When You Come Back Down

I'm now completely convinced that this is the most beautiful island in the world.

Since I spent the past week with the other YAVs on a mountaintop-experience-filled retreat in County Donegal, I figured Nickel Creek's "When You Come Back Down" would be an appropriate accompaniment.



Make yourself a cup of tea, find a cozy spot to settle in to, and read on, faithful followers!

Garnerville Presbyterian Church, where Patricia works, owns a minibus, which they've been kind enough to let Doug use to cart us around on various occasions - our retreat was no different. For Patricia alone, this vehicle carries with it strong memories of activities with her church, but it's a meaningful conveyance for the whole group - it carried us through the madness of our first week in Belfast: orientation, seminars in youth work and peacemaking, and tours of the city. Needless to say, when we piled into the minibus on Monday morning to leave for County Donegal, I knew we were in for a week of intense fellowship, powerful spiritual experiences, and good, good craic all around.

What I wasn't expecting was the feral beauty of the west coast of Ireland.

We made a stop at Lough Derg on Monday afternoon, the site of an ancient Augustinian monastery, the subject of an ancient Catholic pilgrimage known as St. Patrick's Purgatory. You can follow the links to learn more about the lake, Station Island, and the pilgrimage, but here's the idea in short form, as originally shared with me by some friends I've made here:

"Lough Derg? It's mad! You spend three days wandering the island barefoot with nothing to eat but dry toast and black tea, reciting prayers and kissing crosses and the like. Oh, and you aren't allowed to sleep, either."

As mad as my new friend made it sound, I won't lie - I might give it a go. It's just the sort of spiritual pilgrimage I've always wanted to try - releasing my struggles with the world, focusing on being in direct relation to God and creation, standing on holy ground, fasting, and being in community and solidarity with hundreds of others.

While we weren't at Lough Derg for the pilgrimage last week, I did pick up an interesting insight about Ireland - for quite a while, the island, particularly the area around modern County Donegal, was thought of as the end of the known world. It was viewed with a mystical reverence that, in the States, we often attribute to places like the Grand Canyon, the Sequoia forests, or the Badlands. This revelation set the tone for my experience of retreat - it was almost as if we were in another world, when, in reality, we were less than four hours' drive from Belfast.

Each volunteer household prepared a devotion for the group - music, readings, meditations, whatever felt most appropriate and wherever the Spirit led us, really. Rob and I kicked off the week with some YAV-favorite songs, "Canticle of the Turning," "Goodness is Stronger than Evil," and "Prayers of the People," as well as a meditation on the Liberian Bullet Crosses, and the "Marks of a True Christian" bit from Romans 12:9-21 (Sound familiar, Montreaters?). Our first night of worship led to some serious introspective on my part, and a powerful longing for that mountain-top experience.

Little did I know, I was about to get that - in a big way. After a fairly intense night of prayer, meditation, and journaling, Doug drove us from our comfortable cottage on the shores of Lough Eske to the wild and wonderful Slieve League - with very little warning of the intensity of the weather along the "Pilgrim's Path," one of the major paths to the top of the ridge.

This was the view at the summit (with an excellent view of the back of Patricia's head, as well!):

The winds at the top were strong, to be certain, and the rains came and went, with a vengeance - but there it was, in all of its glory - the mountain-top experience.

I could not have tried to find a more perfect view of the Atlantic.  And as we stood there, in the heart of the elements, the words to Woody Guthrie's song "Birds and Ships" came to mind:


"But my soul is stormy, and my heart grows wild
Where might my lonesome lover be?"

Then it hit me - this was the closest I've been to home since I landed in Belfast more than two months ago.  Not only that, it's the closest I've been to Ginna, as well - and there she was, past the mountains stretching towards the sea, out across the stormy Atlantic, beyond the equally wild and wonderful jungles and mountains of South America, in Lima, Peru, seeking God in somewhat the same way I was.  I was reassured that I was not alone, and that God was very present in this place.

And then we were off home - back to the cottage, back into the company of angels.  In Doug's words, we're a group that does a wonderful job of affirming each other when we have the chance - I have to agree.  Our communion service on Wednesday night made that even more clear - during our first YAV meeting in Belfast, we each signed our names to a drawing of a hand - a representation of the idea that God has engraved our names on his hands (Isaish 49:16).  That image became the covering of our communion table that night, and as we took turns reading the following words from the Iona Community's "Wee Worship Book," I was affirmed more and more in our place here as YAVs - being, not doing, and most importantly, being together, in partnership:

"Lord God,
As we come to the share the richness of your table,
we cannot forget the rawness of the earth.

We cannot take bread
and forget those who are hungry.
Your world is one world
and we are stewards of its nourishment.
LORD, PUT OUR PROSPERITY
AT THE SERVICE OF THE POOR.

We cannot take wine
and forget those who are thirsty.
The ground and the rootless,
the earth and its weary people cry out for justice.
LORD, PUT OUR FULLNESS
AT THE SERVICE OF THE EMPTY.

We cannot heart your words of peace
and forget the world at war
or, if not at war, then preparing for it.
SHOW US QUICKLY, LORD,
HOW TO TURN WEAPONS
INTO WELCOME SIGNS
AND THE LUST FOR POWER
INTO A DESIRE FOR PEACE.

We cannot celebrate the feast of your family
and forget our divisions.
We are one in spirit, but not in fact.
History and hurt still dismember us.
LORD, HEAL YOUR CHURCH
IN EVERY BROKENNESS."

("A Wee Worship Book," fourth incarnation, Wild Goose Publications, p.98-99).

Always WE, never I.  Always US, never ME.  We are together, we are one church in spirit, but not in fact.  The words of "When You Come Back Down" still ring true here:

"And I'll be on the other end, to hear you when you call
Angel, you were born to fly, if you get too high, I'll catch you when you fall."

Lord, bring us back to that church - a company of angels coming together around a table to serve together, a company devoted to the hungry, the suffering, the peace-less, and the broken among us.

Today is Remembrance Sunday in the United Kingdom - serendipitously, the day before the fall of the Berlin Wall.  Today, we comfort the bereaved and honor the fallen, tomorrow, we will remember the symbolic tearing-down of a division that represented more than physical separation.

Dear Church,

Take every chance you dare.  I'll still be there when you come back down.

Love and Peace (or Else),
Andy