Leaving Laodicea, by Amy Fleming (aka Hearthie). Published October, 2023.
"To the angel of the church in Laodicea write:
You say, 'I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing.' But you do not realize that you are pitiful, poor, blind and naked." Revelation 3:14, 17
I read Leaving Laodicea in the fall, then mused on, thought about, and rolled it around in my head for weeks without a review. Interestingly enough, one of the things that has precluded a review is the very thing that this book calls Christians (and all those tired of our social dysfunction) to embrace: regenerative community. Our family has, blessedly, unwittingly, and Providentially found ourselves immersed in a robust Cristian community. One of the first things to go when building real community, is virtual "community".
But what is "regenerative community", you ask? Amy provides a good working definition. Regenerative community is:
An intentionally rebuilt (or built from scratch) community that bases its creation on what we know to be true of human nature. This knowledge comes from an examination of history as well as work being done by social scientists.
In regenerative community, it is understood that we must participate in the life of those around us to maximize both our own health and happiness as well as the most positive outcomes for others in our communities.
Leaving Laodicea, p. 22
The thing about Laodicea, as described in the above excerpt from Scripture, is that it is a wealthy place. And where wealth abounds, money quickly replaces the resources that used to be provided through relationships and community. Amy, having though deeply on the subject, draws a direct parallel between regenerative agriculture and what will be required on our parts if we want to rediscover the beauty and life that can only be experienced through genuine community. To do this, however, we have to be willing to leave Laodicea:
We're going to have to re-value, then re-form community, friendship, and family. Real community, with casseroles. Where one community takes hold and starts doing life together, loving each other, having each other's backs, more will follow. When we start making "community" mean something again, we'll see people wanting it. They can't want what they do not see. Inner cities could see a resurgence of health as small town refill. We don't all have to go back to the farm- although more hands in the soil would be great. No. We can all walk away from Laodicea wherever we stand in this moment. Laodicea is a mindset, not a location.
Leaving Laodicea, p.25
One of the things that grates on me about our current era is the bastardization of words so that they have become meaningless. One of those words is "community". When I hear things like "the black community" or "the deaf community" or this or that "online community", I inwardly cringe. These are all misnomers which misdirect us from reality. A community is a real place, with real people, and real interaction. There is no community among people whose lives are not so intertwined that one's absence will not affect other members of that community. This is not, as Amy points out, to say that everyone in your community is your best friend. However, in a community where everyone patronizes a particular butcher, his sudden absence will affect even those who only know him by name and face.
This brings me to another part of Leaving Laodicea which was particularly helpful: defining terms. Before jumping into the meat and bones of rebuilding community, Amy took the time to define our terms. What is a friend? An acquaintance? Bonding relationships? Bridging relationships? Community? These are important things because in Laodicea, once we leave our relatives and blood relations, relational waters get murky.
Beyond the defining of terms, Leaving Laodicea delves deeply into the nature of life, beauty, work, and all the things that make for a full and meaningful life worth sharing. We no longer ask relevant questions about beauty, work, and life from a qualitative perspective. Like good Laodiceans, white-washed Scrooges, we measure everything quantitatively and wonder why the world grows increasingly ugly.
Amy also invites us to note the cacophony of sirens, inviting us to want, and crave, and live in a state of constant dissatisfaction, feeding the various hungers with junk rather with what will truly satisfy. Laodicea provides endless amusement and temporary satiety, while providing an equal number of opportunities to spend more looking for another temporary satiation.
The book rounds out with a frame work of "how to" begin to build (or re-build) community. The dos and do nots, if you will. Everything from prohibitions on gossip to appreciation of differences is covered in the latter sections of the book.
There is a lot of ground covered in this book, far more than I could ever adequately convey here. That's a good thing, because you really need to buy it and read it for yourself.
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