There goes the neighborhood…

I never wanted a vagrant life.

I grew up in the kind of neighborhood you read about in stories. We could walk to the library, hardware store, bakery, butcher, pharmacy – most of which were owned by people we knew by name. My brothers and I mowed grass, raked leaves, and shovelled snow for spending money. We knew almost everyone on the street. We could wander freely, vacating the house in the morning, and returning in time for dinner. We were safe. People took care of each other and looked out for each other. It was just about as Mayberry as you can get. My brothers and I were lucky. We lived in that house through our entire childhood.

Since then, I haven’t had the pleasure of returning to that kind of place. The neighborhoods Amanda and I have been in just haven’t been as tightkit. People are busy. They don’t tend to live in their neighborhoods as much as they used to. They just stay there at night, or entertain there on holidays. We’ve also lived mostly in transient areas. There’s a sense of stability that comes from having been in a place for a decade or more. I think people act differently towards each other when they don’t have that. When nobody is really at home, who is going to do the welcoming?

Now that we live in an RV, I’ve been struck with the reality that the idea of a neighborhood is less something you move into and more something that you bring with you. In Luke 10, when the expert wanted to excuse his guilty conscience, he asked Jesus, “And just how would you define ‘neighbor’?” Jesus tells the story of the Good Samaritan to explain that neighbor status is not something that someone carries in themselves – because of their location, their race, their position, their abilities. Neighbor status is something we bestow on others, and we ought to bestow it on whoever needs it.

I read a passage in a devotional last Spring that has stuck with me. I’ve been processing my own persistent desire for community, stability, and neighborhood in light of the calling we have to travel, to sojourn, to constantly leave the place we live.

The defining journey of biblical faith begins in the departure of Abraham and Sarah back in the book of Genesis. They were dispatched by God to leave their safe place, to go to a new land yet to be given, to get a new name, to be blessed by God, and to be a blessing to the others around them. They went! And their family, generation after generation, has gone. And we, finally in their wake, must also travel beyond safe places to the gifted end that God intends, hopefully to be blessed and a blessing on the way. And if we ponder our destination, perhaps it is to be to the neighborhood of shalom, the neighborhood of shared resources, of inclusive politics, of random acts of hospitality and intentional acts of justice, of fearless neighborliness that is not propelled by greed or anxiety or excessive self-preoccupation.

Walter Brueggemann, A Way other than Our Own: Devotions for Lent

I love the idea of being the neighborhood of shalom, of committing random acts of hospitality and exhibiting fearless neighborliness. When we arrive in a new place and start “pitching our tent” for the next 7-14 days, we have the unique opportunity of setting up a little temporary neighborhood. We meet new folks, spend 4-8 days straight in services and seminars with them, have in depth meetings with church staff and leadership, welcome them to goggle at our crazy trailer, receive gifts of food and cards from them, exchange contact info and connect on social media, and soon pull up the stakes to move on.

I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention our constant neighbors, Shane & Leigh, who along with their children and animals make our temporary neighborhood feel much more like home. These people, along with our Silver Team, bring a measure of stability and regularity to this life of constant change. We love living next door to such dear friends, mentors, and co-laborers.

I’ll admit, my preference would be to stay in one place and invest in deep, long-term relationships there. But what I’m learning is that, at least for us right now, being a faithful neighbor means just loving the people we’re with for the moment. We learn names. We share meals. Our kids play together. We pray with one another. We invest in people and churches that we may not see again in this life. We sow seeds in hope, trusting God to give the increase.

Not all those who wander are lost.

J. R. R. Tolkien

The story of God’s people is a story of displacement, sojourning, Exile, and vagrancy. It is a story of leaving home, not just to wander, but to find.

The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.

John 1:14

And so we follow in the footsteps of Jesus, and the patriarchs, and Moses, and the prophets, and the apostles. We leave behind what is comfortable, familiar, and stable, taking a message of joy and peace wherever he leads us.

By faith Abraham, when called to go to a place he would later receive as his inheritance, obeyed and went, even though he did not know where he was going. By faith he made his home in the promised land like a stranger in a foreign country; he lived in tents… for he was looking forward to the city with foundations, whose architect and builder is God. 

Hebrews 11:8-10

Key Photo by Jon Tyson on Unsplash