Jon’s Story, Part 3: Homesick to Belong

A world was opening up before me. It was as if Ryan and Lewie had taken me to the threshold of a doorway and said, “Look!” Of course, this happened in obvious ways. Like taking a new train to a different part of the city, exploring the culturally rich food offerings, and meeting other Christians outside of my school context. But more importantly was the relational world opening before me. It wasn’t just–and I say this cautiously–a new way of doing church, but a new way of being the church. Of being in community, of practicing the giving and receiving of hospitality, of belonging.

It was the Fall of my sophomore year and I don’t remember how I began attending the weekly gatherings, only that I was suddenly in the rhythm of going. Ryan or Lewie would pick me up from campus and drive me to their apartment, where I’d optimistically bring my homework to complete assignments before more people showed up, or I’d take the Blue Line out to Logan Square and walk for a couple blocks. No matter how I got there or when, I never felt early or late. Lewie used to always say, “Come when you can, leave when you must.” so that’s probably why. Each of us there was made to feel that we were exactly where God had us at just the right time. It’s usually outside of time, looking back or looking forward, that you know something was or will be really special. A season or an experience or an event unlike any other. Even rarer are those occasions when you’re fully present and alive in that season or experience and you can see it for what it is then. Sometimes that’s when I think the most transformation happens. This is what that time was like.

Although we all came to Chicago for different reasons, I think we kept showing up to that apartment for similar reasons. Rather than be driven away by each other’s differences, we were compelled by them. They made the group unique in an approach that was shared: making disciples through love, friendship, and hospitality. 

Each week we gathered followed a similar rhythm. We socialized throughout the apartment before sitting down to a meal together. Then we read and discussed a passage of Scripture or theme in the Christian life. And finally we shared communion and prayed together. I never wanted those nights to end and always looked forward to the next week. But they never felt far away because I also spent time with those people throughout the week. Maybe it was over coffee or a meal, or out to a movie. The important thing we learned was that the love and relational and spiritual health of the group and people within was a result of people spending time with one another outside that weekly group time. 

There wasn’t a formula for how we were living out our faith in community, no curriculum. And other than the constant investment in my life by Ryan and Lewie and others in the group, maybe that was the part that contributed to the sense of belonging and relational rest I was searching for. I didn’t have to “fit in”. I was invited to come as I was, not as I should be, which is how, I think, Christ invites us all. If we all wait until we become who we ought to–those two dangerous, dangerous words–we might never come at all and forever exist on the periphery. 

I was part of the community for the rest of my time in college. I made new friends and learned how to be a friend, and I learned how to love and, maybe more importantly, how to be loved. New people came and former ones left, as life’s seasons force all of us to do. Eventually it was my turn, and graduation put 800 miles between me and the group of people who showed me through their words and their actions that I belong. 

Over 10 years have passed and life has carried me further still. I’ve moved to different cities in different states, I’ve taken different jobs, I’ve made new friends. And with everything that’s been new I’ve reflected on the old because once you’ve tasted the fire you’re never satisfied with the smoke. Sometimes I’m not sure if it’s the distance or the years passed that makes the gap feel wide between me and the friendships who gave me the deepest assurance of belonging. But I still receive the phone call or the text that asks, “How are you?” which is another way to say, “I’m still here.” And that, I think, is what God, in ways that are deeply mysterious and profoundly obvious, is saying to all of us. It’s the belonging that we can never lose, the belonging that was always there, and will always be.