Does Community Matter?

     We’ve never experienced the need for community more than these crushing days when our six-year-old granddaughter Lydia died. As one of the pallbearers observed, the coffin was light, but the burden was heavy.
     I thought about a man I knew who found that his best place for community was at a bar. Before heading for home after work, Frank often stopped at The Tap, lifted a longneck, and share some laughs. Everyone knew his name. Everyone accepted him.    
     Then Frank died.
     Most of his family lived out of town, so they pulled together a memorial service at the local church. The minister read ritual out of a little black book. Nothing personal.
     Afterward, the family sat alone in Frank’s home, longing for remembrances from his friends. “Let’s go to The Tap,” one said. So they drove to the tavern, pulled open the door, and peered into the darkness. “Anybody here know Frank?”
     Heads flew up and arms pointed their bottles skyward. “Everybody knows Frank.”
     The siblings took stools and got to know their father better through the eyes of his friends.
     Like Frank, we all want a place where we’re accepted, where everyone knows our name. If we don’t find it in one setting, we’ll grab it in another.
     So here’s the challenge to me from Frank’s story: Do I help create the kind of community I need for both the bright times and the dark times? If I don’t, I miss out.
     And do I welcome others into the communities where I live, work, play, and worship? If I don’t, they miss out.
     A lot of it is up to me.