Finding Community

Paul left Athens and went to Corinth. There he met a Jew named Aquila . . . who had recently come from Italy with his wife Priscilla. . . . Paul went to see them, and because he was a tentmaker as they were, he stayed and worked with them.

—Acts 18:1–3

I’ve been in what seems like a thousand groups that never really came together, and just a few that really did. I think a lot of groups, church-based or otherwise, fail because they can’t find themselves under the weight of expectations placed upon them. Sometimes when we start small groups, we saddle them with the idea that they have to be deeply intimate and transformational right at the first meeting. We force connections that aren’t there, fumble through topics and conversations and routines that feel forced and hollow, and then we wonder why we don’t actually want to go that often.

Sometimes it does work to set out together for intimacy, honesty, truth-telling. But more often you find those things by going through the back door—serving together, cooking together, reading together. When you do what you love with people who love the same thing, something is born into your midst and begins to connect you. When you walk with someone, listen to their story, carry their burden, play with their kids, that’s community. When you find yourself learning from them and inviting them into the family places in your life, that’s community, and wherever you find it, it’s always a gift.