I remember that upon hearing that I was accepted into the Jesuit Volunteer Corps, a former JV friend told me that it would be a “messy year.” Her words were prophetic, but still couldn’t capture all that community life is. We are present for one another through hurricanes, tears, long car rides, visits to the ER, laughing fits and shared birthdays. Often we show our love in unsexy ways like refilling the soap dispenser, cooking the beans left soaking on the stove, or picking someone up from work in the rain.
We are vulnerable with one another, laying bare the embarrassing ordinariness of our grievances and our hopes for the future. We ask questions together like what God looks like to each one of us: a question I have not asked some of my closest friends and family before. My community has taught me how to pray and play guitar; how to slow down and be present with people; how to sit in silence; how to make things just for the joy of making them; and how to refuse both perfectionism and the easy way. They crack me open. They force me to let down any façade of complete competence, strength, and intelligence—letting real internal growth happen.
While serving in a place that is different both geographically and socially from anywhere I’ve lived before, my community brings me endless joy and sustains me when the weight of injustice gets to be too much. In JVC, both my community mates and our local formation team demonstrate how necessary intentional relationships are. Intentional community and relationships fortify us against burnout and cynicism. They show us a new path for a more authentic, rich life.
When we are sharing home cooked beans and rice and laughing ourselves into stitches over something silly, I am sure that I am experiencing something profound. Community life is a choice, a challenging choice, but also a gift. Even now, when I think too hard about the incredible volunteers that make up my community here, I want to cry grateful tears all over again.