Parental Thoughts Part Two

My father's thoughts on his visit.

RobSon,

I don’t recall when I started calling you RobSon, but I like it still and more since our trip with you in Northern Ireland; it’s been your home away for ten months. You were our guide, and you showed us Ireland in a way that I could never have experienced on my own. Starting with seeing you, waiting for the bus as we arrived in Belfast, to watching you drive away from the airport in Dublin, was overwhelming - a physical, emotional, intellectual recognition that that you had grown, that you were the same little boy who was my constant companion and that you were now a polished, professional man, obviously different but the same thoughtful and reflective, compassionate and wise, talented and athletic kid grown up. Every day I caught myself with smiles and tears watching you with unbelievable joy.

You were right to start us in Dunmurry, Lisburn, Lambeg, your home base on our first full day. Meeting Andy, seeing your apartment, visiting the Linen Museum, walking through the park, playing with the marble water ball (I want one here.), even eating in the sandwich shop was introduction. You set the stage for everything to come. You’ve always been good at setting the stage, literally and figuratively. Meeting the eleven-year-old boys at the Base was a treat. I have a photo of your hand print on the wall, surrounded by so many hand prints of boys and girls who care about you and whose lives are changed by an American who cares about them. Their questions were fun, and their soccer was impressive. Talking about setting the stage; they served up a prelude to the World Cup, which was so much more fun to watch in an Irish Pub with people who really get caught up in soccer. It just wasn’t the same watching in the den without fans around, although I do have a new interest in “football.”

Every day, every site, every hike was a wonder; even walking to Barclays Bank that first night was a joy. Most everyone I know has been to Ireland - the South, the Republic - but very few have seen the North. I’ve become a publicist. I talk too much about what they’ve missed, and I wouldn’t have missed any of it. Each day was a surprise. Belfast itself is wonderful, a beautiful city in human scale, easy to navigate, fun to wander. I especially liked the Folk and Transport Museum and St. George’s Market. Patricia was terrific company. I did miss trying a white chocolate and raspberry scone, my mistake not getting it when we passed by. They were gone when I returned. Of course, being in Harmony Hill twice, once when it was empty to get the full sense of the building, which I liked very much, and again on Sunday, when it was full to see the expressions and experience the community and their commitment to you. Dinner with David and Heather was lovely.

I loved it all. Armagh was a special visit, especially because of the greeting we received at St. Patricks, Church of Ireland, and the sense of history that the two cathedrals convey. I preferred the medieval, which you may have predicted, and the guided tour of the crypt and the opportunity to weigh in on whether it should be opened was an unexpected extra. I enjoyed all of the cathedrals, but Christ Church Dublin stood out, along with the park and memorial wall to Irish writers. And while I loved Trinity College Dublin and our visit to the emigration museum near Cork, the North Coast, Londonderry/Derry, and Sligo are what inspired and what I always talk about with whoever asks.

Derry changed my perspective. I won’t pretend to understand Northern Ireland and the troubles, but I will never forget being in Derry on the day of the Saville Report. The enthusiasm was contagious, the pubs were exciting, the people walking toward us after the speeches were exhilarated and exhilarating, and most of all, walking the wall looking down on the Bogside and then walking the streets of the Bogside looking up to the wall is an indelible memory, a transformative perspective for me. The murals also are transformative. I wouldn’t have thought it possible to capture so much heart, so much experience, so much violence, so much understanding in only 12 images. I fought back tears at every mural, and I now get a little of what went on and why. I kept thinking, “No wonder, no wonder.” The day made me love Northern Ireland, to want to go back, to want to understand. Being in Derry that day with you to show me the way was inspiring. I will never forget.  

Perspective may not be everything, but it’s critical to everything. Physical perspective, looking up and looking down in Derry, up at and down on, gave me a different perspective, meaning understanding of the troubles. And “up at” has a very different meaning than “up to,” which I wouldn’t say because it doesn’t work, isn’t true in this context. Does “down on” fit the historical context, or am I passing judgment or reflecting bias? It is what I felt that day without thinking. Looking at you straight on from the bus when we arrived gave me a new, largely emotional perspective, another kind of understanding. It was very clear among the boys at the Base and the congregation at Harmony Hill that they liked you, they appreciated you for what you contributed to them; and it’s very clear to me that they have influenced you. You have a new perspective, a very different take on yourself and on your calling than when you left for the airport with Claire last August.

Two other transformative perspectives for me were the North Coast, the Antrim Coast, and my experience in Sligo. I hadn’t expected Sligo, wasn’t aware that we would have opportunity to visit Drumcliff Church where William Butler Yeats is laid and to see Coole and the Lake Isle of Innisfree and to recognize Ben Bulben as we approached. I recall saying at the time that I was surprised by my reaction. I’m curious about why we seek out shrines and why we respond with silence, joy, even awe. Why did I come away with a deeper perspective onYeats? What was added to years of reading, to my naming the first two puppies, William Butler Yeats and Maud Gonne, born to my beagle, to my decision not to write my dissertation on Yeats? Physicality was added, and a better understanding of a poet whose poems reflect his landscape, as well as his passion for Ireland and the way that he captured violence. Several poems came immediately to mind, while I was standing at the grave site: the full text of the last stanza (VI) of “Under Ben Bulben,” because it includes the epitaph on the tomb stone; “The Lake Isle of Innisfree,” because we saw it and it’s a favorite of many readers because it’s taught in schools; and “Easter 1916” because it offers a commentary on the rebellion for Irish independence and a historic perspective on the Saville Report and our visit to Londonderry/Derry. I copied these three below for you and to remind myself. “A terrible beauty is born” from “Easter 1916” is memorable, even chilling, given what happened then and continued. Even after the Good Friday Accord, conflict continues now.

I really enjoyed visiting my friend Bob Welch and Angela and Killian in Coleraine before we drove from Londonderry to Sligo and south. Seeing them was another highlight of the trip. A very relaxed evening and dinner and lively conversation were gifts to me. I know that it slowed our trip and only hope that it enriched your evening, too. Bob’s experience with the University of Ulster is fascinating to me. I appreciated especially seeing him at home since he’s visited and been involved here in my work, planning, and conferences. I was impressed with his interest in what you’ve been doing, his enthusiasm for your plans, and his perspective and insight into what we experienced in Londonderry/Derry. I hope that he and Angela will come to see us again.

And then we saw the Giant’s Causeway, which is only the most spectacular place on a spectacular coast. Even the story of the giant, Finn, is spectacular. It may be the most beautiful coast I’ve seen, so beautiful that it inspires awe, perhaps another kind of terrible beauty - rough, craggy, magnificent, sublime, a word rarely used but perfect here. The whole experience of being there, looking over to Scotland and imagining the Scots crossing the Irish Sea is stunning. From the perspective of a Virginian growing up surrounded by Scots-Irish Presbyterians, who even founded my college, and seeing how they came to be Scots- Irish on the way to Virginia was a compelling experience. I now know something more, something quite specific, visual, and visceral about these people and America’s founding. I wonder whether some passed through Donegall, as we did. We had little time there but enough to buy exquisite stained-glass goblets and to inspire a return trip.

You are a wonder; you always have been. I don’t know how to end this rambling excursion through our visit, since it has no end. Age knows no limits. We will explore again and again.

If you like, let Yeats have the last word.

From Under Ben Bulben

Under bare Ben Bulben's head 

In Drumcliff churchyard Yeats is laid. 

An ancestor was rector there 

Long years ago, a church stands near, 

By the road an ancient cross. 

No marble, no conventional phrase; 

On limestone quarried near the spot 

By his command these words are cut:

 Cast a cold eye 

    On life, on death. 

        Horseman, pass by!

 The Lake Isle of Innisfree

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree, 

And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:

Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee, 

And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow, 

Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings; 

There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow, 

And evening full of the linnet's wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day 

I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore; 

While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey, 

I hear it in the deep heart's core.

Easter 1916

I have met them at close of day

Coming with vivid faces

From counter or desk among grey

Eighteenth-century houses.

I have passed with a nod of the head

Or polite meaningless words,

Or have lingered awhile and said

Polite meaningless words,

And thought before I had done

Of a mocking tale or a gibe

To please a companion

Around the fire at the club,

Being certain that they and I

But lived where motley is worn:

All changed, changed utterly:

A terrible beauty is born.

That woman's days were spent

In ignorant good-will,

Her nights in argument

Until her voice grew shrill.

What voice more sweet than hers

When, young and beautiful,

She rode to harriers?

This man had kept a school

And rode our winged horse;

This other his helper and friend

Was coming into his force;

He might have won fame in the end,

So sensitive his nature seemed,

So daring and sweet his thought.

This other man I had dreamed

A drunken, vainglorious lout.

He had done most bitter wrong

To some who are near my heart,

Yet I number him in the song;

He, too, has resigned his part

In the casual comedy;

He, too, has been changed in his turn,

Transformed utterly:

A terrible beauty is born.

Hearts with one purpose alone

Through summer and winter seem

Enchanted to a stone

To trouble the living stream.

The horse that comes from the road.

The rider, the birds that range

From cloud to tumbling cloud,
Minute by minute they change;
A shadow of cloud on the stream
Changes minute by minute;
A horse-hoof slides on the brim,
And a horse plashes within it;
The long-legged moor-hens dive,
And hens to moor-cocks call;
Minute by minute they live:
The stone's in the midst of all.

Too long a sacrifice
Can make a stone of the heart.
O when may it suffice?
That is Heaven's part, our part
To murmur name upon name,
As a mother names her child
When sleep at last has come
On limbs that had run wild.
What is it but nightfall?
No, no, not night but death;
Was it needless death after all?
For England may keep faith
For all that is done and said.
We know their dream; enough
To know they dreamed and are dead;
And what if excess of love
Bewildered them till they died?
I write it out in a verse -
MacDonagh and MacBride
And Connolly and Pearse
Now and in time to be,
Wherever green is worn,
Are changed, changed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.

Parental Thoughts Part One

My parents came to visit in June, and, inspired partly by Ginna's blog, I asked them for their thoughts on Northern Ireland and their visit.  Brevity is not a strong point in my family, so I've split it into two posts.  My Mom's thoughts are below, Dad's will follow tomorrow (hopefully).

Hey Sunshine,

            The trip to Ireland had so many highlights that I can't put them in order of best--and there was no worst.  I loved seeing you, you look terrific, and you are as terrific as you look. Ireland has left its mark on you: you have grown into a mature, confident, self-reliant young man. You always were brilliant, compassionate, and giving. You make me proud. You knock my socks off! Your suggestion that we might stay at the Europa in Belfast worked very well for us, with the train station and bus station right next door. Our being able to get right to you in 11 minutes was quick and easy.

            You did a great job of introducing us to Harmony Hill and the Base. I loved seeing the boys group playing football and then talking to us at the Base. You and John and your volunteers are making a difference in the lives of the children who come to the Base. You are an
excellent role model for them. If any of them turn out to be just like you, their mothers will be proud, too.  Attending church with you and singing "Battle Hymn of the Republic", as we did in my childhood church, was a happy experience, as was meeting members of the friendly and charming congregation. Dinner with David and Heather was a very special highlight.  Being in their home and experiencing their warm Irish hospitality and delicious Irish food added a delightful and relaxing element to our visit. They are fine people. I am glad to see how good they are to you and how much they think of you.   Going to St. George’s Market with Patricia was fun. Your friends Andy and Patricia have won us over completely--we hope they will come visit us in Charlottesville. The music and atmosphere of the City Market added to the fun of shopping and having lunch there. We met some very nice Irish people in the Market with whom we enjoyed a lovely conversation. Then Patricia and I went off for a tour of the impressive City Hall, where we both learned a great deal about the history and governance of Belfast as we were both awed by the beauty, vast size, and art of the building itself, particularly of the marble and stained glass.

            After five very active and fun days in Belfast, the three of us embarked, later in the day than we planned, in our big, fat rental car, on a trip to the North Coast, which we saw during two glorious days of bright sunshine! The colors came alive! Ireland is indeed emerald green and stunning. I loved the charming little village where we stopped for a very late lunch. Even the people we met there were friendly and picturesque. The sea, the Irish Sea, was as clear a blue
as the Caribbean, much to my surprise. I had pictured it to be a bottle green color. I guess the sunshine is what lit it up for us. We could see Scotland right across the Irish Sea. The hike to and from the Carrick-a-Rede Rope Bridge was a bit of a challenge for me, but not for you and your Dad. I am glad I made the effort; the scenery was lovely from every angle, in every direction. You were right to take us there.  Then our side trip to Coleraine to have dinner with your Dad's colleague, Bob  Welsh, his wife, Angela, and their son, Killian, was an unexpected pleasure since your Dad reached them in the late afternoon, and they called right back and invited us to dinner in their home that very night. The dinner conversation reminded me of the many evenings we spent on the Semester at Sea ship talking for hours with warm, intelligent, and intellectual friends. I felt the Welshes to be instant friends, even though I met for the first time that night. I am glad they suggested we stay with their neighbor in her four-story B&B.

            Then back to the North Coast the next morning in another whole day of brilliant sunshine. I am glad I walked down to the Giant's Causeway with you and your Dad, and even better was taking the bus back up the hill! I loved the legend of Fin McCool, the clever Irish Giant who dressed like a baby to scare away the Scottish Giant who destroyed the causeway to Scotland because after seeing Fin and thinking him a baby--he sure didn't want to have the father come after him.    I like the picture of the back of our heads looking out to sea from Dunluce Castle, our last adventure before Londonderry/Derry. I got just a glimpse of the old walled city of what is now part of the City of Derry, but what would have been called Londonderry once upon a time. The two names highlight the conflict between the descendents of the Protestant English and Scottish who were sent to settle in Northern Ireland and those of the present-day Irish Roman Catholics. I am glad that you and your Dad got to walk around the top of the wall, and see the towers and go into the Bogside to hear the Saville Report, the official British apology for Bloody Sunday in 1972, when 14 innocent Irish Catholic men, women, and children were killed by armed soldiers who in the Bogside. I am not glad I chose to stay on the particular bench I chose while you and your Dad went off on the Bogside adventure because of the crazy person who accosted me to tell me that I was an Angel... He was probably a very nice crazy-person, but he made me nervous, so I hid out at a McDonald's in the near-by Mall waiting for you two to return. I was glad to see you when you got back to me! I was also glad to hear of your experiences in the packed Pub in Bogside where you both heard the Saville Report along with the Irish Catholic crowd. Londonderry/Derry was the most historically significant stop on our trip because of the Saville Report. Yesterday I found myself re-reading the Irish newspapers we bought the next day. We have them in the den right on top of the television--as if it were a library stand. Come to think of it, a book stand would look good and be useful in the corner of the den.
            

I liked staying in the bed and breakfasts, and especially talking with the women who ran them. I both saw and felt the famous Irish warmth and hospitality in every encounter we had with people from the Belfast area to the North Coast of Northern Ireland to Coleraine and Londonderry/Derry to the Irish Republic in every place we visited ending with Dublin. An Irish friendliness permeated every place we went. Of course, my favorite place we spent the night was the Hotel in Cork, because I do like elegance and luxury. Those rooms were incredibly nice. All of the full Irish Breakfasts were good--but the dining room in Cork was the most posh. Speaking of food, I felt very fortunate to have two lavish Irish dinners in real Irish homes, first with David and Heather, and next with your Dad's colleague, Bob Welsh and his wife, Angela. I did like fish and chips, and eating in pubs, Very especially fun was watching the World Cup from the various pubs. I learned a lot from you and from the "football" fans in the pubs. I still think of it as soccer.  I am glad we stopped and found the grave of William Butler Yeats, especially for your Dad. I am glad I got to see it--Yeats has always been a favorite of mine--but I am even more glad that your Dad did. I loved the park by Christ's Church in Dublin where we saw the plaques on the wall honoring specific Irish writers. I was happy to see how many great Irish writers I know well from their work.  The picture of me with your pint in the Guinness (How do you spell that?) Storehouse in Dublin did not fool either of your sisters. Liza just laughed about it. She knew I couldn't drink a whole pint of ale. I am glad I at least tasted yours.  

The BEST part of the whole trip was having yet another adventure with, you to add Ireland to Scotland and Puerto Rico as places explored by the three of us!

You Call That Healing? [Luke 8.26-39 ] « [D]mergent

You Call That Healing? [Luke 8.26-39 ] « [D]mergent

[D]mergent is a fantastic blog run by some Disciples of Christ ministers (including one former YAV). The link is to a great sermon posted there.

5 Weeks

In 5 weeks, I will be in back in the US.  Back in Charlottesville.  Back "home"

I have mixed feelings about this.  Previously, thinking about going back has carried a lot of anxiety with it.  I've had to worry about if I would be accepted at a seminary, write all of the applications, prepare for interviews, ask people for references, apply for scholarships and financial aid.  Thinking about going back meant diving into whatever task was at hand.  Then, the applications were finished.  I started hearing back, I was accepted to three of the four seminaries to which I applied.  I realized that only two of them felt right (strangely, neither was my initial first choice).  I had to struggle to decide which of the two I wanted to attend.  Columbia in Decatur, Georgia.  An exciting place just outside Atlanta, a fantastic reputation for mission and missiology, the possibility of spending a year working in Africa.  Or Union, in Richmond, Virginia.  About an hour from Charlottesville, down the street from one of my best friends.  Close to my parents, sisters, nephews, friends, and my God-daughter.  A slightly stronger reputation than Columbia overall, but without the same focus on mission, no existing contacts with Africa, but willing to work with me to create something.

Than, with a decision mostly made, more paperwork, applying for financial aid.  If I didn't get it there, I couldn't go.  So always there was some uncertainty.  Sure, I'd be in Charlottesville for most of a month, but then what?

Then last week I heard back, Union is giving me the aid I need.  So I'm going there.  There is relief, I'm happy with the decision, but now it's real.  Sure, I still have to figure out housing, but that's not nearly as much of a distraction as wondering what city I'd be in.

I can't hide anymore.  I only have 5 weeks left.

5 weeks until I go home, but it feels like I'm leaving home too.

When did I start thinking that way?  How long does it take for a place to become part of you?

Clearly these 10 months have been enough, but when did it happen?

I don't think it had happened in January.  When I went back then, I still thought of people here as "them," the few Northern Irish idioms that had worked their way into my speech patterns were things to help keep me straight.  I used them so I could understand others talking to me.  Now they're part of how I think.  I don't want to lose some of these speech patterns.  I want 3:30 to remain "half-three;" "supposed to be" sounds so much more awkward and ungainly than "meant to be."  "Flip" is no longer the quaint way John avoids swearing, but has become a favorite of mine as well.  I'm proud of these.

But I wonder how long I can hold onto them.  Just a few days with my parents and "car park" reverted back to "parking lot" and I remembered that no matter how long I'm here, no matter how much I might think of the Northern Irish as "us," that will always be presumption and pretension.  I'll always be the American in the group.  Maybe I'll be the pet-American, adopted for a while, but no matter my sense of solidarity, I'm not really a local, and on some level my adoption of local habits remains affectation.

I'm still going to hold onto them though, affectation or not, it's still part of my story.

Scotland, Broken Chains and the meandering US Postal Service

The final retreat of the year was last week, which, in addition to being the last retreat, also marked the beginning of the "lasts" of my year.  With the end of the school year approaching, many of my programs are also winding down.  The last Flame session is coming up this Sunday, Parents and Toddlers and the Lisburn Sunday School are coming to a close as well.  The last episode of Lost has aired (and was fantastic).  The Base will continue to be open through the summer, so that won't change, but many other things will.  It really doesn't seem like I've been here long enough to be experiencing lasts. 

Anyway, a description of the retreat is, I suppose in order.  We were meant to fly from Belfast to Glasgow, then take a series of buses and ferries across Scotland to Iona, but the ash cloud stopped that.  Instead Doug was able to obtain the Garnerville minibus again, so we drove from Belfast to Larne, took the ferry to Cairnryan, and then drove up the west coast of Scotland to Oban, where we left the faithful minibus for a ferry across to the Island of Mull, took a bus across Mull to a different port for the short ferry trip to Iona.

Our lunch stop in Scotland

The ferry from Oban to Mull

Another picture on the ferry from Oban to Mull

The port at the second port on Mull

Doug and Elaine on the last ferry

All in all, we traveled 286 miles (only 125 miles as the crow flies) over about 14 hours, including three ferries, and about a mile and a quarter on foot.  That works out to an average speed of 20 miles per hour, making Iona possibly one of the last remote places in the western world.  It was delightful, and ruled by sheep.

Regal sheep surveying his terrain.

The Monday evening worship service in the abbey was Peace and Justice themed, and was largely good and thought provoking, I especially liked the way they invited worshipers to come forward and add a link to one of four paper chains in remembrance of trapped in human trafficking.  Sadly, for me, this moment was ruined when they tore the paper chains, it just came off as cheesy.  Tuesday we went on the pilgrimage around the island.  There are two options, a 7 mile, somewhat intense hike, and a 3 mile that is almost completely on roads.  The 7 mile was full, so Doug, Elaine, Nathaniel and I got bumped to the 3 mile, but then swapped on to the 7 mile where the two met up for tea and snacks because enough people had dropped out of the 7 mile along the way.  I just wish I had been warned about that possibility, since I had changed from my good, waterproof boots to just my normal shoes, which aren't the best option when you're walking through somewhat boggy terrain.  The pilgrimage did also give me the chance to talk some of the other people who were visiting the abbey, including several recent UNC graduates, including two who will be in Richmond next year, one at Union and one at U of Richmond's Law School.  It was a nice chat, especially as I have essentially decided that I'll be going to Union, pending financial aid (more later)

After Iona, we went to Edinburgh for a few days of just mild sightseeing and relaxing, which went well, aside from the crappy hostel mattress which likely dated from the Victorian era when the building was probably constructed.  After Edinburgh I split away from the rest of the group and went to see the Fyfe's, my sort-of cousins near Glasgow.  It was great to see them again, it was nearly 6 years ago when I saw them last.  They were also nice enough to take me to Kelvingrove, so I could have another look at my favorite painting--Dali's The Christ of St. John on the Cross.  We also went to St. Mungo's Museum, where I first saw the Dali 6 years ago (it was on loan from Kelvingrove) and to the Glasgow Cathedral.  I do think the return of the Dali to Kelvingrove is a bit disappointing, mainly because it is not very well displayed there.  At St. Mungo's it was the centerpiece of the Museum, at Kelvingrove it is shunted into a dark corner with one out of focus spotlight illuminating only the top half of the painting and a bit of the wall above it.  It deserves far better, and I wish Kelvingrove would give it proper placement, or at least light it well.  I also owe thanks to the Fyfe children for taking me to my first comedy club, it was a great time.

The paper chains from Iona were not the only broken chains in the past few weeks. On Wednesday I had the delightful experience of having my bike chain break.  While I was riding it.  It threw me into the wall of the church (thankfully it broke when I was almost to the church door and not still riding along the road, where I might have been tossed into traffic.  I came out fine though, just a few small cuts on my hand and a sore shoulder.  What most surprised me about the experience was the way the chain ended up binding the rear wheel.  I would have thought it would have just worked its way through and been left behind, but no, it brought me crashing (literally) to a halt.  

This brings me, finally, to the US Postal Service.  I implore you, USPS, to finally deliver my Financial Aid application to Union.  I mailed it from Lambeg on the 29th of April, and according to online tracking Royal Mail handed it over to the USPS on May 1st, in New York City.  Well done Royal Mail, my beef is not with you.  USPS, however, took until the 17th to get it from NYC to Richmond, and as of the 29th of May, it has STILL NOT BEEN DELIVERED.  The financial aid deadline has now come and gone twice (it was extended).  Come on USPS, you're killing me here.

Hopefully that will work out, and if not, at the very least tomorrow is the YAV youth group field day, including ultimate frisbee games, so that should be fun, and will hopefully de-stress me, assuming my shoulder has loosened itself up enough to permit me to play.

Lazy Saturday

As April is ending, my life is finally returning to normal, allowing me to have lazy Saturdays such as today.  It's been a good few days, and one of the only times that I have had two consecutive days off since I've been here.  I love it.

Normally, on Fridays, I go in to the church around 9:45 or 10 AM for the Parent's and Toddlers Group, which runs from 10 AM to Noon, then tidy up afterwards.  Then I go into The Base (which also doubles as John and my office now that the room that used to be our office was ripped apart--actually happened months ago, but I don't think I wrote about it.  There is a crack in the side of the church, which permitted rats to move into the space above the ceiling.  The ceiling was taken out to get the rats and rat related messiness out, and has not been put back in yet.  It's been months, but I'm ok with it, we put wireless in, so I'm not tied to that room for internet access, and The Base is more comfortable anyway, despite a lack of natural light since I keep the window shutter closed...but I digress.  The Base is open from 8-10 PM, so I usually just stay around until then.  This weekend is different.  John decided to close The Base down this Friday and Monday in response to certain mis-behaving youth hiding while we were closing down and letting everyone back in after we left.  Parents and Toddlers was cancelled because Harmony Hill Primary School was closed for the Bank Holiday (which is Monday, but the school gave everyone a four day weekend).  I, being me, forgot that Toddlers was cancelled, so I still showed up at 9:45 and started to set up, a little confused as to why no one else was there.  It was not until a few minutes later that I remembered that we were closed that day, and thus I had the day off.  So I played some Guitar Hero, because hey, I went all the way in, might as well make some good of it.

Around noon I went into Lisburn by way of the Lagan Towpath, got lunch and cash, and then cycled back home, also on the Towpath.  Last night I went to see the Scottish Dance Theatre with Patricia, who then came back to the flat to hang out with Andy and me.  Today we watched Firefly and I made banoffee for church tomorrow.  It's been a lovely weekend, and I have Monday off as well.  Tomorrow is a normal Sunday though, and I still need to plan Flame tomorrow.  The focus is to be on Mission, and I think I'll focus on small, everyday ways of doing Mission.

Also, on the note of Mission, I found out yesterday that Union is planning on demolishing Mission Court, and thus ending any possibility of three generations of Vaughan living there.  Truly a sad day.

Newsletter

So this is something of a cop-out post, because it was originally written for the Westminster Presbyterian Church newsletter, and was submitted with these edits to the PC(USA) site for the YAV newsletter section, and is now being posted here.  I've been super busy lately, but hopefully things will calm down a bit now that it's after Easter and I can get something a bit more current up for you, my devoted regular readers (all three of you).


Greetings from Northern Ireland! I am now over half way through my term of service here with the Young Adult Volunteer Program and wanted to update you all on what I’ve been doing since I arrived last September. I am working with Harmony Hill Presbyterian Church, in Lisburn, which is just to the south of Belfast. Here at Harmony Hill, I work with their Parents and Toddlers group on Wednesdays and Fridays, help teach in two Sunday Schools—both the Harmony Hill Sunday School for 11-15 year olds, and assist with the Lisburn Inter-Church Sunday School, which serves children and young adults with special needs, and I am also a leader in Flame, the youth fellowship at Harmony Hill. Most of my time, however, is spent with Harmony Hill’s main outreach program, a non-sectarian youth drop in center called The Base. The Base, while based in Harmony Hill, is firmly rooted in a non-sectarian approach to youth work, and is open to and attended by youth from both the Unionist (wishing to remain part of the United Kingdom) and Nationalist (want to become part of a united Ireland) communities, and, importantly, is also supported by the local Roman Catholic and Church of Ireland parishes. This cross community work is of critical importance in Northern Ireland now, because, while great progress towards peace has been made, a peaceful future in Northern Ireland is still far from certain. The principal paramilitaries on both sides have now disarmed, but there are fringe groups still active. These groups are generally reviled by both communities, but there is a fear that they may prove successful at recruiting amongst youth, especially amongst those too young to remember the worst of the Troubles.
Despite the advances made, Northern Ireland is still a very divided society. In many places, so called “Peace Lines” divide Nationalist and Loyalist communities. These walls were first erected in the early 1970s as a means of stemming violence by making it more difficult for assailants from one community to get to the other, but continue to increase in height, length and number today. The walls vary greatly in nature, some are large and imposing, others are mostly wire fence, with plantings attempting to conceal them.

This wall to the left is a section of what is possibly the most famous wall in Belfast, the one that divides the Shankill (Unionist) from the Falls (Nationalist) neighborhoods. This wall is something like 20-25 feet high, and, as you can see, has been extended with wire mesh above the older concrete.

One of the great difficulties faced in Northern Ireland is the way in which the walls reinforce themselves. 50% of the population lives in an area where more than 90% share their religious and political background. In 2002, 68% of people between 18 and 25 reported having never had a meaningful conversation with someone from the other community. Just 5% of children go to an integrated school. In this context, bringing the youth from both communities together is of critical importance—as my sister once said: “it’s a lot easier to hate someone you don’t know.”

This is not to say that I am not still having fun. I’ve had a wonderful time taking The Base youth on various outings including a trip to “Planet Fun,” which is similar to the carnival portion of the Dogwood Festival, dressing up as a shepherd for the Carol Service at Christmas, and going on occasional retreats with the other PC(USA) volunteers working in Northern Ireland, especially when we went to see the Giant’s Causeway on the North Coast.