Faces of New York City

The streets of Manhattan reveal the depths of human longing

“Should I not have compassion on Nineveh, the great city in which there are more than 120,000 persons who do not know the difference between their right and left hand, as well as many animals?” — Jonah 4:11¹

I can understand why many of my fellow Midwesterners have no desire to visit New York City, and not just because of the usual travel expenses. There is simply no getting away from it here, and by ‘it,’ I mean everything that drives people mad.

Whatever you fear, NYC has it in abundance: crime both petty and major, drag queens, marijuana dispensaries, rush hour traffic, protesters, germs, sewer rats, people speaking foreign languages. The list goes on and on. Transgender icons spend time here, but so too does Donald Trump. It was also the site of the worst terrorist attack in American history, a fact that is still on the minds of many. Everyone can find something to fear.

During my most recent visit to the Big Apple, I was greeted by the common site of posters with the headline “KIDNAPPED.” Below, the photo of a human being, many of them young. Their age and nationality was listed. These were the unfortunate souls taken hostage during Hamas’ deadly incursion onto Israeli territory. They are now trapped in an extensive network of underground tunnels, and some of them will likely never see the sun again.

This is not a distant tragedy for the people of NYC. The city has long been home to the largest Jewish population in America, and as such many of these kidnapped persons have relatives in one of the five boroughs. But even those Jewish residents of NYC who are not closely related to the victims of Hamas’ terrorism often feel a deep connection with what is occurring in the Middle East.

One night, I met my friend Dan for dinner at a kosher restaurant nestled among the glittering lights of Times Square. He is an orthodox Jew, though not one who belongs to a particularly insular sect. After the initial pleasantries were exchanged, I asked him a simple question which nevertheless carried enormous weight: “How are you doing?”

I already knew some of the answer because I have been communicating with him since the October 7 attacks. His daughter lives in Israel but happened to be visiting the U.S. when Hamas struck. Her instinct was not to keep her distance but return to the place that is her home. It was no easy task, for many of the major carriers stopped flying to Tel Aviv. At significant expense, she managed to secure a seat with El Al, the only company willing to risk the journey.

But it was not only his own daughter’s fate that had Dan concerned. Since the attack, he said, he has thought about the situation in Israel constantly. Family friends have been called up to serve in the Israeli Defense Force. One, he told me, was in Gaza as we spoke. “That’s my kid,” he said with conviction, meaning that for him, a son of Israel is as good as his son, so keenly does he feel their peril. I asked him if he feels safe now in his daily life here in the U.S., and he quickly answered no, but clarified that as a Jew, he has never really felt safe.

The following day, I passed through the portion of the city known as Ukrainian Village or Little Ukraine. I had not been certain how many Ukrainians I would find there: after all, many of the old ethnic distinctions within NYC have faded with time. But in the event, it was obvious that I had entered a Ukrainian district. Everywhere I looked, the blue and yellow flag was displayed. Even much of the graffiti seemed to stick to this color theme.

I visited the Ukrainian Museum, a repository for historic Ukrainian culture and thus proof positive that Ukrainians are not simply, in the words of Vladimir Putin, “little Russians.” Prominently displayed on the museum’s street front were photos of the destruction wrought by Russian weaponry. In one particularly arresting photo, a dead Ukrainian soldier lay sprawled among the rubble of a demolished building, his eyes still eerily open. Further up town in a historic Gilded Age mansion, the Ukrainian Institute of America continues to feature exhibits and events detailing Russian war crimes. As with the conflict in Israel and Gaza, the war in Ukraine is personal for the people of NYC.

There is no escaping bad news in America’s largest city. The ocean of humanity is also an ocean of human need, the waves of grief ever pulsing, one after another crashing upon the shore of human consciousness. There is no averting one’s eyes from those who are sleeping rough or one’s nose from the thick smell of burning cannabis. Placards seek “healthy heroin users” for studies, if indeed such a thing exists. Everywhere, one sees the faces. Everywhere, the silent lament is deafening.

The late Tim Keller once asserted, “In cities there’s not only more humanity per square inch, there’s more brokenness per square inch. You can’t pretend it’s not there. You can’t pretend you’re immune from it. Because of all of this, being in the city opens you to spiritual issues like nothing else does.”² In contrast, the countryside allows people to at least feel they are sheltered from some of life’s griefs. “In those idyllic towns and suburbs, it can be easier to hide from the rawness of existence, from the wickedness of the heart, from the transience of life.”³

I was not completely convinced by this argument when I first heard it. After all, I have seen plenty of the “rawness of existence,” “wickedness of the heart,” and “transience of life” in suburban America. But as I walked the streets of NYC this time, I was struck by the essential accuracy of his words. There truly was nowhere to hide from the dark parts of human existence. But by the same token, there was nowhere to hide from the light.

In the strange stew of humanity that is NYC, the people serve up a dazzling variety of foods, art, music, books, and clothing. There is great beauty to be found among the dirt and grime. I saw not simply people, but people made in the image of God—people who need to be loved, supported, and given grace. What suburban types are skilled at hiding, New Yorkers tend to put on full display: their desperate yearning for love.

In a million mistaken ways they pursue that love, but who is to say that their mistakes are any worse than those outside the five boroughs? For all of us look for love in the wrong places, and all of us need to be pointed to the one who can truly satisfy.

Therefore, I say a prayer for the people of New York that they will find what they are searching for. Here among the suffering, confusion, and rapid change, the need for a savior is clear. Does God too dwell in New York City?

Yes, of course he does.

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1. Taken from The New American Standard Bible (1995 edition), copyright The Lockman Foundation.

2. Keller, Timothy. “Why God Made Cities,” Redeemer City to City, 28. This free download is no longer available from their website. I accessed it in 2017.

3. Keller, 29.