Recently, I got to participate in my friend Amy Peterson's blog series called Second Simplicity. For Amy's description of the series, head over here. I decided to write about one of many theology/life-altering times in my life: this one was particularly scary at the time. As Amy described it, "How do you welcome the stranger when the stranger is a pathological liar?" This was the beginning of a realization for me: I don't know how to love the way I should.
The banging gong
James* came bounding through the heavy wooden door of the common building right before church one Sunday morning in the middle of the growing season. With his stained teeth, bleached hair, and funky floral shirt, he appeared to be an ex-hippie, a recovering addict, or both. He had the personality of an enthusiast, one who loves people, loves storytelling, and seems to love it when people love him back. In our small Mennonite intentional community, where we are nourished by hospitality to the stranger, one extra was noticeable and welcome.
That first Sunday, James felt free to chime in during teaching, offering up examples from his own life of working with the homeless and growing up in an Amish community. His stories were fascinating and foreign: divorced parents who left the Amish, several siblings who had ended up in strange messianic cults, a son from a previous relationship, a radio show where he interviewed the likes of Jennifer Knapp.
James spent his days helping on the farm with my husband. We welcomed him into our home for meals. My husband lent James his old computer to use in the apartment he was staying in up the hill. He read to our children and talked about his own young son from a divorce. He talked about his upbringing in an Amish community and answered our questions about the quirks of such a life.
A few things were odd. James said he was keeping a blog about his time here and when I found it online, he had posted pictures of actual Amish folks, claiming he was ministering to the folks at our community (the folks in our community do not dress like the Amish or Old Order Mennonites). When my husband confronted him about the lie, James was quick to say that he and his editor had miscommunicated and it would be fixed. I didn’t believe him but we’d become so accustomed to odd ducks in this intentional community that we forgave a few white lies...
Read the rest at Amy's blog.