"Thank you for overcoming your fears," Lenore said, as we stepped inside Bayboro House.
"No fears," I replied. Honest. Spousal unit held out the reservations. We had been invited over but for different reasons, the dates did not work out. I thought my neighbors were Bruderhofers; they are not, they are members of Church Communities International -- an international group that replicates the communal life of the early Christian Church. Other than those few false leads from web searches, and more than our share of superficial conclusions about women in scarves, I did not know much.
Well, I did know some things. That members of this community opposed the War in Iraq when few others did. That their vegetable garden makes ours look like an embarrassment. That their company, Spruce Up Services, does quality home repairs (though not necessarily cheap). And that their annual Christmas Carol skipped the home of a gay couple in our neighborhood (true or not? I can't say).
At any rate ... We sat down for dinner. 20 of us, around one table. Your basic monastic fare: chicken, rice, salad from the garden. I struggled with names. I always struggle with names ... here especially though, as my prejudices lead me to cluster people that seem foreign.
Jesse's father was a Dean at Emory. Lenore's family attended law school where I went to college. The late teen next to me would have rather been sitting next to his friend. A young man across the table is majoring in environmental science at our school. The conversation turned to spousal unit's book, an anthology of civil rights literature. "Do you include any Langston Hughes," a young woman asked.
Conclusion ... and just so we don't think we're done with King's Dream ... The last place for our prejudices to disappear are in church.
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