Lisburn, N. Ireland

It has been a while since my last posting, and life has been busy. Emily, Steve, Colette and Jacques flew to Paris on the 12th, and we joined them there that afternoon. We were together for three days, taking in the sites and sharing two very small hotel rooms just off rue de Cler, a small but very French walking street. The first day we all took a long boat ride on the Seine and the next day Emily, Steve, Jacques and I walked the major sites of the city center while grandma had special time with Colette. Then we all went to Versailles, though grandma and grandpa returned early with Colette and Jacques, while Emily and Steve toured the great palace. The weather was cool but clear, just right for our purposes, and the crowds were not great. The visit was wonderful, the length just right, and Emily and I were able to get the third in a series of dad-daughter having coffee in a Parisian café—the first when she was 1, the second when she was 11, and this time when she is 35.


Next we all flew together to Dublin, picked up a rental car, and headed back to Cahir, where we spent the next week and a half. I continued to lead services in Cahir and Fermoy, plus a men’s gathering in Cork, and a wonderful evening with Carlow friends, and the family joined in. We had lots of walks, several tourist mini-trips, and special one on one time with each other. Steve found a gym just around the corner from our home and Emily found a park, while Colette and I did several morning walks which included coffee for me, a cookie for her, and chances to visit the cattle and sheep market on the way into town.

Sunday the 25th, after the services in Cahir and Fermoy, we all headed north, with an assist from David Bruce who picked part of our troupe up as they returned the rental car at the Dublin airport. We are now in Lisburn, enjoying the wonderful hospitality of the Bruce family until the Contents fly back home on Thursday. Yesterday we even made it to Bruce's seaside caravan in Donegal, on the west coast of the island. Nancy and I will head back to Cahir that day to enjoy a last gathering with new friends from the Fermoy church, then Friday we have our last prayer time with Cahir people and Saturday prepare to vacate our Cahir home in advance of our leaving for Albania on Sunday—after attending the services at Adelaide Road in Dublin.



In other words these past several weeks have been full and rewarding. We have deepened our love for the people we have been sharing with here in Ireland, and revisited some we have shared with in the past. We have had wonderful times together as a family, particularly with the little ones who grow up so fast. And we have seen more of this beautiful land. At times over these past weeks Nancy and I have turned to each other in amazement at the wonder of the gift of the people, places and experiences God has been giving us. And we marvel at how he works our being blessed by others together with the sense of our being a blessing to others. As God weaves the fabric of life into a pattern, it is wonderful when the two happen together—when we offer what he has given us and we receive what he has given to others. That seems to be the way he has designed things, and for that we praise him!

Life is lived in chapters. The first chapter opens when we are born. The final chapter closes when we die, at which point through faith a new book begins! Some chapters are longer than others, and some are happier than others. But they add up, year after year, page after page.


Nancy and I are on the cusp of finishing another chapter in our lives. It has been a very happy chapter, thanks to the call of God and the grace of his people. Just over two months ago we landed in Ireland, made our way to Carlow, and began a venture in the unknown at Carlow Presbyterian Church. We had received some information from people in Carlow and knew that we would be welcomed, but we knew little beyond that—the chapter was not yet written.

But as the days went on, and the pages were filled, they were pages of joy and adventures. We met wonderful people, some of whom will remain friends for life. We visited some beautiful parts of the Emerald Isle. We shared in the pain of a church which had faced serious difficulties, but a church with people committed to the ministry, committed to Christ, and with hopes for the future.


I cycled lanes near the manse and Nancy walked them— I up hills and she along the river. We were invited into homes and shared meals with people we had never known. And we renewed friendships in Dublin and Lisburn which we had made before. We were taken places by new friends, shown parts of the area only locals know, and told pieces of history that may not appear in books. And we were fed and fed and fed…Potatoes and sweets and potatoes and lamb and potatoes and desert and potatoes and tea…


The chapter was filled with talking, sharing, praying, renewing, and making new beginnings with farmers and city workers and businessmen and others. A Tuesday morning men’s group, a golf outing, prayer for the persecuted church, a service in a barn, a picnic in a home and many other events made the chapter move quickly.

And the anchor was worship. Sunday mornings at 11:00. Nancy doing a children’s message and I leading the service. I was preaching out of Ephesians and it seemed to speak to us all. And there was the Wednesday evening service as well. There was laughter and tears, singing and praying—all the things that God sends us and we send back to him.


Tomorrow morning a plane leaves around 11:00 a.m. Nancy, I and Harry and Ellen Bruce will be on board, heading from Dublin to Newark to Greensboro. For Nancy and me it will be going back home—to family and a new family member soon to arrive. For Harry and Ellen it will be a visit, new experiences and, hopefully, something they will look back on with happy memories.

For Nancy and me this means this chapter will be closed. Not the relationships, not the memories, not the impact, but the time. We will look back and smile and thank God. And we will look forward to the time when we can renew the relationships and visit again. But in the meantime new chapters will be written and new adventures will be had. Some may be sad, some happy. But this chapter will be in the book of our lives. And it will be a good one—thanks to the people who have shared it with us and the God who brought us together…Praise be to God.

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…

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.

What is life like for us in Carlow, Ireland? Well, each day is different. There is the Sunday morning worship service, starting at 11 and ending, after tea and biscuits and chatting, at around 1:00 or 1:30. Then we have had the opportunity to go to lunch with several different church people, mostly to their homes. That lasts until early evening. On Tuesday mornings I lead a Men’s Bible Study in a local restaurant on the Sermon on the Mount. There is a Wednesday evening Bible Study on the Parables of Jesus which I lead, beginning at 8 and ending at 10 or 11. Finally, there is a home Bible Study that Nancy and I attend on Friday evenings. The study is lay led and we are looking at Nehemiah—a surprising book to study but one which, with the help of a Scripture Union guide, has been surprisingly relevant and engaging. Those are the regular commitments. Besides them there have been occasional events we have attended—a youth rally in a barn and a picnic (with children doing Irish folk dancing) and meeting focusing on prayer for the persecuted church.


In between these anchors Nancy and I have toured the area, had lunch with different people and become familiar with Carlow, its people and its sites, including the Brownshill Dolmen (a 5,000 year old granite portal dolmen--the largest in Europe). I spend time preparing for the services and studies, and have visited in the hospital as well. We (particularly Nancy) walk into town almost daily, which means a 20 minute stroll. We go to the local supermarket (TESCO or Dunnes), the barber shop, and various other stores. I try to get out on my bicycle every day, or at least every other day, and am pretty successful at it. The manse is at the north edge of the developed part of town and a right turn takes me under the grand stone arches which used to mark the beginning of the grounds of a large landowner’s property. From there on the back roads pass through farm lands, climb nearby hills (including Mt. Leinster), and pass through little villages.

Carlow County is one of the smallest counties in the country, but is known for its gardens, so we have visited several of those which are on a tourist loop. The gardens vary from grand estate grounds to garden shops with some displays, and often have a delightful tea room for a lunch or tea. There are castles to visit, small villages to stop in, and picnic spots tucked in here and there. We have been to Kilkenny (major tourist town—kil means church, kenny is a form of the name of the founder of the town), Cashel (major tourist center for its church and buildings on a rocky platform), Wexford (south east port city—destroyed by Cromwell), Tintern Abbey, the high cross at Moon, and many more places.
And we have gone to a hurling match—fast moving and interesting Irish sport! This weekend we will be in Dublin visiting the church we were in last summer, then be taking several days to get to know the north and west coasts.

Last night, the 2nd of July, we hosted a 4th of July pancake feed at the manse. We couldn’t do it on the 4th because of the Bible Study we attend, but at the same time couldn’t abandon a 30 year old tradition, so we made do. It was a joyful gathering with lots of pancakes, chat and all, with the background of American patriotic songs and a waving flag—compliments of a Microsoft Screen Saver and iTunes downloads. Since the Irish wrested their independence from the British as we did, we felt a bit of camaraderie.


All in all we are grateful to God for the opportunity to be here in Carlow. We genuinely sense that the people appreciate what we are doing, and also that our short ministry is needed just now. And we are genuinely grateful to the people for their warm welcome and ongoing hospitality. Ireland is a remarkably mixed land just now. Last Sunday, for example, among the 50 adults attending the service, there were people from Germany, Northern Ireland (UK), South Africa, Zimbabwe, Cameroon, and, of course, the United States. In such a blend of people we feel like we fit in and are becoming a part of the community of faith. And that is what the church is all about, isn’t it? It is one body, the body of Christ, unified by the Lord of that body—and called to worship and serve in his name. That is Carlow Presbyterian Church—and it is every church everywhere.

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....

Nancy and I are now in Carlow, Ireland, and will be for the next two months. We are living in the manse, the pastor’s home which nearly every church in the country has. It is a very comfortable house in a quiet residential cul-de-sac, situated between a hurling field and a Gaelic Athletic Association sports field. On weekends, as we work our way past the traffic and cars parked all along the road, we can hear the crowds cheer for their teams and just catch a glimpse of the players. One of these days we will take in one of the games and find out exactly what hurling or Gaelic football is all about.
I have now preached at the Carlow Presbyterian Church (the historic Scots Church) for two Sundays. The service is quite informal and the people are very appreciative and responsive. The first time I preached I also gave the children’s message but when I asked the children to, in unison, shout out their name, the silence was deafening. The second time I tried it the reaction was the same, and the third time as well. Last week Nancy give the children’s message and the response was better…Oh, well.


Our routine here is fairly simple. On Sundays I preach at 11 a.m. and on Wednesdays lead a Bible Study at the church at 8 p.m. In between Nancy and I are free to visit with people, explore the area or whatever. There is also a home Bible Study on Friday nights that we have attended but not led, and I am beginning a men’s morning study on Tuesday mornings. Nancy had the ladies of the church in for tea this past Tuesday and will keep that going every other week as long as we are here.
The weather has been off and on—some wonderful sunny days and a bit of rain, with most days having a bit of both. Last summer when we were in Dublin it rained every single day, over 60 days in a row, but this summer has already been different. The rain in Dublin was not constant, and it was no bother, but the longer sunny spells here have been a delight. Nancy has enjoyed walking into town several times and I have taken advantage of the sunshine to make it onto the roads on my bicycle. At first I was concerned about traffic, but subsequently have discovered innumerable delightful small roads and lanes that take off from near the manse. There are small hills all around and the view from them and of them is spectacular—fields and valleys and hills alike.



We have found the people very warm and welcoming. The church is quite small (I will talk more about the church in time), but there is a core of concerned and committed people, and they are most gracious. We have been in several homes for tea and a meal, and have spent hours chatting after the various services. One of the impressions I immediately received on arriving in Ireland was that to the Irish time is not a huge concern. I have never been told before, in response to my query How long should I plan the Bible Study to last? that it really did not matter. The study on Wednesday that I lead begins at 8 and I was told that it would be fine to end by 10, but not necessary. The Friday study began at 8 and finished at 10:30, after which there was an hour or so of tea, biscuits (cookies) and chat. People are open about many things, interesting to converse with, and in no hurry. After church chat goes on for an hour or more, and an after church lunch invitation will last until 7 pm or later, while tea that starts at 8 will go on until near midnight. People enjoy chatting and I do too—it is always interesting, topics vary and people are involved. In short Nancy and I are off to a very wonderful beginning and looking forward to many more days and evenings of sharing, laughing, chatting and studying. This is a great place to be--a place where the body of Christ is alive but struggling to become more of what it is meant to be. Isn't that what every fellowship ought to do?
As Peter wrote, 2 Peter 3:18 But grow in the grace and knowledge of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.

A comment about Irish roads by one writer has proven accurate as Nancy and I have worked our way around the west coast of the country and back to Dublin. That comment is that Ireland has two kinds of roads—busy and deserted. I would add to that another word—bumpy. Having just completed a ring from Dublin to Clifden (far west point or the country) and back, I would agree. Driving on the left (some say the wrong) side of the road takes just a little getting used to, but the curves and bumps on the small roads or traffic on the larger are a continual adventure. And sometimes there is even traffic of a farming kind on the smallest roads...


After hunting down ancestral places, rocks and names, we headed towards the southwest of Ireland. That part of the country is dominated by three peninsulas, each of which has its own unique personality. Having already experienced the middle of the three and its main road, commonly called the Ring of Kerry, both by bicycle and car, Nancy and I agreed that we would not make a repeat visit. That route is one of the prime tourist routes on the island, and for good reason. Its beauty is legendary, but the crowds are also, and we decided that we could bypass both.



So we headed for the southernmost peninsula, Baera—and we were not disappointed. The roads out of Glengarriff, the gateway to this peninsula, were small and winding, but spectacular. The mountains that form the spine of the peninsula loomed on one side, while the glistening sea lay on the other. We passed through forests, rock-covered hillscapes, and small villages, with brightly painted houses

in general enjoying every minute. As the day moved towards late afternoon we rounded a curve and saw in front of us a small hotel nestled next to a small pier and facing the bay and the sea beyond. Bunaw looked like a perfect place to stop for the night, and we did and it was. The room rate was less than half of what we were accustomed to paying, but what we were given in site and experience was much more than we had received before.


The only activities were walking and cycling, and, although the weather was threatening, Nancy and I did both. I cycled up Healy Pass, the high point on the peninsula, finding the panorama from the top amazingly beautiful. The wind from the sea was strong, and walking on the pier exhilarating. And to top it off, as we were having late afternoon tea in the hotel bar, we met a delightful couple who were cycling in the area. The husband was writing a book about life in a village in Mayo County, Ireland, and we carried on quite a conversation—one joined in on by a local taxi driver who was eager to tell us about both the area we were staying in and his recent commitment to Christ.

At the suggestion of the couple we had met, Nancy and I drove around the corner to a lakeside pub/restaurant for dinner. The food was good, but the highlight was the owner who was more than happy to tell us anything we wanted to know. On the wall was a photograph of an elderly gentleman carrying long oars, and we asked about him. Seems that he was a boatsman when boats could be hired (rented) on the adjoining lake, and he was carrying the oars for his boat to his house. He could have left them with the pub owner, but would not trust anyone to properly care for his precious cargo. We asked if boats were still for hire, and the pub owner answered no. He said the boats were there but that some time ago the pay for boatsmen had sunk so low (25 pounds for half a day, plus lunch and drink) that no one would do take the jobs. He also added that tourism itself had been sinking over the past several years, primarily due to increased accessibility of other (and sunny) places thanks to the proliferation of low-fare airlines.


The next morning we left our find behind and, with a stop at a nearby glorious waterfall and park, with ancient standing stones, headed towards the northernmost peninsula, a place with a conflict about name that is a story in itself. Next time I will fill you in on that story. But the lesson for this time is simple, Psalm 102:25, In the beginning you laid the foundations of the earth, and the heavens are the work of your hands.

I can’t remember when I saw the Aran Islands on a map for the first time, but I do remember that their draw was magnetic. Maybe it is because I like the far-distant places, the corners, the edges—for no explicable reason except perhaps because they are there. And the Aran Islands are that kind of place. Only a few miles from the mainland of Ireland, but unconnected to it, they jut out into the Atlantic, leaving nothing but water between their western shores and North America. That position makes them susceptible to the harshness of winds, surf and rain, and the barren rock that they are made of leaves no place for forests or fields—but that just makes them attractive to me.

Several times, on various trips to Europe, I had planned on visiting these islands, but not until yesterday did it happen. Every other time something came up or another destination took precedence or whatever—I never made it. But this time Nancy and I did, and it was wonderful. Some times when you look forward to something you are disappointed with the thing itself when you finally get it, but not this time for me. The years of waiting proved worthwhile, and the visit, short as it was, satisfied.
To describe the Aran Islands as remote and hard to reach was the case for centuries, but it is no longer true. There are three Aran islands (the big island—Inishmore; the smaller island—Inishmaan; the smallest/most easterly island—Inisheer) and all are reached by ferries that shuttle people and goods from the mainland several times a day. There is even regular air service to the two largest islands—by a very local airline. But that did not detract from the experience. Being there was the goal, not suffering to arrive.
Nancy and I took the train from Dublin to Galway, a trip that took just three hours and covered the entire width of the island of Ireland, from east coast to west coast. We arrived in Galway in the afternoon, immediately found our way to the tourist ticket office for the Aran Islands, and booked the bus/ferry plus a Bed and Breakfast on the island. We had a couple hours to wander Galway, but the pouring rain made that less than positively memorable. The bus trip to the ferry lasted about an hour, and the rain continued, but as we went west I could still see that the signage was increasingly Gaelic and decreasingly English. That is because this part of Ireland is the Gaeltacht, that is the land where Gaelic is spoken, and the more remote the location the more dominant the Gaelic seems to be. After a wet and choppy hour long ferry crossing we arrived at the pier in the largest town on the largest island, Kilronan/Cill Ronain. The way to our lodgings was well marked, but while only a short walk it was a very wet one.

After settling in we headed out for dinner and music at a local restaurant/pub. The atmosphere of the place was fitting for its location, and the music, slated to begin at 9 but finally starting in earnest after 10, was local and enjoyable. Whether the Irish reputation for music is currently accurate or something for the tourists to enjoy I do not know, but the evening was just what one would imagine in a somewhat out-of-the-way Irish pub.
The morning greeted us with something we have not seen much of since arriving on the Emerald Isle—sunshine. We wanted to see the island, which since it is only 9 miles long and 2 ½ miles wide is not that hard to do. The choices offered for such discovery were: walking, cycling, horse-cart tours or mini-bus tours, and we chose the latter, knowing that the explanations of a local would give us the history, geography and traditions of the island better than traveling alone. The tour operators are all local, probably all family, and cooperate with one another, so we had no problem asking one for a ride and being shuttled to another to share the experience with a second family.
On the tour we learned about the harsh life on the island, the ancient inhabitants, how all the soil had been human-made by carting sand and seaweed up from the beach and depositing it on the solid limestone surface of the island.

We visited Dun Aonghusa, an impressive ancient stone fort built on a high cliff, the ruins of churches dating back to 800 AD, looked for seals and had tea and scone. The tour was so complete, we covered almost all the roads on the island, that all that was left to do was walk the coastal path, which we did—then we departed, taking the ferry then the bus back to Dublin.

The time on Inishmore/Inis Mor was not long, but the experience was all I had thought it might be. It was satisfying and it was informative. While in Ireland we may return , particularly to visit the other two smaller islands, but returning is not as important as having been there once. They say that in the winter there may be only 25 visitors on the big island, whereas in the July-August time the number can swell to 2,500. They also say that in the winter the weather may cut the island off from the mainland for as long as two weeks. I can imagine what that must be like. But the time and the crowd, and even the weather, was not the issue for me. It was just getting there. I could say finally getting there, but looking at it now I guess the time was just right. Ecclesiastes 3 tells us that there is a time and a season for everything, and yesterday was my time for the Aran Islands…And when the right time is filled with the right activity, something special happens…
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