Making Myron Proud

My church in Goshen is really big on community. I never really got on board, though. It’s not that I didn’t believe it was important. I just couldn’t ever figure out how to create it. And as I often do when I can’t figure something out, I responded by not trying. Now that I’ve moved to a different hemisphere, I think it’s finally starting to make some sense.

Last Friday night, I moved into the home of a wonderful Paraguayan family. They are teaching me about community. Allow me to recreate our first introduction. Carol (a seasoned missionary) and I drive up to a very typical looking Paraguayan home, get out of the car, and clap to alert them of our presence. A fourteen year old girl comes around the corner to welcome Carol with besitos, one kiss on each cheek. She proceeds to lead us through a tall door that is just wide enough for my body, into a tiny family room. Inside, we are warmly greeted by Noemi’s mom, Edy. After besitos, she leads us through another body-sized doorway into what looks like a study. Here, we all squeeze in amidst a couch, two arm chairs, two bookcases, an electric keyboard, and a small table and desk, both covered with books, papers, and music. While Carol and Edy are talking, I look through the next doorframe to see a small bedroom containing two twin beds and two wardrobes. I assume that I will be sharing this room with Ana, Noemi’s older sister. I tune back into the Spanish conversation between Carol and Edy, at which point I realize that the girls both sleep in the bedroom, and I am going to be spending the next 5 months in the study, which also serves as a walkway between the family room and the girls’ bedroom. Bedrooms clearly aren’t designed to be lived in, here. They’re designed to be slept in. Living rooms are for living. Together. I was to live as they do. Together. All the time. Taking a deep breath, I very quickly came to terms with two realities. First, my living situation was perfectly designed for me by my loving heavenly Father. Second, His plan included chipping away at my very sacred need for personal space, privacy, and time alone.

I want to learn to live as a Paraguayan. Therefore, instead of freaking out about seemingly impossible situations, I try to think, “If this is a part of a Paraguayan’s every day life, there must be a way to make it work.” I need time alone. Just ask my family. I get really irritable without it. I lose perspective. I need it. My time alone enables me to love my time with people. But somehow, Paraguayan young people don’t get much of it and they seem to be coping quite well. They couldn’t have all been born extroverts. Come to think of it, a lot of the world lives in really close community. How in the world can the introverts in these cultures maintain their emotional stability?

Well, I have a hypothesis. I will be putting it to the test throughout the coming months and might graduate it to the theory stage by December. Could it be that what I’ve labeled as a need to be alone is actually a misdiagnosed need to rest? We all have a Self that we like and another that we try to hide. When alone, our unlikeable Self can exist without our likeable Self having to exert the energy required to subdue it. In this place, we can be real. We don’t have to fight with ourselves. We can rest. I’m not talking about ceasing to fight against sin, but against those parts of our personalities that we just don’t like. Maybe maintaining our own idea of a socially acceptable persona takes a lot of energy and we just get really tired. Maybe that’s why people in Latin and African cultures tend to be so happy. Christians in these places are especially free from the need to perform. Since they live together all the time, they can’t hide. It’s impossible. So they don’t. As a result, they have to accept one another as whole people.

According to First John, fellowship is walking in the light and walking in love. How interesting. Isn’t walking in the light refusing to hide the Self of which we are ashamed? And what is love, if not resisting the temptation to despise a brother who has dared to expose his unlikable Self? When I really think about the people in my life, I realize that I only pull back from people when I am fighting my feelings. When I am able to rest in their presence, however, I can be with them indefinitely, without needing time alone. I rest with some people because they bring out my likeable Self; I never have to hide my unlikable Self from them because it doesn’t seem to exist. This fellowship, however, is based on a false reality. Sometimes, though, I don’t hide because I know that I am wholly loved. This must be true fellowship.

So, how do we get there? I don’t know. I don’t like crying in front of people, but nearly everyone here has seen me cry. They’ve seen me laugh a lot, too, often through my tears. Last Sunday, I left the group because I was feeling weepy and didn’t want the others to see me cry. God really got after me, though, about this whole fellowship thing. So I wiped my eyes, waited for the redness to fade, climbed the stairs leading back up to the sanctuary, and rejoined the group. A few minutes later, one of my new friends, Joel, introduced me to his sister, Sarah. “Oh, my best friend’s name is Sarah!” I said, happily. “Do you miss your friends?” Joel asked. I burst into tears. Then I started laughing and apologizing for being such a crybaby. They hugged me, we all laughed, and my love for life quickly returned. I wonder how long I would have taken to come to that place, on my own. How long would have I isolated myself, waiting for the emotion to pass?

On another occasion, I was ecstatic to hear someone describe me as always having a smile on my face. Given that she was included in the “everyone” who has seen me cry, I had been worried that she thought I was an emotionally unstable wimp. But she seemed to understand that the sad moments were just a part of the whole. What a blessing to be seen in this way! Is it possible that this perspective has actually become natural for people who live in close community? How do we have true fellowship? I don’t know. But for me I think it has started by determining that I will allow others to see the Self of which I am not particularly fond. This means that I can neither suppress it nor isolate myself when it appears. In fact, I should probably stop referring to it as a separate Self. Besides giving my readers concern for my mental health, I really should embrace it as being a part of my whole person. For me, having true fellowship includes loving those around me, and embracing them as whole persons, as well. Granted, this all sounds much prettier than it actually is. Not better, but certainly prettier. Walking in the light means being misunderstood, judged, and rejected. Walking in love means being cut on people’s rough edges. Paraguayans refer to a lot of things as being feo. Ugly is our best English translation. The muddy road is feo. A kitchen before it is cleaned up after dinner is feo. Words that hurt others are feo. A person’s behavior can be feo. I bet fellowship can be really feo. But I bet it’s worth it.

Walking in light and walking in love. I wonder if this will help me thrive in such close community. I think it’s what I’m observing from the Paraguayans. It certainly lines up with Scripture. If I stop fighting my Self, maybe I won’t be so tired and need so much time alone. Maybe. Maybe I’ll actually prefer communal living over the independence to which I’ve grown accustomed. How freeing. Right now it’s still a hypothesis.