I’ve always wondered what makes community biblical—as opposed to community that is merely social. Often churches provide social community, called fellowship, which meets a genuine need for friendships and a place where, like the "Cheers" theme, "everyone knows your name."

That’s all well and good. I certainly want my children, for example, to build healthy friendships with other kids from our church.

But recently I experienced, for the first time, a more profound sense of biblical community. For the past 7 years, my wife and I have participated in a small group, which at present comprises five couples. This past year, our group celebrated the birth of a child to one of the couples. We also cheered raucously this year when two other women in the group announced their pregnancies, and then we prayed fervently for safe deliveries and healthy babies. Both women were due within weeks of each other.

In October, the woman who was due first became concerned when her due date came and went. She said the baby seemed to be moving less. That was Saturday. But the ultrasound detected a strong heartbeat on Monday. On Tuesday, there was no heartbeat. On Wednesday morning, she gave birth to Ian Patrick Lincoln, whom we would never get to know. The umbilical cord was wrapped twice around his neck.

My wife and I—and several others from our small group—were at the hospital Wednesday morning when Ian was born. First his grandpa came out to the waiting room, then his dad, then the doctor. We huddled together, sobbing, staring down at our shoes. We attempted to pray. Then we all went to the delivery room to see Ian's mom and his body.

The week dragged by. After the funeral, we collapsed from exhaustion. It was the saddest week in my life since my grandfather died 12 years ago. In grieving with the parents and the other members of my small group, I learned an old truth: Much of our spiritual development happens only through suffering. But in this life, suffering is not evenly meted out. Especially in the suburbs, which tend to secret away suffering and death, one can go for long stretches without smelling the stench of death. But isolation from suffering stunts spiritual formation. I had gone 12 years without deep mourning.

Community forced me into relationship with a small circle of people who are becoming closer than family. I was forced to suffer loss—vicariously but real nonetheless.

Community is not just a place for the suffering to find comfort but for the comfortable to find suffering. Together we join Christ in his suffering, and as a result, as 2 Corinthians 1:4 says, "we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God."