I walk with my kids to church, or to the park, or to the pool, through a collection of tall, decrepit looking tower blocks. These tower blocks are notorious in the Paris area and beyond for being hotbeds of crime and violence. Here lived Nahel, the 17 year old boy shot by the police earlier this year, sparking riots reminiscent of the 2020 race riots in the USA. If you had never been here, and relied only upon the news stories or things you’d heard, then you would probably never choose to come here, let alone with your children - but then you’d never know how kind and well-mannered the kids around here are, or how warmly everyone welcomes a new baby into the community, or how ready people are to show up for neighbours in their hour of need.
This neighbourhood - Picasso, it’s called - is separated from our home by a big, busy road, and the fact that we have the privilege to decide if we want to live in this part of town or not. Many people don’t understand why we would want to live here, and many times we have asked ourselves that question too. Like all parents, we are keen to give our kids a good quality of life, and also like most parents, we’d probably be willing to make compromises to our principles if we thought it would benefit them.
If I’m being honest, we were pretty nervous about moving here, and our motivations had more to do with getting a good deal on a nice apartment and proximity to my mother-in-law than it had to do with our confident trust that the rumours about this neighbourhood were unfounded. (They’re not unfounded, but they are also not the full story). You can rest assured, though, that this neighbourhood would come somewhere close to the bottom of any quality of life index: high cost of living due to proximity to Paris; very little green space; high rates of crime; high rates of unemployment; poor provision of groceries; little investment in local business.
But, there are so many things I love about living here. I’ve experienced community more deeply in our densely populated urban suburb than I have anywhere else I’ve lived. The majority of people living in this neighbourhood are Muslim, and at times there have been tensions between the Muslim and Christian communities, but when the riots erupted and there was question of whether it was safe to go to church, a group from the mosque across the road came to stand guard in front of our church during Mass so that we could worship peacefully.
Our kids’ school could be on posters showcasing diversity. They get to learn first hand that difference is nothing to be afraid of. In fact, the thought wouldn’t even cross their minds, because they’ve never known anything except diversity in almost all respects. Their teachers and classmates represent countless countries, languages, and skin colours. At church, they get to worship with priests, deacons, and parishioners who actually reflect the diversity of God’s creation. The music is inflected with influences from the different cultures present, and no one is arguing about the right kind of music for the liturgy. They are too busy praising God.1
And on the way home from church, the children race ahead of me towards the fairy path - identified as such by my daughter and embraced by her brother - which is nothing more than a little clearing that runs through the middle of a couple of barren bushes, but for them it is delight and wonder and magic. In Last Stop on Market Street, a story that we’ve read hundreds of times set in an inner city urban environment somewhere in the US2, little CJ looks around at the graffiti, the dilapidated buildings, the vandalism, and the poorly maintained infrastructure and asks his nana, “How come it’s always so dirty over here?” She replies,
“Sometimes when you’re surrounded by dirt, CJ, you’re a better witness for what’s beautiful.”
My kids, with their hearts and eyes and minds not yet shaped by what “they” say is meant to be beautiful, have shown me how true this is. As we weave our way through the tower blocks, they point to the daisies and dandelions that stubbornly remain among the neglected patches of grass, and say “wow, those flowers are beautiful, mummy!”. They collect sticks and feathers and rocks and bring them home to use in the potions they brew on our balcony. They are impressed by the towers themselves: “look how big that house is! I wish our house was that big!” This is just their normal, and so far, no one has managed to persuade them that it isn’t a beautiful place to live.
We probably won’t live here for ever, or even for very long. We’ve been talking about what the next (geographical) steps might be for our family, and access to more green space is one of our top criteria. I love getting into nature with our kids and we prioritise it for our vacations. But I hope I will always hold close the years we spent here. They’ve shown me that it is true that God is found among the people that society consciously pushes to the edges. They’ve shown me that beauty is everywhere if you choose to notice it. They’ve shown me that life - real, gritty, glorious life - abounds in tower blocks packed with too many people, each person not only made in the image of God, but a unique manifestation of His goodness.
Truly, I appreciate the European liturgical music tradition as much as the next gal (or guy), but I challenge you to come to Mass at our parish and not be moved to tears by the palpable love of God expressed through the music. It is holy.
I always thought it was set in Chicago but I did some digging and couldn’t find anything that says so, so perhaps I imagined that. It certainly could be, though.
Having just come back from a city getaway I can tell you the 'grass' (or concrete) is always greener. I've been wondering if it would have after all been better to have an apartment and a park instead of the endless maintenance and challenges of farm life! Every place we live has is upsides and it's challenges, but what I think you bring up so well here is that sometimes the 'tough' things are actually the really GOOD things -- so many valuable lessons for you kids -- and for us as we see the world through their eyes. Thanks for this.
Love this essay! We love that book too--we always thought it was San Francisco. But that’s where we are from so perhaps everyone can see it being in their city! It’s so beautiful!