sermons
We Are Reservoir
The Gift of Community
Ivy Anthony
Sep 21, 2025
My husband and I have slowly been watching the series, The Bear — which if you aren’t familiar — is a whopper of a show!
The premise: a gifted fine dining chef, Carmy Berzatto, returns home to Chicago to take over his late brother, Michael’s struggling sandwich shop called The Beef. As Carmy tries to transform The Beef into a more elite restaurant called “THE BEAR” – we are also rooting for Carmy’s own transformation. We are invited to see the story lines of grief, family dysfunction, and the pressures of perfection, implications of unhealed hurt — and we see how they show up in his relationships, his work place, in his own self.
Part of what makes this show so compelling is its frenetic intensity — the way it pulls you right to the precipice — adrenaline coursing through your body. The camera work, the pacing play into all of this. But the universal aspects of the real stories and the stakes of those stories –is what heightens my nervous system and ushers in the feeling that everything could implode in a flash.
And yet, woven into that chaos are moments of beauty and heart — glimpses of what it means to create something meaningful in the midst of the mess.
My husband used to be a professional chef and watching him watch this show is its own drama. I can see him taking in — the creativity, the skill, the chaos, the combustibility, the deliciousness, the crunch of time and paralysis of perfection — he’s taking it in through his body, viscerally through his past experiences.
And I watch this from a relational/emotional perspective. ALL of the personalities — all these people intersecting in life in real time — with thousands of threads of love, and grief, and missteps and joy, and care and pain running right alongside and through them — and I think
“how can this go well? How do we do this thing called being human on a daily basis?”
And so Scott and I, we both watch this show — sideways. We need to take big breaks after each episode.
It’s not just about food or running a restaurant. The show digs into what it means to be human — to belong, to be seen, to hold and to be held by others. To bear witness to one another’s lives — in times when the service runs as smoooooth as expected/planned and when life is in chaos.
Being human is never a solo act. Times of weeping and times of joy — these inevitable ingredients of life offer us an unexpected gift: that we don’t have to navigate any of it alone.
And that, in itself, might be the greatest gift: that there is always a table, there are always people, in our midst all the time — this gift of community.
The catch — if you can call it that — is that we can’t really curate community — the gift encompasses all of it, everything, everyone. Even the people you might never willingly invite or WANT in your life. (*sparing of course violent/abusive boundary necessary people).
I want to share with you a clip from the recent season that I think gives us a potent picture of this. It’s at a wedding reception where we see a young girl hiding under a table — she is the daughter of the bride. She’s scared of dancing with her now-new-step-dad… and what unfolds under that little reception table becomes a window into what real community can look like.
Before we unpack this scene a bit — I wanted to remind us that we are in a short series called “We Are Reservoir,” where we are breaking open our mission statement that we say at the top of every service… that we invite people to discover the love of God, the gift of community and the joy of living.
I love this mission statement. I mean I want to be a part of a community of people of faith that embodies this statement. It gives me comfort to know this encircles Reservoir. And I also know that a mission statement isn’t just words for us to recite. It’s meant to empower us for the work of LIVING in this big, messy community of humanity — the whole wide swath of it. That’s why our mission is rooted in our guiding values — connection, humility, action, freedom, and everyone.
In the scene we just watched unfold you see this range of people — straight up enemies, people that are meeting for the first time, exes (romantic and friends), “plus-1’s”, biological family, work relationships, chosen-family, and a kid, all crammed together in an improbable space.
A multitude.
“Some theologies say it is not an individual but a collective people who bear the image of God. Suggesting that we need a diversity of people to reflect God more fully. Anything less and the image of God becomes pixelated and grainy, still beautiful but lacking clarity. If God really is three parts in one, it means that God’s wholeness is in a multitude.” — Cole Arthur Riley.
Not just our chosen multitude.
But rarely do we embrace the multitude fully. Because it’s hard. Community is not for the faint of heart. It is not a sweet sentimental slogan — it’s the work of making room. It requires an unfathomably large table. One that we couldn’t quite imagine – one that could in some ways only supernaturally stretch. I wonder if that’s what God offers us in the gift of community — that our hearts actually stretch beyond where we want sometimes.
In this scene 16 people fit fully sitting upright under this little table. Just before this moment, the camera shows the table as only big enough for one frightened little girl to hide beneath. Then her dad joins her, so cramped that his legs stick out from under the tablecloth. And yet, somehow, the table stretches…
How could the table be this big? How does it not feel too crowded, or like anyone is being lost in the shuffle?
Maybe it’s because at the center of that table is something more than space — it’s something living , active — it’s care. It’s love. It’s God, making room.
What begins as care for this little girl, unfolds into a whole community sharing the moment together — not fixing her fear, but bearing witness to it. And in that act of witness, they discover a common thread: the simple truth that we all know and have fear, and that God’s image is revealed not in our perfection, but in our presence with one another. One theologian even suggests we call this
not just bearing witness but bearing ‘WITHness’ (Christena Cleveland)
— a reminder that in true community we are not distant observers of one another’s lives. We are with each other, alongside, companions on the same journey.
And that’s where I want us to pause, and to practice. To join the multitude, not just in theory — we could talk about community forever, but I want to invite us into the real sharing of our own lives. So could you circle up with some folks near you — five or six folks — and share out of this same question, “What is it you are afraid of?”
And two things before we share:
— Freedom.
— Listen.
Freedom — share from where you feel comfortable. Trust that whatever you offer is to be cherished as a gift. “Spiders, failure, the collapse of democracy, math” — it’s all part of the multitude. — you don’t need to expound.
Listen — your job is not to fix. To offer feedback.
The communal response after each sharing is:
Amen. You are not alone.
Sharing:
What is it that you fear?
Communal response:
Amen. You are not alone.
SCRIPTURE
Thank you for being willing to share. Fear is something we all carry — and Jesus knew this too. In fact, when he told stories about creating God’s kin-dom, he often named the fears that keep us from the table. Let’s hear one of those stories now from the Gospel of Luke.
Luke 14:15-24 (Common English Bible)
15 When one of the dinner guests heard Jesus’ remarks, he said to Jesus, “Happy are those who will feast in God’s kingdom.”
16 Jesus replied, “A certain man hosted a large dinner and invited many people.
17 When it was time for the dinner to begin, he sent his servant to tell the invited guests, ‘Come! The dinner is now ready.’
18 One by one, they all began to make excuses. The first one told him, ‘I bought a farm and must go and see it. Please excuse me.’
19 Another said, ‘I bought five teams of oxen, and I’m going to check on them. Please excuse me.’
20 Another said, ‘I just got married, so I can’t come.’
21 When he returned, the servant reported these excuses to his master. The master of the house became angry and said to his servant, ‘Go quickly to the city’s streets, the busy ones and the side streets, and bring the poor, crippled, blind, and lame.’
22 The servant said, ‘Master, your instructions have been followed and there is still room.’
23 The master said to the servant, ‘Go to the highways and back alleys and urge people to come in so that my house will be filled.
24 I tell you, not one of those who were invited will taste my dinner.’”
Often, when we read this scripture, we imagine two groups.
First, there are the guests on the original invite list — the more privileged ones. The ones who own land and animals — are partnered, have status. People who, in some fashion, might be afraid of disruption, of losing comfort, of known routine, afraid of losing status.
Then, there are those society disregards — the people society leaves in the bushes, the ones pushed aside, not considered worthy of a seat at the table.
And there is so much good in reading it that way. It helps us see God’s expanse of radical welcome at work in community.
But this morning, I want to press us a little further. Because maybe it’s not that there are only two groups here — but maybe the ‘poor, the blind, the lame’ represent parts of ourselves. The parts we are afraid to let be seen. The parts we think are unworthy, too much, wounded, ashamed, that we want to keep hidden.
Audre Lorde (a Black, queer, poet, and activist) once said,
“Without community there is no liberation.”
There is no promised land without the multitude — even the multitudes you contain. In some way these original guests think they can create the kin-dom of God on their own, maybe on their own terms — and maybe (according to themselves), they do. …. But what will become of the promise when it is collapsed by loneliness? Who is going to drink all the milk and honey with them? (adapted from Cole Arthur Riley).
As the host says in this scripture/parable,
“not one of them will taste my dinner.”
And maybe that’s the caution embedded here — thinking we can feast alone — but discovering that the gift of the kin-dom of God only comes with our wholeselves present, and in community.
And isn’t that what we saw in The Bear? This scared little girl hiding under the table — unsure if she belonged in this new expression of family before her…and yet she didn’t have to climb out on her own. Others chose to join her, to bear witness, to sit with her. And because of that, she was able to taste the goodness of love surrounding her — enough to rejoin the party.
That’s the gift of community. That’s the liberation Audre Lorde names. Not fixing, not striving, not going it alone — and not as she expands,
“shedding our differences, nor the pathetic pretense that these differences do not exist,”
but practicing the kind of belonging that makes us more whole, and helps us co-create the kin-dom of God, even in the midst of mess.
So let me ask you this last time to turn to share in your groups (or in the chat on-line) Where is God in relation to your fear?
And when someone shares, our communal response will be: Amen. You are not alone.
Again let ‘freedom and listening’ be your guides.
PRACTICE
Thanks for sharing again — that’s the last time for today! I want to say as we close though, that community doesn’t just happen. We have to practice it.
- We practice showing up when it’s easier to stay home.
- We practice listening when we’d rather speak.
- We practice bearing witness instead of rushing to fix.
- And we practice it not just with the people we like, or agree with, but with the whole swath of humanity.
And the beauty is — as we practice, God actually transforms us a bit — shapes us into people who reflect God’s love more clearly.
Our community groups are a way of “practicing community” — not just — responding to a prompt/or answering a question. We are practicing what it means to belong to one another. We are practicing trust. We are practicing love.
It takes practice to trust that our own stories — even the parts we’re afraid of, or the things we are afraid of in others — can not only be held, but can become the essential ingredients that expand our view of God — beyond what we could have scope for.
What a gift to be part of a place where you can share exactly where you are at, each time. Community Groups don’t force intimacy, they invite us into it. They give us space to learn how to cherish vulnerability — our own, and one another’s — as a gift.
We need more places to be human.
Held by care and love that is unending. The love of God. A love that is uncontrolling, non-judgemental, not rushing to fix.
We all need help. We are all afraid.
We need more options than dysregulation and escapism.
We need beloved community, more than ever.
Because these truths don’t become real in isolation — they only take flesh when they are shared.
Connection can only affirm itself in another person.
Humility can only affirm itself in another person.
Action can only affirm itself in another person.
Freedom can only affirm itself in another person.
And everyone — everyone — carries a piece of God’s image, and only together, in community, do we see it whole.
And this is the gift of community.
Prayer: The holy prayers have already been spoken in this room. And for those that remain unspoken I say, “Amen. You are not alone.”