I stared up at the five-story brick house on Bank Street. In the heart of Greenwich, houses like this blend into the environment like trees in a forest—not because everything looks the same but because everything belongs. And everything belongs because the material from which everything is made has the same source. In this case, everything was hard and rough and manmade. But still so inspiring.
I tried to imagine whether it was nostalgia for the past or stimulation from the present that could stir Willa Cather to write My Antonia—her beautiful tale about the wild and unbroken Nebraska plains—in this cityscape, within the confining walls of this very house. Was it because she missed her old country? Or was it because the city, with all its stimulants, aroused her artistry?
Then I decided it was because she was happy here, as I am happy here. At the beginning of My Antonia, the narrator, Jim Burden, says, “At any rate, that is happiness; to be dissolved into something complete and great.” But Jim Burden didn’t say this in the middle of writing an American masterpiece, or while living in one of the major cultural centers of the world. He said this while lying on the warm Nebraska earth, with little bugs crawling around him, dirt crumbling between his fingers and air as fresh as a new harvest flowing through his lungs.
But Nebraska is not much different from New York City in that respect. I imagine Willa Cather felt that same happiness here—after all, she chose to move to New York City to write her novel. And I admit the reason I think that is because I feel the same happiness Jim felt in the country here where I am surrounded by pavement and skyscrapers. I am happy here in this city because I feel like I have dissolved into something complete and great. I have become a part of this vibrant, stunning, magnanimous place that is as organic and thriving as a Nebraska cornfield.
To be dissolved into something complete and great does not require a particular type of landscape or a particular disposition or a particular situation. It doesn’t mean you won’t have snakes and bugs and droughts and crowds and smog and commutes in life. Most importantly, it does not imply a dissipation of self or identity or purpose. It simply means belonging. And as Jim puts it, “When it comes to one, it comes as naturally as sleep.”
I belong in New York. My transition into this life brought not even a ripple of shock. My absorption into this place was gentle and soothing, and except for the feeling of having come home, I barely even noticed it. Likewise, I imagine Willa Cather felt the same way when she was here and my guess is that is why she moved here, to 5 Bank Street. She belonged in Greenwich because she could be with her kinds of people—people who were all very different, but who all belonged because they were made of the same brilliant substance.
And that kind of belonging, that happiness, is incredibly inspiring.
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9 comments:
Compelling thoughts. I find the idea exceedingly attractive since i can't say i've ever really felt at home since leaving for college.
Maybe being able to dissolve requires a measure of humility i yet lack. At any rate, i find this thought provoking. And for that i am grateful.
love,
luke
Should our goal be to dissolve into? Or should it be to transcend, to display to the the environment how it is lacking something, or more precisely someone. Without that missing piece, the beauty ultimately makes no sense, and leads to self-destruction.
Should we seek the place where we most fit in? Or should we become things that we are not naturally in order that by any way possible we might win some? Personally, I don't want to follow in the footsteps of those who felt happy belonging, but rather those who felt agonizing rejection. Because when I am willing to embrace circumstances that smell like death, that's when I am emptied of self sufficiency and life can truly flow be given through me. That's the formula: "Unless a grain of wheat..."
Maybe I'm overanalyzing what you meant simply as aesthetic observations. But just because someplace is beautiful and comfortable does not make it home. And maybe we should worry if it does.
Scott, I knew someone would read my blog from that angle, and point out this critique. And
you are absolutely right to challenge me as you did. But let me, if you will, defend myself by clarifying. And thank you for bringing this up so that I might do so.
First of all, in my short rumination, I am simply dealing with the topic of place, not in any spiritualized sense, but in its most physical sense. Second, this is, more than anything an aesthetic exercise—trying to process my relationship to a place through a narrow literary peep-hole. Third, my happiness here does not mean I live a Pollyanna existence—this is the hardest life I’ve ever lived on every front. Do not equate dissolved with comfort, but think of it more as living in community.
Fourth, and more to your point, I am quick to say—and if I had wanted to overwrite my blog would have said—that ultimately, I feel like I belong in New York because more than ever I feel satisfied in the Lord here. I feel his pleasure with my being here. In other words, in New York I have been dissolved into his perfect, complete will for my life and that is why I have such contentment.
Also, my sense of belonging here is entirely separate from the feelings I have of being an alien in this world. If you were to keep reading My Antonia, you would see that though Jim is, for a second, happy and dissolved into something complete and great, it is fleeting and futile—his happiness cannot ultimately satisfy and provide purpose for him. As for Willa Cather, all I know is that she regularly attended an Episcopal church, so perhaps her happiness is eternal. And as for me, I can vouch that Jim’s happiness, even if momentary, is powerful. But because I have that happiness within an eternal paradigm, and because I know this sense of belonging is just a foretaste of my greater homecoming, it is lasting and can provide great purpose to my greater alienation.
As for transcending our places, our environment, I think that is often an arrogant task. We cannot think that we are so much better than this fallen world around us that we must jump out of it and hover above its ugly realities. We too are fallen, but we are also redeemed, and to live as redeemed people, we must engage and enrich our fallen environment. But to do that, we must be a part of it. Because I am in love with New York and because I feel a part of this place, I am more compelled to want to work harder for its redemption. I think if everyone sought and sought and sought for that place where they belong, they would passionately invest their lives in lessening its groans.
Lastly, I do not think there is anything wrong with seeking out and enjoying this kind of belonging. We do not have to reject blessings for the sake of taking on Christ’s sufferings. I believe we should bask in this inaugurated eschatology for it pleases the Lord and makes our sufferings all the sweeter.
Welcome to being a resident alien.
I'm really quite glad that you've found a home here, that you're finding the Jeremiah 29 model of living so natural. Rock on, rock star.
(Loved your use of "inaugurated eschatology," by the way.)
interesting comments... and i appreciated the blog too. my thoughts:
after reading this post yesterday, i sat in the kitchen looking out the window at the smudgy empire state building, tears silently falling onto the table for a good 10 minutes. i'm not at home.
i suppose i envy the seemingly-elusive sense of belonging that you, as well as most of the people i'm closest to right now, have described.
envy knowing that you're good at something and pursuing it until you have the satisfaction of “success” and the affirmation that you expect from the gatekeepers on the path you choose. even just envy knowing WHICH path TO choose.
and, yes, scott, i have felt agonizing rejection and smelled "death" (ok, so i'm being dramatic for a 20-something girl with a stable job, wonderfully passionate boyfriend, connected family, etc.). But even if it's not gruesome and bloody, something's still dead here in my alien state.
i'm not quite sure how to end this. naturally, i can’t say i’m NOT on that quest for “home”... but should i even be looking for "home?" is that a legitimate trail to find, or should i be hunting in the forest for that corner of the woods that i unexpectedly stumble upon, the one that captivates me, that I find by myself, that gives me a sense of security and ownership, reveals new flowers i've never seen before, and affirms that, yes, this is MY woods.
Until then, I guess I’ll keep hoping for my Ultimate Home.
Hey Kristen. I still think we're missing each other.
1) If you truly wrote the entry looking at New York not in a spiritualized sense, but "in its most physical sense" then I could leave it at that and think what you wrote was beautiful. But in your response you go on to argue in spiritual terms, so I can't quite believe that first statement.
2) I don't think your life is easy, but there is a difference between hardships that come from living in an inconvenient place like a crowded city and the hardships that come from raising your hand against this world's system for the honor of Christ alone. And there's also hardships that come from pursuing one's own dreams when God has higher ones. I don't know which or what combination of these hardships you're experiencing, but as you pointed out, the presence of suffering does not automatically legitimize a life path.
3) Becoming dissolved precedes transcendence. We enter in so that we can pass through and lead out. This is not arrogant if done as Christ and Paul did. I am not better, but I do HAVE something better. And I can be DAMN clear about that as I challenge the community into which I've entered. We affirm and embrace the God honoring elements of the culture as well as the neutral aspects. But the parts of the culture that are in rebellion to the rightful King must be rejected, and in so doing we will ulitmately alienate most. But by God's grace some will follow us, and realize that in Christ their culture is made more beautiful, and even brought to its fulfillment. All of this to say, becoming dissolved is ONLY a means to the end of culture recreation, though of course there is worship along the way to transcendence. You are right to see that most Christians never even enter in. But many also enter in and simply remain indistinguishably dissolved.
4) "My sense of belonging here is entirely separate from the feelings I have of being an alien in this world." Can it be, really? If you were to say, "I have moments of feeling belonging here," I would understand, and this would be a healthy thing. But your language is much more permanent/identity- focused than that. Are you creating a false dichotomy in your life between spiritual experiences and life-on-earth experiences?
5) To be sure, there is nothing wrong with enjoying the belonging you describe. The pleasures of this earth are ours, because of the Cross. We can relish them as they are given to us on the road of suffering with Christ. BUT, now is certainly not the time to "pursue" them. The path of bearing the cross is not some inner, spiritual exercise that we meditate through while we are outwardly on the path of self-actualization.
6) Be careful of discerning placement through "feeling God's pleasure." It's way too easy to confuse our pleasure with God's pleasure. Look to Scripture to see what gives him pleasure.
7) If a sense of belonging was ever affirmation of calling, I guess we can scrap the project of world missions. You're kidding yourself if you think missionaries go where they go because they are in love with the place or with the people. Actually, the most effective missionaries have gone kicking and screaming. And Paul described quite the opposite of the assurance you describe. Check out 2 Corinthians as a sampling of his ministry. He is constantly perplexed, despairing, unsure of where to go. He was driven to put one foot in front of the other by a clear vision of Christ's kingdom, not any sort of certainty about where, how, who, when, etc.
In conclusion, yes, I validate the beauty you see in New York. Don't make an idol out of it. Don't convince yourself that it's an indication of belonging or a rubber stamp of calling. Make it something you'll throw away in a heartbeat for the glory of Christ. Tell God that you want him to take you wherever you will most be brought to an end of yourself and can give others life in Christ through entering into His death.
kristen, i'm happy to hear you say that you belong here - that you've come home. and i'm just glad that i could be a part of your homecoming.
you impress me more and more everytime i read something of yours. i admire your passion for writing and for God and i'm confident He is using you to do further His kingdom here in nyc.
and for those who just like to force their opinions on others, they should express them in their own blogs and move on with their lives.
welcome home kristen,
yoon
Whelp, I guess it's time for me to bow out. Kristen, I love you and hope you don't take anything I've said as a personal attack. I'm not protesting you living in New York. Could be the perfect thing. But I'm questioning how you think about it.
For the others, know that I've been writing under the (I believe) correct assumption that Kristen doesn't write this blog just to get pats on the back for her eloquently expressed musings.
Even if you walk away from this discussion hating me, PLEASE consider this:
As Christians our placement in life must not be merely the sum of what we are good at and where we feel we belong. If it was, William Carey would have remained a showmaker in England, John Bunyan would have stayed a tinker and avoided twelve years of prison, and Raymond Lull would have died a professor in Spain.
shoemaker, that is. Thanks for listening.
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