Strangers and Pilgrims
Have you ever done the house-hunt thing?
Either for real or Muriel’s-Wedding-dress-style (i.e. looking with no intention
of buying)? It’s a great way of breeding discontentment… Spending weekend after
weekend looking at what I don’t have
but what I really want or could want or might want. Walking
into any home – even a friend’s home – becomes an evaluation exercise: what do
they have that I want?
What I really liked about the final few
chapters of ‘Anne Bradstreet: Pilgrim & Poet’, was the reminder to lift my
eyes from the material to the eternal. We’ve already seen how Anne views
herself as a pilgrim, passing through, in this life. This perception only
strengthens as she gets older. She writes: ‘A Christian is sailing through this
world unto his heavenly country and here he has many conveniences and comforts,
but he must beware of desiring to make
this the place of his abode…we must, therefore, be here as strangers and
pilgrims, that we may plainly declare that we seek a city above…’ This talk of living here but not making it our home echoes
Paul’s encouragement that ‘those who buy do so as though they did not possess
and those who use the world as though they did not make full use of it. For
this world in its current form is passing away’ (1 Cor 7:30-31). It’s a real challenge though – how do
you spend (God-willing) – 80 or so years somewhere, but never truly settle
down? How can we nurture the healthy restlessness of a pilgrim? Perhaps the key
is how the gospel frees us to hold earthly things lightly, but see the times
clearly…
But what gave Anne this clear-sight for the
next life? Perhaps it was seeing her granddaughters pass away so tragically and
so young. Perhaps it was watching her home burn to the ground in the night.
Perhaps it was watching Massachusetts shift to a new generation – less
concerned with puritan devotion and more with material accumulation. Whatever
it was, it seems that Anne focused her attention even more squarely on the
hereafter.
After watching her home go up in smoke she
manages to write: It was his own, it was
not mine, far be it that I should repine. God is the ultimate possessor. It was her’s merely on loan. She
has another more sturdy home waiting:
Thou
hast a house on high erect,
Framed
by that mighty Architect
With
glory richly furnished,
Stands
permanent though this be fled.
From the age of 50 Anne begins explicitly
expecting, and preparing for, her death. Granted the life expectancy figures
were much lower back then but still, it’s challenging. She doesn’t prepare in a
material way – by being preoccupied with who will get what and how, but in a
spiritual way – with a renewed
devotion to Christ. At age 52 she writes an account of her life to be read by
her children when she’s gone, Cook includes it as the appendix. It’s not so
much a record of her achievements – she doesn’t mention her published work at
all! – but a crystallization of the events and wisdom which she wants to pass
on. It’s well worth a read.
After having no idea about who Anne
Bradstreet was, I feel like I’ve learnt a lot from her. Imagining her in those
woods, isolated and yet so aware God’s closeness in Christ. An unlikely hero in
the building of America, she was much more concerned with storing treasures in
another land. Thank God that the same fuel she had to live that life, fuels the
walk of every Christian – the encouragement of the gospel, the fellowship of
Christ and the work of the Holy Spirit.
As we look forward to our ultimate home, may
we all be able to pray with Anne:
Lord,
make me ready for that day,
Then
come, dear Bridegroom, come away.
About this month's contributor, Annabel Nixey
I'm a Sydney-bred, Canberra-newbie who's still getting used to the idea of four distinct seasons (yes, in winter it is chilly!). My favourite genres are… for movies - period dramas, for books - biographies and for coffee - tea. American history was my least favourite subject at uni but this month's book (set amongst the puritan pilgrims to the new world) has helped flip that impression.