Defining Word: Community 

Community: people living in one particular area or people who are considered a unit because of their common interests, social group or nationality 

1. I used to work as a Clinical Psychologist Registrar in private practice. My bio on the website said, “Rebecca has an interest in perinatal mental health.” I don’t have specific training in perinatal mental health, but I do have training in trauma, and the two seemed to go hand in hand. Week after week, postpartum women wept on my couch. They recited litanies of traumatic childhoods, traumatic births, romantic relationships fraying under strain, feeding difficulties, sleep deprivation, and colicky babies. I asked, “Who are the people you can call on? Who came to the hospital with you? Who can hold your baby while you take a nap?” Week after week, weeping women looked at me blankly. Their looks communicated, What do you mean, other people? There is no village. I am alone. What kind of psychologist are you? Don’t you listen? I need strategies! Week after week, I told them, “I’m not surprised you are depressed.”

I’ve heard the question, “Is church for extroverts?” asked a few times, and I have to say a hearty YES! I often feel misunderstood as an introvert. This article was born from many frustrating conversations with my more extroverted husband concerning chatting after church and at Christian conferences.

 I don’t always fit the stereotype of quiet, shy, stuck up, or awkward. I am a former librarian, but I don’t live alone, surrounded by a hoard of cats. Sometimes, like many introverts, I can be loud and social, the life of the party and up for a good time. The key difference between introverts and extroverts is how they recharge.

When you finish a long day of work, or come home after an epic party, what do you feel like doing? If you need time alone, you’re probably an introvert. If you need more ‘people time’ to give you a pick-me-up, then you most likely fall into the extrovert camp. Some people swing between the two.

So, what’s it like for an introvert at church?

candles are lit

lamps are warm

fire is on

floor is swept

table is set

wine is poured

As we walk through our front gate, the kids on the street swarm around us. We have been visiting the place where we got married, a dusty Middle Eastern town where the children stay up late and play football on the vacant plot next to our house. We pause to chat with them; “Messi or Ronaldo?”, they ask, knowing full well that my husband is Argentine. They tease him and several loudly claim that Ronaldo is the better player. We laugh with them but beg to disagree. “For sure, it is Messi!”. The World Cup is underway, and these kids are rallying around their football heroes, excited to watch each match unfold. 

I have been thinking about what it means to have a hero.  At the beginning of the year, I decided to do a deep dive into a hero of the faith. Perhaps I could do this every year, I thought. Pick a hero and do my research; read their books, learn from their convictions and watch how they lived them out in weakness and in crisis. 

I left my AirPods in Tasmania. As far as I know, they’re either chilling by the Little Blue Lake, swimming with the platypi in the Ringarooma River, or, most likely, wedged between the bed and the century-old wall of a small hotel room in Winnaleah. 

I first discovered the AirPods were missing after my sister and I had driven two and a half hours southeast to our next destination—there was no going back. Within minutes of checking every bag and pocket for the little white case, I messaged the hotel owners and begged them to search for them.  Sadly, there was no luck finding them, not yet anyway. Over the course of our holiday, sporadic hours were spent browsing online earphone sales, but I never bought a new pair. There was still the possibility that they’d turn up in the post. But it felt strange without them. I don’t have them constantly attached to my ears, but I do use them while walking the dog, going to the gym, or, when I can’t be bothered with a screen or a book and would rather listen to music in bed. 

Everything I do accommodates two 

From the coffee I pour in the morning 

To the seven extra mugs in my drawer 

To the spare camping chair 

Tucked in the footwell beneath the door 

And the extra van keys 

I get it, I get it - not everyone loves sport. Perhaps sport evokes memories of enforced laps during PE lessons, or spectacular unco-ordinated free-falling on the football field.

Perhaps you would share the perspective of my Year 10 form teacher. Upon looking at my truly ridiculous list of extracurricular activities—at peak craziness I was in four different sporting teams at the same time—she asked incredulously, “When do you have time to have life?” To me, being in four sporting teams was ‘having a life’!

If you are like my form teacher, then I ask for your indulgence for a few minutes. I invite you to step inside the mind of a person like me. A person who genuinely loves throwing, catching, kicking and shooting balls of all shapes and sizes. A person who loves sport. 

I am learning that friendship needs a sustained curiosity to last the distance.  Last week I sat by a pool with a couple of good friends. We sat in the shade, ate snacks and swapped book recommendations between dips into the glistening water.  It has been over fifteen years since we forged our friendship. One of us has an appetite for bike riding, another loves attending live country music and the third enjoys ocean swimming. Perhaps these interests have not changed much over the years, but we have. We attend different kinds of churches, have different strengths and have not followed the life paths that we expected for ourselves when we were in our twenties.  Nonetheless, we enjoy a warm curiosity towards one another that has sustained and deepened our friendship. If we had assumed on being the same people that we were when we met, our friendships may not have continued. 

See the galahs, the galahs, 

sitting on the powerlines! 

See how they laugh, they laugh, 

like mums on the sidelines 

Community is beautiful and needed but I haven’t always believed this. I once thought I could grow in my faith without Christian community. So much so that I chose to leave church because I believed I didn’t “need it”. This was a selfish and prideful viewpoint, but did I see it as that at the time? Most certainly not. I was blinded by my own behaviour. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was protecting myself. I thought it’d help me to heal. I couldn’t be further from the truth.