Friday, September 4, 2009--Wulkau, Germany

Today was a long day, and one in which I learned a lesson—a humbling lesson. First, the ride. While we have no set destination, as each day unfolds Brian and I just see how far we want to go, and act on what we see. Today it looked like a very interesting town in former East Germany would be the best destination. It would have been around 115 km (68 miles)—a stretch with a strong headwind most of the time, but doable if there were decent weather. The problem was that every room in Havelsburg was full. A horse show was on the books for the weekend, and every hotel, pension and guest house was full up. The man at the tourist information office, who spoke no English, seemed to be despairing when we asked for a room, but after consulting various books and after making several phone he found us a room just 10 miles down the road. So, at the end of the day our mileage worked out to 78. Not bad for a couple of old men…

Unusual, but effective, road sign


The room we have settled in to is fine, but there is no place to eat in this small town. The town itself feels empty, like many of the towns we have pedaled through, there is nothing open but this guest house. The good news, though, is that the bartender/hotelier will boil wurst, so dinner was two of them, two sausages. Not very satisfying after a hard day riding, but better than nothing.

Now the humbling lesson. On the route today I noted that we would be passing through the town of Wittenberge. Knowing a bit about church history I thought that this was the place Martin Luther studied and the site of his famous posting of his 95 theses, that is things he wanted to discuss with other church leaders. So I insisted that we stop at the town and look at the church. But as I rode around I saw no signs indicating its location. Finally I found an information office, and went in to ask. When I did I was informed that Martin Luther had done his work in Wittenberg, a completely different town from Wittenberge. So I was knocked down a notch, realizing that while church history is one thing church geography is another…

Oh, and by the way, the Germany I am traveling through now, former East Germany is different from former West Germany. My observations remind me a bit of Ukraine or Slovenia, where things in both countries, parts of the former USSR, just seem a bit more tired and worn. We passed one park that never would have been as poorly maintained in the western side of Germany, and many buildings that needed paint or repair that would have been done years earlier on the other side. East and West are now one country, but the impact of Soviet rule and philosophy still hangs around, and it is not a good impact. While the reasons for this are extremely complex, I believe that one is that when you try to remove the Christian faith from a culture, it will inevitably decline, losing some of the beauty and joy that is meant to be such a part of the God-given human experience and expression.

Compare this city street from former East Germany with yesterday's photo of Hitzacker, former West Germany.

Tuesday, September 1, 2009--Dubin, Ireland

This will be the first entry in this blog about adventures that are upcoming in the next three months. The first entries will be about a month long cycle trip that I am doing with my Northern Ireland friend, Brian. The next will be about a month long preaching and sharing time Nancy and I will have in Fermoy and Cahir, Ireland. The third will be a month in Albania, teaching at a Bible School in the town of Erseke, then preaching at a church in the capital, Tirana.

Yesterday at 6:30 pm I boarded a plane in Greensboro, North Carolina, I then sped through an airport in Philadelphia, and landed in Dublin, Ireland, at 7:30 am the next day, that is today, Tuesday. There’s really not much to write about an overnight airplane flight, except to say that it is over with. Not too painful, but not something to look forward to with much eagerness.

When I arrived in Dublin I was half expecting that the most necessary piece of luggage I had checked, indeed the only piece, would not arrive with me. Since that is a bicycle, and the plan is to begin cycling in Germany tomorrow, its absence would present a serious problem. That happened once a couple years ago, when Richal, Brian and I had a cycling trip from Milan to Amsterdam all planned out. Their trusty steeds arrived but mine did not. In fact the airline did not finally get the bike into my hands until I had suffered the ignominy of having to take the train through the Alps to Switzerland, while the others earned boasting rights by cycling the route. But this time, while I had already seen all the rest of the luggage spewed out onto the conveyer belt, and I had obtained the proper forms from Lost Luggage, my anxiety was allayed as a smiling baggage handler brought the bike to me. Do I qualify for the saying, Oh, you man of little faith. Or for being wise in learning from past experience...???


Before leaving the States I had made a reservation in a hotel for this first night. I meet Brian tomorrow but, with schedules as they are and knowing the possibility of some baggage problem, I have decided that a day of margin (and rest) is a good idea at the beginning of a trip. I had looked at hotels at the airport, but decided instead on one that was easily reached by public transportation, was in a more interesting location than an airport flight path, and which, given the high prices of airport hotels, was more reasonable. So after checking my bike in the Left Luggage counter at the airport, where I will recover it tomorrow, I hopped on the Dublin City Bus #102 and in 30 minutes, and after some nice conversation with local fellow travelers, I was deposited at the front door of the White Sands Hotel in Portmarnoch. Since it was only around 10 am I had planned on leaving my luggage at the hotel and walking around the area, but the desk clerk found a room for me that was already cleaned, and signed me into it.


Portmarnoch is just south of Malahide, the site of one of the great estates and castles of Ireland, Malahide Castle. It is on the east coast of Ireland, a short distance north of Dublin, and boasts exceptional sandy beaches. The hotel is just across the road from the beach, and my room gazes out on a sandy shoreline, several small islands, and the waters that separate the large islands of Great Britain and Ireland, the Irish Sea. It is gorgeous…

As soon as I had put my luggage down in my room I headed out and walked the beach for an hour to stretch my legs after the long travel. A local supermarket provided the ingredients for a light lunch, then a short nap and then three more hours of walking—along the beaches, up to Malahide, to the castle tea room (closed when I arrived), and who knows where else (at times I certainly had no idea where I was). The newspaper announced today that this summer has been the wettest summer in record in some parts of Ireland. All parts got lots of rain, but some beat records kept since 1866. And the paper added that the Irish will hope in vain for any improvement in the month ahead. But today was wonderful. Not cold, scattered clouds, lots of sun and no rain at all. A perfect welcome to this Yankee and a great start to this adventure.


Tomorrow I meet Brian at the airport at 10:30 and we head off for Hamburg, our starting point. Our plan is to go south about 1,000 miles, finally flying out of Venice, Italy on the 25th. We will follow rivers, go through Bavaria, experience Austria and climb the Alps or Dolomites, possibly through both Italy and Slovenia. I marvel at the grace of God who gives me such opportunities, and look forward to what he has to teach me along the way through the places, people and experiences. Those lessons are what each of have the opportunity to learn every day, not just while on trips like this but wherever we are and whatever we encounter. The lessons are there to learn, all we need to do is open our eyes and our hearts and see…As the great hymn says, Open my eyes that I might see…

Ireland may be a small country but within its shores lies a land of great natural variety, wide social diversity and fascinating history. And this past week Nancy and I have been experiencing some of that diversity. Our ministry here in Carlow includes one weekend when I am not preaching there, and we took that time off to spend this past Sunday with friends at Adelaide Road Presbyterian Church in Dublin (where we were last summer) and then to go to the far west country. It was great for us to renew relationships with the Dublin people, to see how their new pastor has begun to work with that wonderful and challenging situation, then for us to move on.

From Dublin we went to the western coast, to County Mayo. While the Celtic Tiger has changed the face of all of Ireland, this western part is far from the urban hustle and bustle of cosmopolitan Dublin. Mayo was the center of much of the suffering of the 1850’s great potato famine, and still has not regained the population it had before that tragedy. A fair part of the county is called a gaeltacht area, that is an area in which Gaelic is a primary language. Most places in Ireland will have informational signs in both English and Gaelic, and Gaelic is part of the curriculum of Irish schools, but in this area Gaelic is a primary language and it is not uncommon to see signs that language only.


Our first stop was in a wide spot in the road called Pontoon. There, nestled against a hill and facing a beautiful lake, we stopped for the night in an inn. The inn was not particularly old by Irish standards, it was constructed in the 1800’s, but it is delightfully kept and wonderfully comfortable. The 17 mile bike ride around the lake that evening was picture-perfect.

After a comfortable night in Pontoon we moved on to the port city of Westport then continued on to Achill Island—a place of dramatic hill and coastal scenery, white beaches and points of relative isolation. From Achill we went to Belmullet, where we spent the night in an inn above a pub in what I am sure was one of the older buildings in the town. Our dinner of excellent fish and chips in another pub was shared with a group of cyclists who had come from the north. They had battled rain all day, and I am not sure that my report of the dry that we had experienced just a few miles farther south was encouraging.

The next day we found the rains the cyclists had told us about, as we traveled through the wind-swept barren bog lands of Mayo. No crops can grow in these bogs, but they are a primary source for the fuel used in many homes in the area and beyond—peat. In a relatively flat rainy area, when there are no trees to drink up the water, rainfall dissolves certain minerals and percolates downwards until the minerals form an impermeable hard pan layer. The rain then continues but water does not go beyond that layer, so the land becomes permanently water-logged and soggy. Under these conditions certain microorganisms that decompose dead organic matter cannot grow, so dead grass and other plants pile up year after year, layer after layer. This accumulation is called peat, and is harvested by digging trenches then slicing off pieces the shape of bricks which are then left in the field to dry and then to be burned. How they can dry when the area has rain 235 days a year is a bit of a question for me, but they say it can…



We took single track side roads, passing a graveyard for unbaptized infants, visiting several very small fishing ports, and went through mile after mile of land that was broken only by mounds of drying peat. At one point during the day we were a bit lost so we stopped at a tractor which was parked in the middle of the road. The tractor driver-farmer rolled down his window and asked us where we were headed and we told him. And he told us how to get there, and also he told us about his family, his sister in America, the prevalence of cancer in the area (a result of Chernobyl, he was sure), some concerns about the politics of his country and ours, how one had to know someone important to get a good job, and much more. Then he led us to the turn we had to make to get where we were going. Much different from the hurry of Dublin, and very enjoyable.


Our destination that day was the Ceide Fields. Built on slopes rising from the sea, archaeologists have found the largest Neolithic settlement in all of Europe. The settlement was built approximately 5,000 years ago and inhabited for around 500 years. No one knows where the people came from, but it seems to have been a thriving and peaceful community of up to 1,000 inhabitants. 5,000 years ago the climate of this area was different—several degrees warmer and wooded, with deer and other wildlife in the dense forests. But these new people came and replaced the tiny population of nomads with a settled life style. The newcomers cleared fields, cut trees, kept cattle and piled over half a million tons of stone into walls and fences for homes, fences, and tombs. On the walking tour, which was cut short by driving rain, we learned that the settlement was as well preserved as it was because as the bog gradually grew it both covered and protected the ruins. We also learned that the people’s work in clearing the forests to make their fields probably contributed to the conditions bogs need to develop—and that the growth of the infertile bogs in turn may have contributed to the collapse of their culture. Perhaps we have something to learn from the success that possibly turned tragic 5,000 years ago—something about God’s intention that we should work and take care of…the land. (Genesis 2:15)

From traffic jams in Dublin to a leisurely conversation on a one lane track in Mayo; from English to Gaelic; from busy port of Dublin to small withering ports in the northwest; from fertile fields around Carlow to bogs in Mayo; from modern condos to 5,000 year old homes; from sunshine one minute to rain the next; from secular Ireland to the monasteries of the sixth century and the cathedrals of later years—Ireland is a land of contrasts. And what a privilege to be able to experience it, learn from it, and to try to encourage the believers for whom it is home, and field of mission—in all its parts and all its diversity.

If you are not interested in history, you will probably not get much out of what follows. But for those of you who are, I am sharing a bit of history about where Nancy and I currently live. As you read it you might see in it, and between the lines, some of the challenges and opportunities which this church faces. In many ways, obvious and not so obvious, history creates the context for ministry. In the United States that is not always clear and our relatively short existence as a nation may mute it, but it is still true for us. But it is particularly and powerfully true for people with deep roots in history, such as the Irish. As foreigners and short-termers Nancy and I are clearly limited as to what we understand, what we can do and what is appropriate for us to do, but God has given us a chance to minister here, it is a blessing to us, and we want it to be to the people here as well.



County Carlow, one of Ireland’s smallest counties, is bordered by the scenic Blackstairs Mountains to the east, the fertile limestone land of the Barrow Valley and the Killeshin Hills to the west. Carlow town, the most important town in the county, is about 60 miles south of Dublin. It was once a market town, a center where surrounding farmers would come to sell their produce at the central Haymarket or the surrounding Potato Market and Butter Market . During the 1798 Rising (against the British) Carlow was the scene of an infamous massacre of 600 rebels and citizens, an event memorialized in the Liberty Tree sculpture which stands in the center of the town. Also in the center of the town rises Carlow Castle, built between 1207 and 1213, and on the outskirts of the town the significant ancient Browneshill Dolmen,
erected sometime between 4,000 and 3,000 BC. While not an exceptionally beautiful town nor one on the regular tourist circle, it is a center for visiting gardens and villages in the county, has summer festivals around the river which flows through its middle, and is a nice place for Nancy and me to spend June and July.





An Independent Protestant congregation existed in Carlow as early as 1655, and in time it formally joined the Presbyterian Church in Ireland, but ceased to exist around 1750. Sometime between 1813 and 1816 Thomas Cox, from Hampshire in England, came to Carlow and, in the words of one historian, “Soon after coming to Carlow, finding the service in the Episcopal Church not to his taste, and the need of gospel preaching much felt in town, he with some associates, made application to various Societies to have this want remedied. His application to the Presbyterian body was successful.” In the beginning the congregation worshipped in the Methodist church, but decided in 1818 to erect a church of their own. Land was rented for £15 per year, approximately £100 was given, and on September, 12, 1819, the church held its first service.


While the name of the church properly is Carlow Presbyterian Church, over the entry door large concrete words (which I assume date back to 1819) read Scots’ Church, and, while over the past several years it has periodically been covered over by welcoming banners, it is by that name that it is known in the town and labeled in tourist information. This name comes from the Scottish roots of Presbyterianism in Ireland and from the Scottish garrison which was housed in Carlow and controlled the surrounding area during much of the period of British domination. In fact the church for many years was primarily made up of garrison Scots and their families, which meant that when independence was achieved in Ireland and the garrison left, the church declined until it was nearly non-existent, with services only once a month in a rented facility. On the verge of being closed, a minister and church worker were assigned to the church, and it is now a viable congregation with some wonderfully committed people in it and with good prospects for the future. As I noted last time, the people have welcomed us warmly and we feel privileged to be here and share in their ministry, to be, in the words of Paul to the Philippians, Partners in the gospel....