Ireland is a country of fields and farms. While the city of Dublin is one of the great cosmopolitan cities of Europe, outside Dublin there are countless small villages, old churches, and country lanes. The lanes run through fields of wheat and potatoes, and pastures with cows, cattle and sheep. The history of many civilizations revolves around the history of their great cities, but that is not the case with Ireland. Because the country was never conquered by the Romans it never was subjected to its land-planners.


This meant that roads were not widely developed and central administrative cities not established. Divided into four separate and competing kingdoms for centuries, with the church spread throughout in a series of monasteries, the idea of a unified nation and the infrastructure that such would require was not part of early Ireland. Instead the country was made up of farmers who worked their lands and came together for commerce—to sell their goods at the closest market town. Carlow was one of those market towns. It was also one of the seats of power of the kings of Leinster. It was also a cathedral city. This made it a significant gathering spot for people, but for people whose life was lived primarily on farms in the countryside.


All this makes Ireland a wonderful country to explore—at least as long as one’s adventuring spirit is not dampened by rain. Ireland is full of small places to explore, many of which have fascinating histories. There are rivers to walk alongside of (or barge on) and country lanes to mender. There are hills that seem like mountains and there is the seacoast (after all it is an island). There are pubs and tea shops, garden centers and walking routes, churches and monasteries that date back 1500 years, and all is nearby. And then there are the people—people who are truly gracious and who live up to the hype about the gift of gab.

Having said all that there needs to be a bit of caution expressed. Particularly about the driving, which presents certain challenges. The most obvious one, of course, is that the Irish drive on the other side of the road from most of the world. I understand that this is the original way the rest of the world drove—following the pattern established by horsemen who, being primarily right-handed, wanted to pass people with their right hand closest in case a weapon was needed. I also have been told that originally steering wheels were on the curb side of the car—to watch for ditches. But in any case things are done differently here, and it takes a bit of time to adjust. But adjust one does…


Another aspect of driving one has to adjust to is the narrowness of the roads and the omnipresence of large farm machinery which takes up much of the road. It also travels quite slowly. Actually the farm machinery is not that bothersome—you know their presence reflects the nature of the country and the draw of the countryside. You are there partly because they are there—it is their land and their farms that are so attractive. So you tend to enjoy them even as they drop a bit of farmland and farm byproduct in front of you as you slow down to their speed.

The narrowness itself is something else. You have to get used to it but it is nevertheless a real adjustment. Flying down a country lane at 60 (kilometers that is) you are regularly approached by an oncoming vehicle and just pray you can pass. Which you do—even if it is an SUV. Side mirrors quickly bear the marks of bushes bordering the lanes, but that is all that usually happens. I do suspect they do a fair business in driver-side mirrors, and am certain that it is only the difference in the height location of the mirrors of different makes of cars that prevents more clashes. I still vividly recall years ago when I biked past two drivers who, amidst the scattered remnants of two side mirrors, were chatting animatedly with each other in the highlands of Scotland. I am sure the same happens here although I have not seen it.


But perhaps the driving phenomenon that most stands out in my mind is the hedge rows that line most of the lanes in the country. In very many places, driving in Ireland is like driving in a tunnel. You know that there are beautiful fields all around, and see on the map that you are paralleling a meandering stream, but all you can see is the road and the hedges. They say that the hedges are necessary for certain wildlife, and I have been told that there are even laws that limit the seasons hedges can be trimmed (you cannot trim them when birds might be nesting). When there is a rise in the land around the road you can see over the hedges and catch a glimpse of the fields and farms you are traveling on the road to see, but the glimpse is often fleeting. You start slowing down for driveways or gates leading into fields, hoping to see something of what you are passing. When you cross a bridge, assuming it has a bit of lift, you glance at both sides. And sometimes you are surprised and wonder when you see the spire of a church or the top of a castle over the greenery. The hedges are often a covering for rock fences (Ireland wins the world prize for number of rock fences), so you do not want to drive into one. They are also often beautiful in and of themselves. But they do block the view.


So, if you go to Ireland (which I recommend) be prepared. Remember to think left to think narrow and to use your imagination to picture what the land you are driving through looks like on the other side of the never-ending tunnel. Is it stretching it too much to use the last of these as an illustration of faith? Possibly, but let me try and see if the hedge road view is not what what Hebrews was talking about in these words, Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.

As we go through our lives we know that there is more to see than what we see. We know that our path is hemmed in by our human limitations, by the dimensions in which we live, sometimes by the pains and struggles that we face. But by faith we know there is more. And every once in a while we get a glimpse of that more—somehow we see beyond the barriers that confine us. We see it in a moment’s glance, perhaps in a setting sun or a worship service or a special hymn or a special encounter with a special person or a special verse of Scripture. We see a bit of the more which God has created, a bit of the more which he has in store for us. And with that moment’s glance we are reassured that there is more, and that the more is wonderful.

The apostle John had the amazing experience of seeing the more first hand. He recorded it in the book of Revelation. Taken by the Spirit of God, either in a vision or in body, it was as if he were brought to a gate in the hedge row, a gate that opened out into a field, and invited to gaze through. He was only there for a short while, but what he saw assured him of the glory of what was to come. He saw a throne in heaven with someone sitting on it, and a Lamb, looking as if it had been slain, standing in the center of the throne…and he heard a song, Worthy is the Lamb who was slain, to receive power and wealth and wisdom and strength and honor and glory and praise…

Soon John was back on the isle of Patmos, back where his sight was limited to what was at hand. But what he saw in those moments changed his life, and ours as well. His vision can be our vision, what he saw and heard we can see and hear through his recounting. Life is limited, and that can be frustrating. But faith sees beyond the limits to the beauty beyond—and marvels at what it sees…