The New Wine Press vol 25 no 10 June 2017 | Page 4

Editor’s Notes
The Gift of Community
by Fr. Richard Bayuk, c.pp.s., Editor
Every year as we prepare for our annual Provincial Assembly, I am reminded
of the fine print we often read on the box containing something we are pur-
chasing: “Some assembly required.” “Some” is a relative term, but assembly is
required nonetheless. This is true not only for our Precious Blood community,
but for our families, our parishes, our country. Without careful assembly, things
and people just don’t come together well. That box from ikea will be a bunch of
parts that don’t fit together—or worse, end up broken. And so as a community,
as families, as a parish, as a country we must remain committed to assembly, to
coming together, sharing deeply, and renewing the bonds that build us into a
“finished product” (which, of course, is never finished).
Community in all its forms is a gift that always needs some further assembly. I
share with you here the reflections of a high school classmate some years ago on
the occasion of one of our reunions. It speaks to me of this gift of community.
I grew up in the 50 s with practical parents. A mother, God love her, who washed
aluminum foil after she cooked in it then reused it. She was the original recycle
queen, before they had a name for it. A father who was happier getting old shoes
fixed than buying new ones.
Their marriage was good, their dreams focused. Their best friends lived barely a
wave away. I can see them now, Dad in trousers, t-shirt, and a hat and Mom in a
house dress, lawn mower in his hand, a dishtowel in hers.
It was the time for fixing things. A curtain rod, the kitchen radio, screen door, the
oven door, the hem in a dress. Things we keep. It was a way of life, and sometimes it
made me crazy. All that re-fixing, eating, renewing. I wanted just once to be waste-
ful. Waste meant affluence. Throwing things away meant you know there’d always
be more.
But then my mother died, and on that clear summer’s night, in the warmth of the
hospital room, I was struck with the pain of learning that sometimes there isn’t any
more. Sometimes, what we care about most gets all used up and goes away—never
to return. So, while we have it, it’s best we love it and care for it—and fix it when it’s
broken, and heal it when it’s sick.
This is true for marriage…and old cars…and children with bad report cards…
and dogs with bad hips…and aging parents…and grandparents. We keep them
because they are worth it, because we are worth it. Some things we keep. Like a best
friend that moved away or a classmate we grew up with. There are just some things
that make life important, like people we know who are special. And so, we keep
them close.
Community has to do with connections and the life we share with others,
including and perhaps especially those who did the assembling before us and
for us. W
2 • The New Wine Press • June 2017