Communal Living

I packed everything I needed for the week in New Orleans into one backpack and strapped a sleeping bag to it, which was liberating. Everything, that is, except my guitar. If it came to it, I suppose I could trade the guitar for a ukulele. When I put my backpack on, I wanted to walk across town instead of just to the car. We worked hard each day but there was still energy in the evenings for playing guitar, and frisbee, and hackeysack, and for visiting with people. Some seemed rather engrossed in their own cliques but most were very friendly. The lady who asked us to be quiet the first night, Bridgett, worked in the same house as I, and she was radiantly friendly and funny and enthusiastic about Jesus. I realized later that she actually did have a real concern for silence on behalf of another in her group who revealed herself to be far less cooperative with the communal living arrangements. I'd underestimated this, but Bridgett, I think, must have known, and I hope that next time that sister in Christ will find a Motel 6. I personally enjoy living in community. That was one of my favorite parts of being in the army; there was egalitarianism and camaraderie. It was the perfect Marxist socialist society functioning to protect and propagate democracy and capitalism. At any rate, what I observed of the ongoing mission which I was so briefly a part of at Gentilly Baptist Church in New Orleans was the Kingdom of God coordinating in a way that was surely closer to the efficient ideal. People were coming together to give of themselves in order to be a blessing to a hurting community, inspired by our Lord who gave all to us.