Fan Fiction: Community. A short story by Mike Mumford

One Sunday morning in the bustling city of Corinth; a woman named Lydia, who was prominent in the community for her success in business and social influence, noticed a group of men and women walking together into a residence, laughing and chatting - but also glancing over their shoulder to see if anyone had noticed them.

Lydia was intrigued and later saw the same group in the market buying what appeared to be enough food for a crowd. She approached the group and overheard them talking about some Jews who had come to Corinth from Jerusalem. Saul of Tarsus had gained mixed notoriety in the area as a bit of a celebrity and a nuissance. He had brought “The Way” to Rome and Asia. 

“You know Saul of Tarsus?” Lydia asked. The group didn’t seem keen to answer her. She persisted, “I’m not going to tell anyone that you ‘follow the way’… is that how you say it? I guess I’m just curous.”

The group looked at each other, then one woman came close and said, “Look, if you want to know more, why don’t you come and eat dinner with us? We can talk about it after.”

That was nearly a year ago. 

“Come on, Lydia! People will be here any minute!” Martha rushed by with a basket of vegetables and a plan.

“Oh right,” said Lydia, “I almost forgot the love-feast is today… Thank you, Martha! We couldn’t do any of this without you and your family.”

“It’s nothing,” Martha replied, “It’s the least we can do after you invited us into your home. We didn’t know what we’d do after the revolt. We just ran.”

“Well, I didn’t do anything that you wouldn’t have done for me.” Said Lydia, “It’s a pleasure, really. It wasn’t easy finding real friends before you and your family got here. Not when people see you either as a business opportunity or a second class citizen.” 

Lydia rose to her feet which had unsurprisingly fallen asleep; a feeling she had grown quite accustomed to after her morning prayers; and followed Martha down the corridor, wincing a little with each prickly step, both impressed and slightly disturbed by Martha’s highly efficient work flow so early in the morning. The pair turned the corner, nearly bumping into Martha’s brother.

“Sisters…” He grinned.

“Lazarus…” Martha and Lydia replied in unison.

“Remember.. Live each day-” Lazarus started.

Martha and Lydia tiredly interrupted his mantra, “-as if it were your last!”

“Am I really that predictable?” Lazarus was slightly embarrassed.. but mostly proud.

“You say it every day! Come up with something else!” The women teased and assaulted him with friendly slaps and shooing motions. “Now get out of here, we have to prepare!”

“Alright, alright! I’ll go find something productive to do.” Lazarus exaggerated.

“We still need someone to prepare a word for the love-feast. Why don’t you go pray and think of something really inspiring!?” The sisters mocked Lazarus as he turned to leave with a very dramatic and entirely facetious eye roll. 

“Something really inspiring… Coming right up!” Lazarus blurted as he headed for the door, looking away, bouncing his words off the wall like an auditory ricochet.

He reached for the handle. Just then, a pound on the door.

He recoiled his hand as if it were unexpectedly hot.

Lydia came up to the door and shooed Lazarus back. For a moment he and Martha considered hiding. Lydia opened the door enough to talk. It was a roman guard investigating about refugees. “Miss Lydia,” he said,  “We’ve had reports that some Jewish refugees have been seen around your property. Have you had any interactions with Jewish refugees?” He asked. 

“I harbor no refugees, Marcus,” she squinted, “I’ve told you these people are my family, they live here. Besides, I know your boss, Marcus - I know he didn’t send you to investigate me. What are you doing here?”

“I need to know if you are… harboring refugees?” Marcus didn’t blink. 

“Are you alone?” Lydia said as she looked out behind him, glancing over his shoulder.

“I think so.” Marcus said revealing glint of need.

Keeping an eye out, Lydia swung the door open. Marcus entered the room intently, quickly recovering his authoritarian demeanor as if the last 5 seconds never happened. He was tall for a roman and stoic. His personality was irreverent and blunt, the way that can only develop when your daily routine includes coersion and violence. He wore traditional Roman armor, but you’d know he was a guard without it.

Lydia shut the door and turned to address Marcus. She seemed concerned, but approached him; scanning his expressionless face for motive. “So what are you doing here?” She asked him.

“You said to come over for dinner if I wanted to know, and I do. So I’m here.” 

“Yes, but Marcus, dinner won’t be for hours.” Lydia said through a puzzled expression.

“Well, tell me now then.” It was almost an order.

“Okay, Marcus. I can tell you now, but honestly it doesnt really work to just say it.” She tried to explain. “It’s like I told you before at the market. If you want to know more, you have to eat with us. Not because it’s a good time to ask questions, but because there’s not really an answer to give. It’s not a thing that we say - it’s a way to be.

“Okay…” He persisted, “Is it something I do? How do I do it?”

“Well, right now we have a lot of preparation to do for this evening’s love-feast. If you’re willing to cut vegetables you can stay with us until the meal later.” Lydia said with a reassuring nod to Martha, who wore an unsure expression. She had just put a Jewish “refugee” in the same room as a potentially duplicitous Roman official - to cut carrots.

Martha lead Marcus and Lydia down the corridor and through the courtyard to the kitchen. Successful as she was, Lydia was the head of this household, which was uncommon for Corinth. She lived with a handful of people who tended to the household in exchange for room and board. She’d taken in Martha’s family who fled Jerusalem after the Jewish revolt ended in defeat and the destruction of the temple. Martha, Lazarus, and Mary (their sister) now lived on the grounds and contributed to household needs. 

Mary worked in the kitchen with Janus, a Roman man who had worked for Lydia before she started following The Way. That’s what the refugees called the way of life that they had learned from a Jewish rabbi named, Yeshua; which greeks have a hard time pronouncing, so they call him Jesus. Janus was kind, he didn’t flinch when Lydia brought Martha’s family in, he welcomed them as friends. He was quiet and thoughtful. He liked working in the kitchen. It kept him busy most of the day, managing the inventory, cleaning and sorting the vessels and flatware. He didn’t speak much at meal time, but he enjoyed watching people nourish themselves with something he’d prepared. It felt real. It was the perfect job for an introvert, that is until Mary moved in.

Mary was an ambient talker and would often just pick up where she left off the last time she saw you; like she was telling one long episodic story. Janus was still getting used to it. But, he liked Mary; She was joyful and spoke freely about her thoughts and ideas which wasn’t very common for women, especially refugees. But some of the Jews who took refuge in Corinth were different than refugees from the other nations that Rome had “made peace with” which is to say forced assimilation under the threat of being ransacked, plundered, and razed if unwilling to submit.

Janus had heard of The Way, but it was that day, when Lydia met Martha, that he started to understand what it was. The roman government had spread disinformation about The Way. They called them “Christians” a derogatory term meant to ridicule them for clinging to a rebellion that they’d stamped out in one afternoon. Everyone saw it, they cruicified him naked. Romans would joke that a christian would believe anything. “Look a virgin mother! A dead God! A resurrected rabbi! What’s next, a talking donkey?” Wait until they read the scroll of Numbers. 

Despite Janus’s aversion to chatting he had heard all of the propeganda. The Roman government was pushing it pretty hard but it sent the wrong message. It was obvious they were trying to shut it down. Besides, in the last few years more and more people had started to investigate The Way, especially the poor and opressed; refugees and the like. It seemed like they saw it as a threat… as if Rome would ever fall. They used to say that the Christians worshipped an ass and accused them of eating children baked into bread. Which, as it would turn out, was a morbid mash-up of incarnational theology and the love-feast which Marcus was now conscripted to prepare for an undetermined amount of time. 

Martha introduced Marcus to Mary and Janus. Marcus wasn’t sure how to greet them. He usually wouldn’t consort with their type. “Marcus is going to help prepare for the love-feast until later. He will be eating with us as well.” Lydia explained. 

“Oh.” Said Mary. Janus kept silent. “Well…” Mary continued, “You should probably remove your weapons and armor, if you’re ok with that. Don’t want to get them dirty and you’ll need a smaller blade for dicing tomatoes.”

Marcus wasn’t ok with that. But his curiosity was stronger than his suspicion. He began to disarm himself, pausing for a second to reconsider. “I could probably take them all bare handed if I had to…” He reassured himself, and with an eye on the house members, placed his equipment on the floor in the corner of the kitchen. 

Mary handed him a knife and a basket of a dozen or so tomatoes. “Start with these,” she said, “Let me know when you’re done and then you can start on the cheeses.” 

“We’ll need someone to get wine, too! We ran out last time!” Said Lydia as she walked away. 

Marcus calculated mentally observing the amount of ingredients. “How many people are you expecting?”

Upon hearing the question, Mary was a little hesitent. There was a rumor going around that the Christians were actually terrorists and the Roman guards had been sent to sniff out the house churches in Corinth and arrest the followers. Despite her suspicion of espionage, she chose to answer Marcus plainly, as she would any other seeker. 

“It depends.” She said. “Many of our friends are slaves and laborers. Occasionally their masters allow them to leave the property to join us. But not always. It’s better to submit to masters though sometimes, that way we get to see them at least every once in a while. We can always visit them at their master’s households. Generally our members masters allow us to visit, so long as we show respect… keeps us humble, I guess.” She winked. “We could have 5 or 50. So we just pray, prepare, and hope for the best. It usually works out. It sounds like Lazarus is going to speak tonight. You’ll get a kick out of that. His story is pretty wild.” She continued like that for a while.

After a few hours of chopping, slicing, dicing, and otherwise mutilating the piles of produce; Marcus’s war-trained hands were cramping. He wasn’t used to weilding a blade like this. People were starting to arrive. Marcus could hear Lydia greeting people from across the courtyard. Her voice had changed just enough to notice that she’d switched into host mode. She’d been hosting love-feasts in her home since she met Martha that day in the market. Lydia had the means and the space to facilitate a large group due to her financial success. But, what she hadn’t anticipated was the role she would eventually play in this community as somewhat of a spritual leader. After all, Martha and her family knew Jesus. They spent time with him. Lydia just owned the house. But, whenever Lydia doubted herself, Lazarus would always say “Those who see, believe. But you are blessed all the more because you believe, having never seen.” 

The funny thing is though, Lydia couldn’t articulate exactly what she believed. But she knew that these were her people. She loved them and they loved her. They saw past her wealth and prowess to the person she was. The person who loved olives, collected art, and casually devoured top-shelf philosophy like children’s fables. And, Lydia saw them; those who were so often unseen; invisible, like furniture. At Lydia’s house, they existed.  Even if it was just for a few hours.

More people arrived and the chatter grew. Marcus couldn’t hear Lydia anymore, the laughter and friendly conversation mingled into one dynamic sound that trickled down and lapped on the floor of the kitchen door. 

“You should go out there, meet some people. You know… learn some names.” Mary suggested with a nod. Marcus paused to considered it. He could tell that some of them were speaking Hebrew, which he only knew enough of to effectively intimidate people in their native language. He was unsure, but his eye caught the pile of his equipment in the corner. He’d spent so much time chopping vegetables that he almost forgot that he had it on when he arrived. 

The rectangular metallic plates and pointed gladius looked out of place among the rounded wooden and clay vessels that held the produce, bread, and wine. 

“Yeah… ok. Maybe I will” Marcus said, wiping his hands on the the front of his red roman garb.

Marcus mingled. 

Some of the people recognized him without his armor, but most didn’t. Still, he stood out. He was rigid and he posted up in the corner most of the time, his guard training kicking in as he intently watched the ungulating crowd as if he were anticipating some kind of unruly behavior. He wasn’t, of course. He just didn’t know how to act at dinner parties. 

He learned a few names, and promptly forgot most of them. He remembered Janus - the one with a roman name and firm handshake, and a few others. Then Lazarus entered the room through the front door. He’d left shortly after Marcus arrived to pray and prepare something reeeeally inspiring to say. “Hey!” The crowd mooed in loose unison. 

“Hello friends!” Lazarus reciprocated with a smile. 

“Oh good!” Lydia said. “Now that Lazarus is here we can get started.” She said, glancing at Lazarus in search of some real-time confirmation. She leaned over to Lazarus, “How did it go? Do you have something prepared?” She inquired discretely.

“Yes!” Lazarus said much louder, clearly not catching on to the whole inconspicuous vibe she was going for. “After some consideration, prayer, and reading a bit of one of Paul’s letters,” (they’d made a few copies to circulate among the other house churches in Corinth.) “I did think of something.” 

He paused for dramatic effect. 

Lydia had been looking out at the group, but suddenly now they were looking at her instead of Lazarus. She turned and noticed that Lazarus’s gaze had fallen on her as well. 

“What?? What are you all staring at?!” Lydia blurted. The crowd chuckled adoringly. It wasn’t common to see Lydia caught off guard. 

“Well…” Lazarus started, “I did think of something really inspiring… You.”

“Me?” Lydia was almost offended by the idea. “Why me?”

“Why not?” Lazarus returned. “You’ve done so much for our community. You’ve opened your home to us, fed us, cared for me and my family when we were on the run despite the clear danger it presented to your reputation and basic safety. What you have done to the least of my brothers and sisters, you have done unto me… remember? We all can learn a thing or two about true religion from your example. 

Who better to teach us how to love God and neighbor that the one whose home we are standing in now?”

“I don’t know,” Lydia stuttered a little. She was used to public speaking, but this was different. “What would I even say?” She deflected, but the group wouldn’t allow it. A few encouragements bubbled up as she quietly defied them.

She looked at the attentive faces of the many friends she had made over the past year. She hadn’t realized just how many there were. But now, with all of their eyes trained on her face, she froze. Not in fear, but gratitude. She thought they wanted a speech, but she was speechless. Before she could come up some kind of eloquent way to start, Lazarus stepped in front of her, intercepting her line of sight. “Just tell us your story.” He said reassuringly. “Tell us what made you the way you are. Tell us how all this has happened.” He gestured a big circle around her. “You are a new creation, we can all see that. Then maybe after we’ll sing a song and enjoy this delicious food that Mary, Janus, and our new friend Marcus has prepared for us all.” Marcus suddenly felt exposed and his eyes darted around, awkwardly and ineffectively avoiding direct eye contact with all the strangers. He didn’t remember telling Lazarus his name.

“Ok…” Lydia took a slow deep breath. “I guess it all started one sunday morning in our bustling city of Corinth…”

It tuned out to be a great sunday. Lydia shared her story. The food was delicious. The wine ran out. And Marcus forgot his armor in the corner of the kitchen.