While all JVC volunteers are expected to experience and come to understand the value of community through the community in which they live in, I am perhaps in an unusual situation since I also have the opportunity to experience it through one of my two placements. I spend three days of my week working in a rather unusual Methodist church which is entitled ‘Somewhere Else’, situated above a radical bookshop called ‘News from Nowhere’. Set up around six years ago by the Reverend Barbara Glasson to provide a Methodist presence in Liverpool city centre, it has aimed at creating a fresh expression of church: worship is primarily based around the making of bread with whoever turns up. A very simple and rather odd idea, but having been there for two months now I have found that it does provide a genuine alternative form of worship, and has given me insight into a different expression of community.
My role at Somewhere Else is primarily as a facilitator for the bread-making: in between making rolls for lunch and loaves for orders and extra bread to take home to my first community, I have to welcome people when they start coming in; whether just a handful trickle in, or a couple dozen descend upon us en masse – whoever God sends that day – and try to guide them through the process of making bread through to them receiving the finished product. As well as this, I and the other volunteers and workers attempt to keep the group moving along smoothly. We try to make sure everyone is included, and to look out for any potential conflicts arising, as in any community there can be some more volatile personalities, or people who do not understand social cues – and there certainly some of these at Somewhere Else.
Bread-makers – our congregation – start arriving at 10:30. They can include people with learning disabilities and their helpers, homeless people, lonely people, people on the fringes of the church, abused people, young adults with problems, and those who are simply curious. The dynamics are constantly changing, which adds to the interest and the challenge of my role. Maybe after a quick cup of tea they will come to the table – we all work around the same table together– with their ingredients. They put honey, yeast and water in their jug, and have flour, oil and salt in their bowl. Waiting for the yeast to activate provides one of the convenient moments of calm when people can begin to see who is around them. Then they add the yeast mixture to the flour, and after mixing in some more water, can start kneading their dough. The interesting thing at this stage is that while you concentrate and put effort into such an activity with your hands, you feel comfortable to talk to whoever is working next to you at the table, or opposite you. It takes the pressure off. Working with your hands is in itself therapeutic (and receiving the fruits of one’s labours also gives satisfaction at the end), but it also seems to take your mind off worries or nerves you might otherwise have, and so frees you to interact. If I were just thrown into a room with all these completely random people, who I would be unlikely to meet elsewhere, I myself would cower away in a corner. I suspect many people who are apparently more confident would stick to more superficial conversation. But in such an environment you don’t have to say anything, and that too is fine – if you don’t feel like talking, if you just want to concentrate on your dough alone, you do not feel like you are standing alone in the middle of a room full of people. At the same time you are not invisible: you are still there, and part of the group.
After kneading the dough for a while it is ready for the proving oven so that it can rise. This provides another break often necessary after the exertion, then it is back to kneading before the dough is moulded into the desired shape, is put in the proving oven for a second time, and then baked. I can feel a little tense when I have to keep track of what is where, and for how long, so our bread-makers have another break. Those who wish to can go to prayers, which I have led on a few occasions now, and can be quite touching at times, but it is entirely optional. After prayers we all have lunch together. Often a few extra people who turn up for the lunch rolls that have been made along with a bowl of home-made soup. By 2 o’clock everyone has collected their bread and left.
So at Somewhere Else I am part of a community, and a very enjoyable one. It is a Eucharistic Christian community in that we share the bread and worship together. While highly unusual, in many ways it is a far more authentic realisation of church than many “normal” churches. It is certainly far more welcoming, especially compared to other churches in Britain, which can quite often seem cold, and have little community to speak of in spite of the fact the model of early church was precisely a communal one. It is also very inclusive and non-judgemental.
It is, however, a transient community: everyone leaves at the end of the day; people are merely passing through. I will be gone in eight months time. At this level it is obviously a lot less demanding than being in a JVC community, but it wouldn’t work if we were always together – to some extent coerced – vulnerable people simply wouldn’t risk taking part. However, the transient nature is part of the purpose of Somewhere Else: people can spiritually re-charge there to the extent they need before moving on with their lives. We do not want to mould people to the bread-church model; rather, it is moulded by those who visit and does not make any claim to being the one true model of church.
So how can Somewhere Else help us to understand community? In its essence what goes on there is incredibly simple: it is about being together in a safe environment. Whether one chooses to talk to others or not, one is there, and is acknowledged. You help constitute the collective, but are not sub-ordinate to it – you genuinely own it. Somehow – I don’t think I could explain it, or it could be explained – in the middle of the madness of the bread-making, and calms during its pauses, you start to see people as they really are – as valuable, as loved by God, in spite of whatever “disabilities” they may have, or how different from you they are.
Of course, while I have heard other people talk of the energy they gain from our community, I come from a particular position of working there. But this can tell us more, I think. While I might be considered to have authority, and I have the knowledge which others do not – I do not feel myself to be above anyone there; I feel like a member of the community at the same level as everyone else. I probably gain as much from being there as a member of the community as anyone else does. This egalitarian nature of Somewhere Else is especially clear to me in comparison to my work with asylum seekers: while there I am far less important, and can feel like a small cog in the machine, I also feel that I am in some respect set apart from the clients. So my work in the bread-church is very much as servant ministry, and I think this is a sign of a true church.
And at the same time as having said it is so enjoyable, it is not something which comes without effort: it is a constant effort on everyone’s behalf. There are many conflicts and challenges to be surmounted. A safe environment must be maintained, and we need to stop people from over-stepping lines which they might not even have noticed. However, at the same time, even when this is done, the eventual outcome is not something one could predict would be achieved. Perhaps this can be taken as a sign that God is in our presence, leading us on our way.
While I hope I have given a good impression of Somewhere Else, I don’t think that I could ever do it justice, so I hope JVC volunteers can all have the opportunity to come to Liverpool and visit it at some stage, and see what an amazing community it is.
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