From a nostalgic angle, I grew up in a Norman Rockwell setting for the first decade of my life, in a small village, on the north shore of Long Island. It was a tiny incorporated hamlet with three churches, a Catholic Church and school, an Episcopalian church, and a Presbyterian church. It had a delightful Main Street which ran straight down to a well kept town park with a gazebo, and a harbor boardwalk. There were parked yachts, and fishing boats, pleasure crafts, and friendly people. Seagulls flew overhead continually, their cries heard a mile away. The Catholic Church at the end of town peeled the bells during the day. You might say, we had a sense of community, but the underside was the presence of the lost, the village drunk, the unfaithful spouse, the families in crisis, minor criminality. The local newspaper kept a record. In some ways, the old days were not so good. There was yet the dark side in the shadows. All communities, even in the old days, were similar to ours in this respect. The community of believers are found mixed within the greater community, but are called to be the witnesses for Christ in a broken world. In many respects, we can’t be surprised. This is what Jesus was taking about when He said we must faithfully “go and make disciples,” and He meant starting in our own communities. Soli Deo Gloria