Tag Archives: community

Random acts

As I took my daily walk in the neighborhood this morning, a car pulled up beside me and a woman offered me a bottle of water. She had a cooler and a boy (who looked to 7 or so) with her, and she told me they were driving around handing out water bottles.

By the time I thought to ask her why, she had driven off. I encountered others on my route — runners, walkers, people working in their yards — who had also been on the receiving end of her beneficence. We raised our bottles to one another cheerfully as we passed, big, goofy smiles of recognition on our faces.

I have no idea what lay behind this woman’s actions this morning, but some intriguing possibilities come to mind. It might have been a project for school, or something inspired by a church program. Maybe the idea came from a movie or television show — perhaps even a radio show. Or it might have been prompted by something in a book or magazine.

My chances of finding out are pretty slim. I didn’t recognize the woman or the child, and I doubt I would if I saw them again, unless they were handing out water. I don’t even know if they live in our neighborhood.

What impressed me most is the warmth I felt when I accepted that bottle, from the smile and wave we exchanged as she drove off. That warmth stayed with me, the bottle in my hand a continuing reminder. The feeling was renewed every time I saw someone else holding a similar bottle, with the smiles and nods that passed between us. We all had more in common than usual, thanks to that woman.

Not only did her gift make each of us feel good individually, it disposed us to share that good feeling with others. It also created a kind of affinity group among those who had been recipients of her kindness, and we recognized each other with a simple joy that reinforced the original gift experience we shared.

Such a small and uncomplicated thing to do, handing out bottles of water. None of us were parched or dehydrated, but accepting that gift of water changed each of our days. Water is a humble yet universal symbol of shared embodiment, but I think the real power was in the act itself, in the giving and in the receiving.

In the words of my favorite rabbi, “Go and do likewise.”

Rhythm and blues

Each community has a different rhythm, created by the movements of its comings and goings, work and play, meetings and partings. The rhythm of the community itself may change over time, depending on how it discerns its own identity in the midst of a changing world. — Jan L. Richardson, Sacred Journeys: A Woman’s Book of Daily Prayer, p. 189

I belong to a community of writers that has various circles of involvement: a large group of people who just pass through, a medium-sized group of people who participate occasionally, a small pool of people who are regulars, a core group of dedicated die-hards, and two facilitators who work in tandem to see to the infrastructure of the community. Change is inherent in such a loose, broad framework, but the high degree of stability in the regular and core groups allows these fluctuations to enliven and energize the community rather than destabilize and dissipate it. Change within those circles of greatest stability, however, may seem like a different matter.

Jan Richardson writes the passage above in her discussion of a community faced with the challenge of continuing to be a community when one of its leaders has suddenly died. She further writes that members have their own individual rhythms within a community, rhythms that also change over time, depending on how they see their roles in the community. When one of the facilitators of my writers group moved out of town a few years ago, she found someone to take her place before she left. This was a major change at a level of deep stability, but members of the community adjusted their roles and adapted quite successfully. The group now faces the loss of a facilitator through an unexpected death. Although this feels far more catastrophic, functionally it isn’t all that different from the previous change in leadership.

I find great comfort in Jan Richardson’s observations about the dynamics of change within a community. The writers group to which I belong is built to incorporate and make good use of change; its flexible structure will accommodate this latest difficulty, even the accompanying pain of sudden loss. Roles will shift, and the rhythms of the community and its members will transform. In a sense, the community will be reborn. I guess that’s not such a bad outcome after all.