In search for community

I was the fifth of seven children, born and raised in a small Midwestern farm town. I had good parents and liked all my siblings. I attended small town schools with many of the same kids from first grade through high school graduation. My family was faithful members of a small town church. I was active in church activities, including the youth group. I was a varsity high school athlete in football, basketball and baseball. I sang in choirs and played in the school band. My early years were life in a series of communities. The lonely life was not a part of my growing up. My normal life was life in community.

As a minister, I was always a part of a church community. As a Baptist, being a part of a local church was near the center of my Christian experience. Being a part of a church did not mean belonging to an institution or organization. Being a member of a church meant belonging to a community that regularly gathered. By definition, a person was only a part of a church if and when people gathered. We Baptists have argued that the Greek word, “eklesia,” which we translate “church,” requires gathering. An excused absence makes no sense. Participation is essential to being human.When participation is lost, essential humanity is lost

Family and church taught me the same lesson. In order for the good life to flourish, there must be community.

As a part of studying Christian theology, I was drawn to anthropology, the study of human beings. Just what are human beings? What are they about? How do they reach the fullness of their potential? How can they be saved or made whole?

The writer of Psalm 8 asks the critical question. What are human beings? He asks the question of the Lord God. However, it remains for every human being to ask that question of himself/herself and of every other human being.

I ask these questions because of my own caring about the generations that are following. I have watched my children grow up, pursue life, bear children and nurture them, stumble and excel. I have watched them fail and succeed. I have become a learner at their feet. I now need them far more than they need me. My children are children of the Vietnam era. Feminine leadership and power arrived in force in their generation. Social structures were upended, and it became obvious that my ways were not their ways.

Now the latest force has arrived. It is my ponderings about this new generation that triggered the writing of this column. This new generation is being called millennials. They are my grandchildren. To understand millennials is even more complex than understanding the generation shaped by the Vietnam War and the feminist revolution. The new generation has been shaped by technological revolutions. The speed of life has accelerated dramatically. Communications is no longer a time consumer. Communication happens in an instant. It does not matter if the other end of the conversation is in France or next door. Complex mathematics happens in an instant. Art, music, creative writing and drama are flourishing as never before. Cultures have no borders. Communications and technology have created wealth beyond imagination. Religious institutions have been sent stumbling. The potential for violence and destruction has become unimaginable.

The complexity of the new generation is beyond me.

We now have eight grandchildren, who fit into this new brilliant, fast moving generation. They are all graduating from college on schedule with good degrees and exceptional skills. I am in awe of their brilliance and abilities.

I have one very big concern. Patterns of community are apparently constantly changing. In a fast changing world are there things that cannot change without damaging humanity itself. I have been and continue to be a churchman. I have watched many lives stabilized and changed for the good through the workings of community. Churches have long been at the heart of community structures within towns and cities. Do they need to change in order to facilitate the social fabric that is inherently needed for the flourishing of human beings?

I accept that history is in constant movement and that history never repeats. Relationships, friendships, and community will not move at the new fast speed. A spiritual of the past asks the Lord God to “Slow Me Down, Lord, I’m Moving too Fast.” I suspect it is good advice to our millennial young people.

The End

The Rev. Howard Bess is a retired American Baptist minister, who lives in Palmer, Alaska. His email address is hdbss@mtaonline.net.