What koinonia looks like

Celebrating the return of "The Office" last spring in the K-House living room

I loved hanging out at the Koinonia House last year, so I was excited to move in there in early January. Koinonia is Greek for "community," and the Bible uses it to talk about the love that Christians should have for each other and for those around them. My 8 roommates are all PSU students somehow connected to United Campus Ministry (UCM), and frequently the house is full of others. My room is on the third floor, so I can work quietly when I need to, but it's hard to resist the joy and goofiness that permeates the common areas downstairs. Also, people here are very intelligent, passionate, and curious about the world. Recent topics of conversation have included US-Saudi relations, thermodynamics, King Kong, Korean cooking, green construction, and ethical grocery shopping. Languages I've heard here recently include French , German, Spanish, Korean, Chinese, and bits of Burmese.

The K-House holds many traditions as well as sundry quirky experiences. Monday through Thursday, people take turns cooking for a crowd. I put my name on the big white board calendar for last Monday, submitted my grocery receipt to Vaughn, who figures out who owes what each month, and started making spinach and ricotta calzones (a Cooper favorite). I was counting on about 10-12 for dinner, not realizing that Monday night was now "Family Dinner" (where everyone from UCM does their best to make it). By the time I rang the gong to announce dinner, there were 21 of us. Thankfully, several housemates came to my rescue, whipping up extra batches of dough and toast for the remaining calzone filling, as well as a hefty pot of green beans. At the end of the evening, everyone decided to sing a Mennonite hymn in four-part harmony, which is not uncommon.

Last night was a first for me. Snow had forced two friends to leave State College earlier than expected, forfeiting their tickets to the Chris Tomlin concert. Eric, the fiancé of my good friend Ruth, was looking for people to come in their place. Counting on a snow day today (which I got - #4 so far!), I joined him and the other guy with a ticket, Amish John. Since he's friends with the two who forfeited their seats, neither Eric nor I had ever met him, but he quickly befriended us and about five other people in line at the entrance. His youthful looks belie the wife and 8 children he left at home. They were all Amish until he was excommunicated (fairly recently, I think) for his belief in miracles, supernatural healings, etc. Now, he gets a ride 25 miles every day from their hometown to work in the dining commons of North Halls and in landscaping. John's haircut, boots, and manner of speaking are still strikingly Amish. His wife and daughters still can all their fruits and vegetables for the winter, he's never driven a car, and he had no idea how to read the ticket to find our seats in the BJC, Penn State's huge arena.

How does an Amish-turned-Pentecostal guy act at his first-ever concert? His joy was simply overwhelming the whole night. (He reminds me of Buddy the Elf.) The openers, Israel Houghton and New Breed, were a gospel group and a bit of a stretch for this small-town Pennsylvania crowd, although Eric and I thought they were great. But John jumped up and down nonstop for each song, singing with gusto. He was delighted to run into numerous friends and acquaintances, ditching us for the Chris Tomlin to sit with other friends, and told everyone around us, "It's so nice to see you. Where are you from?" At the end of the concert, we ran into my friends from the International Christian Fellowship. To me, that kind of melting pot is the face of koinonia: celebrating Jesus together and loving people across all boundaries.

P.S. A few hours after posting this, I found John sitting in that same living room. It seemed completely natural.