At hamikatako pre-lunch snack inside a warm European style restaurant-bar I hear the Beach Boys playing while savouring a cod pintxo flowing along with txakoli wine speckled with effervescence. Though I’m a konportan “outsider” in a century-old fishing village, I’ve taken aboard customs like popping out during the day, dodging the sporadic rain to catch up with friends over a drink and a snack-atako.
Socializing happens here a lot—planned and unplanned. In these age-tinged streets, friends often invite us to the father-inherited membership of gastronomic Elkartea societies which seems to mean “lets-cook-and-eat-quality-food-together-for-hours-on-end.” Last weekend we spent over five sumptuous hours eating and catching up.
With this type of hospitality, we are often outdone, humbling any sense of pride in our North American-Australian hosting. People patiently wait and forgive with a “keep it up, you’re improving” attitude while we splutter and stutter words. They’re unaware that they are rejuvenating a sense of community and kindness for us city and suburb folk.
Jesus was from a small town, too. I wonder how much Jesus was shaped by his experience in a small town community. Did Father and Spirit allow Jesus to be touched and changed by parents, neigbhours, and friends before he touched beyond his community and changed hearts throughout the world?
I’m looking for Jesus in people, looking for Him in our town, looking for Him in all things.
It changes how I live.