Please welcome today’s guest writer, Rylan Shewmaker. Rylan (‘21) grew up in Abilene, Texas before moving to Grand Rapids. She graduated from Calvin with degrees in international relations, French, and environmental studies, and is now living in Brussels, Belgium and pursuing a master’s in urban studies. In her free time, she likes to listen to audiobooks, cook, find new-to-her city streets, take the train, and try to speak French.
My whole life, I have been thirsting for a deep sense of connection with the places in which I exist, and I am lucky to know that I am far from alone in seeking this. Even so, every time I move, my sense of self is shaken; I am still learning to embrace the idea that I can be a whole and complete person known to myself who also exists differently according to the places in which I am living.
In September of 2021, I moved from Grand Rapids to Brussels, Belgium. During my four years in Michigan, the deep sense of belonging that I found can be greatly attributed to the Church of the Servant. I’ll never forget having ashes placed on my forehead by a pastor who knows me, my name included in the ancient litany—“Remember you are ashes, Rylan, and to ashes you will return.” In moving, I’ve displaced myself from most of the known factors in my life, but I feel most disconnected from my familiar practices of faith and especially from the sense of community that has historically come with it.
To be honest, I don’t know what to do with this feeling. The Christianity with which I have come to identify seems difficult to find, and I keep encountering situations that remind me of how foreign it is to some here. However, in lieu of convoluted thoughts about institutional religion and the extent to which it will continue to be a part of my life in this new place, I want to use this post to celebrate moments over the last seven months that struck me as something sacred. I have no particular definition of sacred in mind, but maybe it’s something like being pulled out of myself by a David Foster Wallace “this is water”-esque moment that makes me feel known and not alone.
With that in mind: a small list of moments that have made me feel at home in Brussels.
“Bon appétit!” Everyone knows this phrase, but what is new to me is the rhythm in which it is used. I often eat dinner at the dining table with my housemates, and before we eat, we share a collective “bon appétit”. It’s a simple blessing that invokes prayer and reminds me of my high school summer reading How to Read Literature Like a Professor in which the author proposes that every meal in literature is communion.
A Dark Season of Waiting. Growing up, my mom herded us all around the table on Sunday evenings during Advent for prayer and songs lit by an increasing number of candles. On Sunday November 28, my Norwegian housemates excitedly set up five purple candles on our dining table, promptly lighting the first of the five; as it turns out, lighting an Advent wreath is simply “what everyone does” in Norway. It is precious to me that this Advent ritual of candle-lighting can have different connotations for us but still ultimately imply a sense of hope, a search for light in the darkness of the winter, that reminds all of us of home.
Et avec votre esprit. I sometimes attend Catholic mass at the church just down the street. I have never attended an English-language mass, but I’ve gotten somewhat familiar with its rhythms in French—by which I mean that I can join the response to “Le seigneur soit avec toi” with “et avec votre esprit.” I am enamored by the way in which everyone around me seems to have every word and action of mass committed to heart and to muscle memory.
Hodge-Podge Thanksgiving. I hosted a potluck-style Thanksgiving dinner after Thursday night classes and invited everyone to bring something that reminded them of their family holidays. We ended up with the most random Thanksgiving meal I’ve ever had—from Spanish tortilla to Icelandic bread with tofurkey at the center and kalimotxo to drink. My sister was able to visit for the weekend, and together we led everyone in going around and saying something they’re thankful for before we ate. My sheepish introduction of this ritual turned out to be unwarranted, as my friends eagerly participated. At the end of the night, we were all lying on the floor, full. It was so beautiful and vulnerable and life-giving to share something of my own that is cheesy and hard to explain and to have it be received with such enthusiasm and love.
Writing this, I tried to reflect on moments alone that felt sacred. I have had nice moments by myself, of course, but they don’t carry that same sense of deep familiarity that marks sacred moments in my mind. Over and over, in reflecting on my time here, I have found loving kindness in the people around me, and in a lot of ways I think that’s always been true. The rhythms and the institutions through which I encounter it are different, but the sense of rooted belonging feels much the same—and for this I am immensely thankful.
Rylan Shewmaker (‘21) calls herself a geographer, though none of her degrees substantiate this. After growing up in Texas and studying in Grand Rapids, she moved to Brussels, Belgium, for her master’s degree in urban studies. She still lives in Brussels and works for a housing non-profit. She enjoys audiobooks, bike commuting, sunny days, and learning new things.
