I like the word commune because it makes us sound like we all ate vegan food and had naked Fridays, but that wasn’t the case. In fact, in comparison to the binge-drinking frat parties at my Christian college, it was tame. Rather than smoking pot or swapping partners, commune members spent most of the time fighting over who’d eaten all the peanut butter. After we fought, we prayed about it. Our lives were like MTV’s The Real World if it had aired on Pax TV.
