less about places or tradition and more about coming together to grow and meet each other’s needs.

Anyways, I was taking notes in my journal for a small-group discussion I’m planning to lead when something unexpected happened. Instead of the usual rhythm—sermon, prayer, dismissal, parents rushing to grab kids—we were given a different invitation. We were invited to be the church to one another. In plain terms: connect by talking, listening, and praying with one another if we felt led to do so. The pastor joked that we couldn’t pick up our kids for another ten minutes anyway, so we might as well use the time well.

As people rose to do a bunch of things, I found myself frozen in place for a few minutes. I didn’t want to be vulnerable around so many people, but I could feel a desire welling up in my soul to simply go talk to someone, anyone, and let them know how I’d been feeling lately.

And that’s how I found myself doing something I hadn’t done in years in a large church gathering. I walked towards another person (who I didn’t know), who was standing at the altar offering a listening ear and an encouraging prayer. There, I shared a few of my worries and my hopes for this year. Then, we prayed together. Afterwards I hugged him, thankful for just that moment of connection with someone else who didn’t know me, but who cared enough to be present with me in that moment and hold space together.

A few days later I found myself sitting in the back anonymously at a board meeting for a board that I used to chair. It’s been nearly six months since I transitioned from formal leadership, but I’ve remained connected to the work and the school. I watched as our Head of School gave a state of the schools presentation, highlighting our progress and the challenges ahead. I beamed with pride as students, staff, and community members were recognized for their contributions.

Days earlier I had been worried about, of all things, my legacy. We were still awaiting official word on our charter renewal and I was still having a hard time letting go of the reins. But now, to see this institution doing what institutions are supposed to do: withstand the test of time, I felt a mix of pride and relief. This community which had played a formative role in our family’s life for so long was still thriving and impacting the next generation of families.

At one point the principal gave a shout out to one of the dads in the front row, a new parent who I didn’t know. He mentioned how everyday during drop off, this dad tells his kids that he loves them. And he talked about the impact of hearing those words everyday from a father and how it reverberates throughout our campus in our culture. One other thing we did that evening was acknowledge the loss of one of our longstanding parents and former staff member who died suddenly last week. Especially in sorrow, we remembered to appreciate each other.

Finally, this morning as I was leaving school drop off, I happened to park on the side of the road to send a text message to my younger sister. As I sat in my van, another dad pulled up behind me, got out of his car in the freezing cold, and walked up and began a conversation. We ended up talking for nearly a half an hour in the cold, but both of us needed the check-in. Our conversation ran the gamut from parenting and marriage, to race and politics. It ended with a commitment to keep conversations like these going, and so we set a date (a mandate get it?) for next week to invite a few other dads.

Something is happening in our society right now. Division is breeding resentment, resentment is reinforcing isolation, and isolation is hardening us into smaller and smaller versions of ourselves. It’s a vicious cycle, and one we can’t afford. We can’t afford to be divided, there’s too much at stake in our families and in our communities. Now is the time to come together, but it begins with getting out of our comfort zones and actually showing up, in real life, and talking to one another.

We have always been better together, let’s see if we can remember why.

SDW3