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Two separate images jumped before me at once. One was Oscar the Grouch, one of my favorite actors, and his ever-present can of sardines. The thin, gray, slimy fishes squished together in a rectangular tin can. (I am so hungry! I hope I can get to the dining room in time to eat. Please, Lord, don't teach me the virtues of fasting tonight.) On top of that pleasant recollection came another image and an old jingle-"Aren't you glad you used Dial?"-and through the tropical haze of the heated bus air I looked to see if my armpit was in anyone's face. ("So sorry. Umm, do you prefer an elbow in your ear or my bag in your ribs?") Yes indeedy, Urbana 96 gave me a new picture of the word 'fellowship.'

And what a grand picture it was. Fellowship meant crowding into the bus until you're afraid the person in front of you will think your simple act of breathing is a come-on, until you remember they're in the same position-and also that they're people of grace and forgiveness. Fellowship was poring over a stranger's map to help another stranger find the way to supper. It was 19,000 people gathered together, worshiping God with shouts, claps (lots of claps), prayer and joyful noises. Fellowship meant seeing a group of '46ers standing up and suddenly realizing that we, the body, have glorified God through the ages. It meant hearing unfamiliar accents, loving a face because it's different and knowing our difference is a glory to God, knowing our difference testifies that our God is far more than territorial, he is absolute and rules the whole earth! Fellowship meant a glimpse of heaven.