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by Bill Tammeus on Jul. 27, 2011
ABIQUIU, N.M. -- A feral wind, boisterous and insistently impolite, bullied its way through the center of Ghost Ranch here late this afternoon, and caused me to think about home.
The raucous air either galloped eastward toward Taos or simply collapsed, exhausted on the red rock hills that Georgia O'Keeffe made famous in her paintings.
And I was left to wonder why, of all the places on the planet, this is one that feels like home to me.
It's no surprise that home is at the center of my attention today. I'm spending the week teaching a writing class at this national Presbyterian conference center. I've called it "Restless Hearts: Writing Our Way Toward Home." And the 10 of us spending day after day together have been pondering almost every possible meaning of home.
It's a physical place. It's a spiritual goal. It's a place of peace, a place of separation but ultimately reunion. It's not a place at all but a feeling, a sense, a yearning fulfilled. And more.
I asked class members to list every permanent address they've had since they reached adulthood. I have had eight of them, counting the home in which I grew up and to which I returned briefly after graduating from college before I moved to Rochester, N.Y., and my first newspaper job.
Not all of those places, however, felt like home. Some have been simply temporary roosts built by other birds.
But I've come to believe that home is where we are free to be our whole selves. That is, we find home in those places where we are liberated to be authentically who, at our essence, we are, with as few masks -- or as little armor -- as possible.
I almost never felt that sense of wholeness in the house in which I grew up in Woodstock, Ill. For many reasons, my mother seemed unwilling to release control of my three sisters and me so we could discover and live out our destinies. Each of us had to do that in different ways and without Mom's help or permission, and do it away from the home in which we spent most of our childhoods.
That may explain why my sisters and I have lived most of our adult lives in diaspora, almost literally scattered from coast to coast -- from California to North Carolina -- with just one of us within 50 miles of that house, the sister who felt most comfortable in the Woodstock home.
And yet there's something about that house that feels like home to me. I think it's because I now understand that it was there that I first came to terms with the reality that I was not free, and it was there that I purposed to be free some day. So I am drawn to that place because it remains the site of my liberating decision to find home somewhere.
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Home, then, is not always a place free of pain or anxiety. Rather, it's where distress has been confronted and, in some way, resolved -- or at least understood.
That also may be why, for me, the building in which my congregation meets is another home for me. I'm free there to confront the eternal questions, to be in community with my sisters and brothers in Christ, to know that I am forgiven and am deputized to tell others about the availability of divine forgiveness.
The book of I Peter says we are "sojourners and pilgrims." The New American Bible translation has it "aliens and sojourners." Either way, it's a clue that we are not yet dwelling in our eternal home -- whatever and wherever that may be.
Today's undomesticated wind stirred me to consciousness and blew away some old, battered and not terribly useful images of home. When the swift air had passed, I was left to remember that sometimes, like hermit crabs, we carry home with us.
[Bill Tammeus, a Presbyterian elder and former award-winning Faith columnist for The Kansas City Star, writes the daily "Faith Matters" blog for The Star's Web site and a monthly column for The Presbyterian Outlook. His latest book, co-authored with Rabbi Jacques Cukierkorn, is They Were Just People: Stories of Rescue in Poland During the Holocaust. E-mail him at wtammeus@kc.rr.com.]
Oh my goodness. This is one
Oh my goodness. This is one I have to copy and contemplate. And take the time to look over my "homes" through the years to see if they fit the Bill (ouch). It will be a useful exercise at this point in my life. I'm in a situation where I may not be able to stay in my (over 55) apartment, which I think HAS been a HOME. If that comes to pass--I will have to take my home with me--like a hermit crab, remembering that if I welcome God to be with me, anywhere can be HOME.
You have set me thinking. I
You have set me thinking. I have not come up with any answers yet. I do enjoy your writings.
I find it interesting that
I find it interesting that "home" means and is different for different people. For me home is more state of mind than location. I've felt at home in most places that I've lived. For my husband, home involves a particular region of the country and while he can and has lived elsewhere, he always returns to where he is most at home.
Thanks for sharing about your childhood family. That was instructive to me. Our family was, I think, similar with similar results. I'll spent some time thinking about that...
How I wish I could have been
How I wish I could have been part of your conversation about home. I could have added the experiences and insights of an "alien". The whole process of many immigrants has so much to do with home and I can so relate to you last image of the hermit crab that carry their home with them. I so resonate with all that you wrote and will print out your article so I too can spend some time with it. Thanks so much for the "food for thought" that you provided...another form of the eucharistic meal...truly I thank you for your wonderful article.
Thanks for a most insightful
Thanks for a most insightful meditation. Some of the dwellings I occupied over decades are precious for me to return to, and I hold them forever dear. Others I just bypass, as the people who left a positive impression there on my live have passed. Home was built up in my heart by people who where not even aware until I let them know when they where up in years. Brick by beam and mortar, they built up in me compassion, assurance, self esteem, confidence, faith, hope and love.
We just can pray to do likewise for others.
Home is where the library
Home is where the library book is.
Reading helps me feel at home, when life is daunting. That's why I have just spent 2 interesting hours reading NCR columns, and enjoying commenting.
In fact often after reading challenging and wearying stuff online, I head to NCR for respite and encouragement.
Good News: My favorite Catholic "homey" experiences are interacting with Hispanic Catholics. When I was able to spend a year in Mexico as an exchange student, I was shown such hospitality and easy-going acceptance that I was forever impressed. That's also how I learned Spanish so well.
I know Jesus my Shepherd is my home, and the lovely Mother Nature. Bill, your words were right, "HOME IS WHERE WE ARE free TO BE OUR WHOLE SELVES." I try as much as possible to go to my Shepherd, when I am weary and heavy-burdened. Sometimes Mother Nature feels very comforting or more comforting. (Although we know Jesus was part mother hen--inside joke.)
Yet Bill, thanks for the tip on the word "free". A wonderful Catholic friend taught me how important "giving people freedom" is.
I hope I can set people free, so that they will feel at home with me. And while we are in this discussion, I feel at home enough to say: I really, really want to be a writer!
It's the place where one
It's the place where one feels the safest, regardless of age.
Considering this, the pain of mother's who didn't believe their son's and daughter's when trying to tell them they were being hurt by their family priest, is a most overwhelming one
In a recent comment by the Bishop of the diocese Ballarat Victoria Australia, "that nothing could be learnt from a parlimentary inquirey" called for by an investigator and families of the dozens (and still counting), of children who as adults committed suicide, this is one hell of a good reason.
There was no place of comfort or freedom for them.
One can't help be reminded in so many ways in just simple general conversations, articles such as this and comments.
A lesson in sensitivity would be a good start.
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