Lessons in community
by Bill Ireland
Let me begin with a personal note. I have had a love affair with airplanes and flying for as long as I can remember. My dad flew in WWII, something that made him seem larger than life. At one time, we lived near an Air Force jet training base, and the roar of jets was a part of everyday life. Since my dad farmed, I also was quite familiar with crop dusters. As a result of these influences, aviation fuel was in my blood, and I wanted to learn to fly. My first lessons began when I was 15, and I soloed at age 16. I got my private ticket, and loved cruising around, high above traffic jams and congested areas. When Ginny and I got married, however, I quickly found out she was not so enamored with my hobby (“You’ll get killed!”). As a result, I let my license lapse.
Not having my license, however, did not end my love affair with airplanes. I was still hooked, always looking up when a plane passed overhead or spending an afternoon wandering around an airport. My family took note of this incurable addiction and decided to let me fly but in a different way: for Christmas they gave me a radio-controlled plane! Best gift ever!
My first order of business was to find a field and to learn to fly. A Google search showed there was an R/C club near me. I made contact, and my experience with this club reinforced some important lessons about the dynamics that foster a thriving sense of community.
Nothing beats a warm welcome! When I reached out to the club, I got an immediate response from one of the members. He gave me directions to the field and assured me they could help me learn. So, one Saturday, I made my way to the field and was greeted warmly. I met a lot of members. Even though many of them were old hands and really good pilots, they went out of their way to introduce themselves and to make me feel comfortable. Every gesture they made communicated an essential for developing community: “You’re welcome here! We want you to be a part of us!”
They gave me the help I needed. Many R/C planes advertise that they’re “ready to fly” right out of the box. That’s a bit of a misnomer. Although I had assembled my plane and had linked my transmitter to it, one of the more experienced pilots offered to fly it first in order to make sure the controls were balanced. He flew it for a bit, and when he landed, he made a few adjustments to some of the control arms and pronounced it good to go. This gentleman also stood beside me as I took my first flight, talking me through how to use the controls, and teaching me some fundamentals. In other words, they helped me take my first steps. They used their experience to help me.
Encouragement! That first day I eventually got the hang of it and made a few circuits of the field without crashing or terrorizing my friends! Although my landing was ugly, I got the plane back on the ground. Cheers erupted! Shouts of “Way to go!” and “You did it!” rang in my ears. Nevertheless, crashes are inevitable, and I wasn’t spared this embarrassment. That same day, I lost focus, got confused, and lost control. My plane promptly nosedived into the ground. Ouch! Instead of telling me what I had done wrong, my friends did the exact opposite. They began to tell stories of some of their most spectacular crashes. The message was clear: “That’s all happened to us!” Crashes were inevitable. I no longer felt like a complete idiot! There was no judgment and no criticism. Just encouragement.
Support in trouble. Sadly, that crash damaged a servo, the tiny computer that actually moves the rudder, nose wheel, and ailerons. My friends told me where I could find a replacement and assured me the part was not at all expensive and an easy fix. But one of the members took things a step further. He opened up his toolbox and found the exact servo I needed to make the repair. I offered to pay him, but he refused. He had a ton of spare parts, he said, and was glad he could help out. When I was in trouble, my new friends did all they could to help me work through it.
Welcome. Help. Encouragement. Support. These are essential ingredients for a community to thrive. As I reflected on my experience, I imagined that many other communities, whether it be a motorcycle club or a knitting circle, offer their friends the very same thing. The building blocks of a thriving community are virtually the same across the board. These elements make the ties that bind strong indeed. I’m convinced that the congregations that take these tasks seriously will thrive and be able to engage their mission. Those that don’t will continue to be grounded, fearful of risking anything. Those that work to weave these elements into their culture will not only thrive—they will fly!