Christmastime, Quakers, and a sense of place
Sometimes I spend a great deal of time thinking about a person's sense of place. I mean, some days I think about this almost constantly. It's one of those topics that seems like common sense, like the armchair sociologist in all of us should be able to construct an answer, an explanation for how it works. Maybe there's a formula... But it's not that easy when you dive in deep. I'm not just talking about me finding my place here, though the ever-present work on that front is certainly fueling these thoughts. I'm talking about outward signs of connection versus inner feelings of grounding. I'm talking about why one person feels at ease in a place while another with a similar situation feels awkward.
Everyone in Boulder is from somewhere else. It's like Manhattan that way. No one is really from here, except just to prove me wrong, once in a while I meet a true native. Sometimes I'll meet a Colorado native who has been lured by Boulder's siren song, but most of the people I encounter on any given day are transplants from further afield. I met a fair number of transplants in Minneapolis, too, but the difference is that here people say, "oh, I'm originally from North Carolina, but we've been here 14 years." Or eight, or 20. In Minneapolis, many of the people I knew were from Minneapolis. The newcomers I knew had moved within a year or two of my family. And, by the time we moved our wagon train further west, a few had even returned to wherever they came from. Minneapolis, for a variety of reasons, isn't a place people "from away" stay indefinitely. But Boulder is, and every one of these transplants, like me, has managed to find his or her place here.
One of the things that helps build a sense of place are the mini-communities we're part of. And the mini-communities we're part of are sometimes defined, or at least influenced, by the mini-communities we've been part of in the past. When we lived in Brooklyn I belonged to a fantastic Quaker meeting. I felt connected to the group, I usually felt centered during silent worship, and I made friends there, friends of all ages. I participated in the meeting's work, activities and service projects, and felt like it was home. Because, of course, a faith community is more than a place to go on Sunday mornings. It's, well, a community. In Minneapolis I never felt at home at either of the two meetings I tried there. I wondered what I was doing wrong, was I not trying hard enough? I never admitted that I gave up, but after a while that's what I did: just stopped going.
So, I was a little afraid when I moved here and walked into Boulder's Quaker meeting house for the first time. Would it be a dud too? Was it the specific congregation in Brooklyn I loved, not the tenets of Quakerism? And if that were true, well, that would just turn a lot of things upside down. Luckily, I felt a comfort and ease that first Sunday that has continued. But, it hasn't been effortless. Like everything else about moving to a new town, finding my place at Quaker Meeting isn't easy. I go and I enjoy it, but I'm far from feeling at home.
This time of year it's particularly hard. As kid, Christmas Eve meant going to church, but Quakers don't have a special service for Christmas -- not on Christmas Day, not on Christmas Eve. Before my children and before moving so far from Virginia, I would go home for the holiday and just do what I did as a child, only with my husband in tow (who, I should add, was a real trouper about it). Since I was raised an Episcopalian, going back to church to sing Christmas hymns and going through the rote of the service was fine, in fact comfy, because I was with my parents and that's what we do on Christmas. But, when my parents are not with me on Christmas Eve, as they will not be this year, I don't go to church. I simply don't want to. But, then I feel adrift without a prescribed activity on Christmas Eve. As funnydad and I have moved to new cities and dealt with young children's schedules at Christmastime, we haven't had the roots or the flexibility to establish a nuclear family Christmas tradition. We're working on it, but more along the Santa Claus and Christmas tree front. Christmas Day and Christmas Eve are still defined by what I don't do, rather than what I do do: I don't go to a Quaker Meeting and I don't go to church. So.
This morning, after the Quaker "service," the children of the meeting filled the center of the worship space and each grade sang a song for Christmas -- Joy to the World, Little Drummer Boy, (the Quaker standard) Simple Gifts, etc. The congregation sang, too, and my daughters were on my lap. Something came over me, and I was suddenly bawling. In fact, I was crying before we got to the second line of the first song. Tears that wouldn't stop, no matter how embarrassed I was. I realized that the Christmas songs filling the meeting house were creating a bridge for me between what I enjoyed most about the Episcopal services of my childhood and the silence and Light of the Quaker worship of my adulthood. The morning of Christmas song didn't help me figure out what to do on Christmas Eve; we're still going to have to build our own tradition there. But, it was like a familiar, soft spot for me to nuzzle into this Christmas, and it drew me a little closer to finding my place the Meeting community.
Everyone in Boulder is from somewhere else. It's like Manhattan that way. No one is really from here, except just to prove me wrong, once in a while I meet a true native. Sometimes I'll meet a Colorado native who has been lured by Boulder's siren song, but most of the people I encounter on any given day are transplants from further afield. I met a fair number of transplants in Minneapolis, too, but the difference is that here people say, "oh, I'm originally from North Carolina, but we've been here 14 years." Or eight, or 20. In Minneapolis, many of the people I knew were from Minneapolis. The newcomers I knew had moved within a year or two of my family. And, by the time we moved our wagon train further west, a few had even returned to wherever they came from. Minneapolis, for a variety of reasons, isn't a place people "from away" stay indefinitely. But Boulder is, and every one of these transplants, like me, has managed to find his or her place here.
One of the things that helps build a sense of place are the mini-communities we're part of. And the mini-communities we're part of are sometimes defined, or at least influenced, by the mini-communities we've been part of in the past. When we lived in Brooklyn I belonged to a fantastic Quaker meeting. I felt connected to the group, I usually felt centered during silent worship, and I made friends there, friends of all ages. I participated in the meeting's work, activities and service projects, and felt like it was home. Because, of course, a faith community is more than a place to go on Sunday mornings. It's, well, a community. In Minneapolis I never felt at home at either of the two meetings I tried there. I wondered what I was doing wrong, was I not trying hard enough? I never admitted that I gave up, but after a while that's what I did: just stopped going.
So, I was a little afraid when I moved here and walked into Boulder's Quaker meeting house for the first time. Would it be a dud too? Was it the specific congregation in Brooklyn I loved, not the tenets of Quakerism? And if that were true, well, that would just turn a lot of things upside down. Luckily, I felt a comfort and ease that first Sunday that has continued. But, it hasn't been effortless. Like everything else about moving to a new town, finding my place at Quaker Meeting isn't easy. I go and I enjoy it, but I'm far from feeling at home.
This time of year it's particularly hard. As kid, Christmas Eve meant going to church, but Quakers don't have a special service for Christmas -- not on Christmas Day, not on Christmas Eve. Before my children and before moving so far from Virginia, I would go home for the holiday and just do what I did as a child, only with my husband in tow (who, I should add, was a real trouper about it). Since I was raised an Episcopalian, going back to church to sing Christmas hymns and going through the rote of the service was fine, in fact comfy, because I was with my parents and that's what we do on Christmas. But, when my parents are not with me on Christmas Eve, as they will not be this year, I don't go to church. I simply don't want to. But, then I feel adrift without a prescribed activity on Christmas Eve. As funnydad and I have moved to new cities and dealt with young children's schedules at Christmastime, we haven't had the roots or the flexibility to establish a nuclear family Christmas tradition. We're working on it, but more along the Santa Claus and Christmas tree front. Christmas Day and Christmas Eve are still defined by what I don't do, rather than what I do do: I don't go to a Quaker Meeting and I don't go to church. So.
This morning, after the Quaker "service," the children of the meeting filled the center of the worship space and each grade sang a song for Christmas -- Joy to the World, Little Drummer Boy, (the Quaker standard) Simple Gifts, etc. The congregation sang, too, and my daughters were on my lap. Something came over me, and I was suddenly bawling. In fact, I was crying before we got to the second line of the first song. Tears that wouldn't stop, no matter how embarrassed I was. I realized that the Christmas songs filling the meeting house were creating a bridge for me between what I enjoyed most about the Episcopal services of my childhood and the silence and Light of the Quaker worship of my adulthood. The morning of Christmas song didn't help me figure out what to do on Christmas Eve; we're still going to have to build our own tradition there. But, it was like a familiar, soft spot for me to nuzzle into this Christmas, and it drew me a little closer to finding my place the Meeting community.
Comments
I wish you luck in finding a new tradition(s) for your family. I find it's difficult to figure out how my old family (which I have loved for almost 40 years now) and my new religion (which I have loved for 15 years) can be reconciled, especially as I grow deeper into Quakerism. I think the differences are most obvious at holiday times.