That Distant Land
Articles | Clausen
by Allison Clausen
Wendell Berry's That Distant Land is a collection of short stories about connectedness. Through the accounts of multiple generations living in the fictitious town of Port William, Berry brings to light the profound significance found in relationships. Whether the relationship between a man and his horse, a woman and her child, or a work team and the land, relationships are the storehouse of meaning in That Distant Land. For those of us seeking to discover meaning for the Church outside of the church, Port William offers a community teeming with significance in the Monday to Saturday world. It challenges us to discover that significance in our own real-life communities, even though the real-life world often seems overwhelmingly broken and untrustworthy.
The creation of the world was an overflow of the love of a triune relationship. God did not need to form the earth and all that it is in it, but as two loving parents come together to make a child as an overflow of their love, He chose to create a planet with dirt, sea, plants, sky, creatures, and humans. Something happened, however, so that His creation is no longer as it should be. It is neither in right relationship with God or with itself. But God cares so much for His creation, for the overflow of His love, that He interjected by sacrificing Himself and has promised that things will one day return to what they once were. That promised land, That Distant Land, is on the horizon in Port William. It is at the end of a row finally harvested, a long night's hunt ended by the dawn, or a long-life well-lived and come to a close. The people in Port William set their eyes on that distant land and it informs how they work, play, and relate in a world where the promises are just on the horizon.
Port William is not a place without heartache, sorrows, or regrets. It is a town that went from bustling and rough in the late 19th century to sadly still in the late 20th. It has been home to men that have drunkenly killed friends, crops ruined by merciless weather, families stained by alcoholism and mental illness, and the common passing of generations before. Yet it perseveres and continues to be a place of friendship, farming, family, and new life. The people there do not let the tribulations of this world deter them from living lives spurred on by the hope of that distant land. They continue to take the risk of relationship, to reflect the relationship from which their existence overflows, despite how perilous it might seem.
In the Christian tradition, people have responded to the broken world in various ways. Some have seen the heartache it offers and deeming it too treacherous, argued that Christians should separate and create distinct communities. Others have believed that if Christianity could lay a cloak across society, it could redeem the world. Christian radio, laundry mats, doctors, and schools have all offered the hope of a better tomorrow. Abraham Kuyper, however, argues that all of creation belongs to God. We may not scorn any of it without scorning God. Without articulating faith, the people of Port William seem to live according to Kuyper's philosophy. They manage to love the broken world in which they live. Perhaps it is because their eyes are set on that distant land. Or perhaps it is because they know the world is the overflow of the first and greatest relationship. Either way, they do not withdraw from the world, but move towards it and allow themselves to be fully implicated in it.
Their stories teach us to reorient ourselves within the creation. If we are to be adept navigators of the world, we must know where we are. We must learn that we live in the midst of the story of creation, fall, redemption, and consummation. Once we have our compass rightly set, we can begin our journey. The nature of that journey is shaped by our understanding of the church.
Although Port William rarely speaks of the institutional church, it paints a beautiful picture of what the church can be. There are people there that trust and depend on one another; they make sacrifices for each other. They look after those that are struggling-the old men housebound by a flood, a mentally unstable man wandering through the night, or a young wife sick at home. They celebrate together, work together, laugh together, and mourn together. They embody the nature of the loving relationship from which creation is the overflow, even though they live in a world where things so often go wrong. The church should be, like Port William, a community of sincere relationships made possible by our understanding of God's love for His creation and His gracious promise of ultimate consummation.
Port William challenges us to live a life fully engaged in the world around us, because we know from where we come and by the grace of God have a promise of where we will go. We do not need to be afraid. We can be brave. We do not need to retreat at the first signs of things gone wrong. We can be like the men in Berry's story, "Watch With Me," and pursue the broken things rather than hide from them. And like in that story, our bravery has the potential to introduce the greater reality into this not-yet world.
The broken world sings a chorus around us and the words are different depending on what we believe. For those without hope, the chorus resonates with doubt, fear, and the temptation to withdraw. There are so many things that go wrong. A friend just lost her in vitro baby to a brain tumor. Our country is in a recession because it could not control its spending. Despite a black man in the White House, the city remains markedly segregated. My husband lost his father when he was a little boy. My parents still struggle to believe. These are all realities of the world in which I live and they so often echo in my ears that it's better to play it safe. Don't have children because they might get sick or their father might die. Don't buy a house because the economy is unreliable and you're probably not ready anyway. Don't try to traverse lines of difference, they're written in stone. Don't try to make a difference. The world is too broken, too far gone. Don't get involved.
Those words and that fearful perspective, however, are just that-a perspective. It is the conclusion you draw when you focus your attention on the surroundings of this world and allow them to be the basis of your understanding. The town of Port William has a different perspective; it hears a different song. It sees the world in light of that distant land. I want to know that distant land as they do for if we know something, we care about it, and we are moved to act. I want the "end of the row" to be my compass point and the driving motivator behind my actions. I want to be someone that engages with the world instead of retreating from it out of fear.
Rather than moving us to withdraw, the perspective of that distant land compels us to move toward the world: to get involved. Keeping our eyes set on heaven, we can be free to invest in relationships. We do not have to be afraid, because we have the promise that in the end it will be good. In the meantime, we live with the knowledge that everything around us is the manifestation of the first and perfect love. Knowing the source of that love, we must enter into His creation. We must be more vulnerable in our relationships, more passionate for justice, more compassionate for those in distress, and gentler on creation. As it goes in Port William, however, these are not grand acts but simple ones. They make the town a better place, honoring its beginning and heralding its coming consummation. They are the acts of a man harvesting a row alongside his friends with a song in his head and his heart.
A native of the Washington D.C. area, Allison Clausen has always wanted to do something that "helps people." She has spent time overseas serving as a missionary, volunteered with a ministry for private school students, worked as a pastoral intern, run a mentoring program for urban youth in Southeast Washington, and now works as the volunteer coordinator for a homeless shelter in Alexandria, Virginia. Her essay demonstrates how helping has proven more difficult and daunting than she first imagined; that our motivation in work must be rooted in something deeper than the gratification of making a difference. She currently lives on Capitol Hill with her husband Bill where they attend Washington Community Fellowship.
