COMMUNITY
One of the recurring issues that has kept popping up throughout our wanderings so far has been the matter of community. We have been able, in a way, to be observers of this basic human need for connection from the outside. Language and culture barriers have kept us outside looking in. But in another way, we haven’t been observers at all. While we have stood on the outside, we have found ourselves looking for ways in because we have the same need as every other human on earth. It has been an interesting experience. Community, for us, has not usually been the result of trying harder, but more of paying attention and saying “yes” when the opportunities presented themselves.

Take the Central Bar in Alberobello. (A “bar” in Italy is more of a coffee shop environment than what Americans usually think of as a bar.) It was one of the few places where a spirit of camaraderie and warmth was visible and open. So, we were drawn back there again and again for cappuccino, pastries, hot chocolate or wine. Gradually we were recognized as regulars and we began to learn names and struggle to get past language barriers and cultural behaviors that puzzled both us as Americans and them as Italians. They began to include us, no longer greeting us with the formal “buona sera” (good evening) but with a warm “ciao!” When we asked for their pictures, they insisted that we both come behind the counter for a group picture with Francesco, Silvia, and Katiuscia. Francesco said it was because we were “amici!” (friends). That was an amazing gift.

We have found community in other places as well. Another bar in Alberobello had a very different feel to it. Much more subdued and quiet, almost intimate. Vito Bianco ran the Shaker Bar and he, himself, made each of the wonderful, pastries we tasted there. (Shaker Bar has nothing to do with the almost extinct American religion by that name, but refers to the shaking or mixing of the drinks.) Vito or his father before him has owned the little place since 1962. It isn’t a noisy place with only room for maybe three small tables, but Vito is warm and welcoming. He spoke enough English to answer some of our questions about life in Alberobello. We met his wife and looked at his pictures of his children. We left a friend when we said “goodbye” to Vito the day we left Alberobello.

One other incident was very different. Since we heated with wood in our trullo, we found ourselves needing a new supply of wood after a couple of weeks. After managing to find someone who could supply us, we were told it would be delivered “tomorrow between 16:00 and 17:00 pm (4 and 5 pm). Sure enough, a little truck backed up and dumped around 1000 pounds of firewood in our entryway. It all had to be carried by the armload through the gate, across the patio, down some stairs and into the little cave where it was stacked. Rain was threatening and there was a lot of wood to move. An elderly man came and began to help. He spoke not a word of English but was able to indicate that he lived in the trullo next to ours. We hadn’t seen him before! Thank goodness we could say “Grazie!” It was no more than 2-3 days later when, at 6:30 am, we were awakened by a great rumble that caused us to awaken with a start! He was having wood delivered and in our entryway! It turns out that our patio was the only way he could get to his storage cave. Already awake, I went out to help and we worked together, man to man, for a couple of hours without knowing a word the other was saying. I still do not know his name, but that day he and I created community. These experiences of community in a foreign country have made me do some thinking about my life work in the church. In some deep way, I think that the ideas of community and the concept of “church” are intrinsically connected. I am certain that there can be community without church or religion, but I think that when a church lacks community, it is no longer church.