(Sometimes ‘adre’ is the Welsh word for ‘home’ but when I looked it up I learned that you go adre, you live gartref, and you own a cartref – so cartref is the one I mean here.)
With the snow on the ground, I’ve been spending more time than usual at home. I’m pleased to report that it is starting to feel more like home, too. I’m getting used to the paint colours – rather than noticing them every time and revelling in their non-magonlia-ness! – I’ve put some pictures up, and although there’s still more to do, everything is okay as it is for day-to-day use.
What is it that makes a home? Something I’ve often puzzled over, in the world of ‘trying to understand other people’, is the report – not universal, but made by a lot of people who become Quakers as adults – that finding Quakers felt like “coming home”. What is it that makes it feel that way? To me, Quakerism is home, of course. Some of it’s like my new flat, where the things I have inherited or found over the years mix with things I’ve chosen just for here. But some of it’s more like my parents’ home, where most things are deeply familiar, changes can be disorienting, and it’s not mine to change, however much the design of the sofa annoys me!
People who have just arrived, and feel they have come home to Quakerism, probably don’t feel like that. The familiarity which creates affection exasperation of that particular kind – the kind I feel for my parents’ sofa, and that passage by Beatrice Saxon Snell – takes time to build up. It requires repeated encounters, looking at it from different angles, sitting with it and discovering all the ways in which it’s uncomfortable.
(To be fair, it’s a terrible sofa but it does make an excellent metaphor.)
Maybe it’s more like the new home owner’s glee which is, for me, fading gradually but still present: yes, this is mine, my space, I can be here and do as I please. Of course, I live alone in my flat, where a Quaker meeting is more like a hall of residence – you can be independent in many ways, but you also have to share the bathroom and the dining room. When I moved into my room in hall, I did enjoy having my own private space and putting up posters and not having to tell anyone I was going out. I didn’t enjoy it so much when someone decided to play cricket along the corridor at 4am! We also have those people among Friends: people whose choices, or ways of expressing themselves, or mannerisms will always rub us up the wrong way. That doesn’t stop it being a home, but perhaps it makes the image a little less cosy.
Perhaps what it’s most like it coming back to whatever space at the end of a long day. Coming to Quakers could, I can see, be like that moment when I shut the door, and sigh, and think: time to relax. I usually start by taking my shoes off. Sometimes I take all my clothes off – one of the virtues of a comfortable home is that it is a space where I don’t have to pretend to be someone else, or conform to other expectations. Quakerism, made up as it is of people, doesn’t always achieve that. Meeting for Worship, where we aim to put God in charge, comes close.