Almost Moving during Ritual Seasons: Household Reflections on Lent & Easter

Several weeks ago we had a visiting pastor preach because the senior had just moved to a new apartment and the associate was jet-lagged from a service trip to Ethiopia. He preached on Lent, moving, and repentance. He was probably trying to minister to his colleague, whose family had a hard time leaving their longtime home. But he definitely ministered to me.

Andrew and I were also thinking of moving. We love our neighborhood with all its huge old homes and how close it is to the park. We like all the giant pre-war apartment blocks that fill the area—it’s the way to go around here if you don’t want to bite off a mortgage the size of the moon. But we’ve had some struggles with this apartment and were curious about options close by.

The sermon was from Genesis 28, where Jacob, on the run from his brother Esau, falls asleep at Luz and has a vision of angels ascending and descending a ladder between heaven and earth. Then God approaches with a promise to Jacob, and when Jacob wakes up, he names the place the House of God (Bethel).

In this story, Jacob is caught in displacement and failure. He’s running for his life because Esau reacted like a charging rhino when he found out his patriarchal blessing had been stolen. When God finds him, Jacob is asleep somewhere in the wilderness.

Obviously the timing seems untoward. But God has a message for Jacob and for all men. The ladder He’s descending isn’t hemp-bound sticks; it’s a ziggurat, the symbol of Nimrod’s quest for renown. We know how that ended. The workers became confused. Their language was broken and they scattered throughout the earth, leaving the tower-stair unfinished. They called their dream Babel.

Centuries later, God descends a ziggurat on steps oriented toward the earth, heaven with him, to a man sacked out in the wilderness on a stone. He comes in His own time. Babel is long since dispersed; Jacob is irretrievably displaced—both consequences of their refusal to wait for God. We people don’t wait for much. But Jacob, forced to seek his destiny without self-promotion, can finally hear God on His terms. And His terms are amazing.

“I will give you and your descendants the land on which you are lying. Your descendants will be like the dust of the earth, and you will spread out to the west and to the east, to the north and to the south. All peoples on earth will be blessed through you and your offspring. I am with you and will watch over you wherever you go, and I will bring you back to this land. I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you.”

The promise is a homeland and a scattering of peoples, but this scattering is a blessing, not a curse. It brings hope and heals confusion. As with Jacob, so with Lent: God promises redemption. It’s a shame when you move to a new house but drag all your burdens with you. So Lent is a shame if you give things up without making room for God.

Lent is like moving: no fun. Household inventories yield up junk, and spiritual inventories yield up failure. But God comes through with a promise of overwhelming hope.

When I heard this sermon I was bracing myself for upheaval. That week we started looking at apartments. This one had amazing management but no elevator; that one was closer to the city but small; at another I was stood up by a shifty agent. The fourth was close by and absolutely breathtaking. I was inspired by its details and lots of space, willing to shut my eyes to the dark courtyard view. Andrew balked at the baseboard gaps, the F train, and the broker’s fee.

I finally realized a more beautiful place wasn’t going to make me happier. Andrew realized he’d be happy wherever we lived and left the decision to me. None of our pros and cons were tipping the scale, but I had moved twice between college and marriage just to get here—not counting two more upsets for bedbug exterminations. This would be the biggest, meanest move yet, and we decided to renew our lease.

I had never observed Lent before and didn’t know how to “get much out of it,” as the saying goes. But we had to take a hard look at what we love and value, and decide to be content with such things as we have. It was so helpful to have this couched in the context of Lent.

Of course then we felt like celebrating: our first major marital decision was a success. We plan to enjoy decorating slowly over the next year—which put me in another state of anxious indecision last week. But we went away for Easter to spend the weekend with my dad’s side of my family in Virginia, reminding me again that there are greater joys than beauty at home. The joy of feasting, love, and devotion puts in place all the fusses I can have over home. In the end, He is risen.

Prospect Park South: A Wandering

This morning I took a spin around the southern edges of Prospect Park to burn off some extra energy before work. I am so delighted with this area, I have to tell you a little bit about it.

We live on the edge of Kensington and Prospect Park South. The mappers edged our building out of the PPS historic district on purpose, so I’m never sure where either neighborhood ends. But Kensington butts up against the corner, and PPS the southern edge, of Prospect Park; East Flatbush picks up at the corner of the park, and above it is Lefferts Gardens (map). Within three subway stops are historic homes, big brick dwellings, a few brownstones, and the genteel park, punctuated by small businesses on a few arterial roads.

Normally I could wander among the big Victorians for hours, but today I cut quickly across Church Avenue, where the old houses give way to large brick dwellings that line the parade grounds. An avenue runs through the parade grounds towards the park.

The parade grounds are a big, flat lawn divided by broad pedestrian paths into quadrants. A newish-looking concession stand guards the crossroads, and each quadrant contains several athletic fields. The southern fields are popular for soccer and football practices, and there’s a basketball court where boys like to shoot hoops. The eastern end contains a big playground named for Detective Melrose, which gets busy when school lets out, and the west end is where some admin buildings and park vehicles live. The northeast quadrant is usually full of geese. All the fields are graded beautifully smooth, but the surrounding structures, including tennis courts on the northwest corner, the batting cage, and the rambling admin and storage buildings, look sleepy or unkempt. So I see a strange mix of upkeep, neglect, and community use that makes me hope the area is stirring to life.

Past the parade grounds is the park, slightly shabby but well mannered, and a hundred times better than Central Park in natural grace. Its southern boundary is studded with architectural gems—gates on both corners with plazas out front and a lovely classical pavilion that overlooks the parade grounds. But the only activity in that part of the park is running and biking on the border road.

I think the park people want to change this. The border road runs between the park’s edge and the lake, where a new pavilion and skating rink are going in on the eastern side. The Lakeside construction site is hidden from the road, but along the shore you can see walks, light-posts, benches, and landscaping sloping down to the water. Now, this park has not a modern structure in it, but they’re building this thing very square out of concrete and steel. I have misgivings about this, as well as the dirt mounds taller than the gazebo where Andrew almost proposed to me. But precisely because all the buildings in that park are so different from each other, it might work. I’m not judging yet. I only wish the Lakeside project wasn’t going to be so tall compared to the trees.

In the rest of the neighborhood there are also signs of life. A monumental brick thing is coming down at Caton and St. Paul’s Place—presumably to make way for new construction. We’ve received notice that our rent is going up. And Cortelyou Road, a few blocks down, is visibly gentrifying as Kensington and Ditmas Park welcome Park Slope refugees in growing numbers.

I think we’re unlikely to see a gentrification that pushes families and minorities out. Because there’s so much residential brick and so few major avenues in this area, it can’t be overrun with the shops and boutiques of Williamsburg and Park Slope. It’s still mostly inhabited by families who won’t pay exorbitant rents. And the park is a piece of the community, not a status symbol.

So I love prowling the lower edges of the park and wondering what’s coming. It’s a beautiful place in a beautiful area, and it only improves as my eyes adjust to brick after Manhattan’s restaurant fronts and lights. We recommend this swath of Brooklyn to all our friends, and we love to show it off when they visit.