It was almost four months ago that Nancy and I flew out of Greensboro, North Carolina, to Dublin, Ireland. In those months I have been wonderfully blessed, challenged and engaged by some most interesting people in some most interesting places.
Our first stop lasted just about two months. Living in The Attic, a cozy apartment on the top floor of Adelaide Road Presbyterian Church, we were just two blocks off St. Stephen’s Green (the central park of Dublin--site of many enjoyable walks and noontime concerts) and had a wonderful vantage point from which to observe and participate in the life of that great European city. The congregation of Adelaide Road had just lost its pastor of many years, and was beginning a search for his successor. The church presents a serious challenge for the congregation and new pastor, located where it is in the center of the City, but that challenge is matched by the opportunities it has to live out the gospel and present Christ to the students, expatriate workers and immigrants, as well as native Dubliners, who scurry past the front door every week day. Every Sunday over half of the congregation is international, and on Sunday afternoon one of the largest Korean churches in Europe meets in its sanctuary. And the leaders of the church are deeply committed to finding ways to minister that heterogeneous population plus all the others. In a traditionally Catholic country, but one which has become alienated from that church by events of the past decade, the future of the gospel is shared with all believers, and God is at work.

After preaching in Dublin for two months, with regular forays into other parts of the Irish countryside, Nancy flew home (with family who had come to visit) while I headed south to Barcelona, Spain, for a month-long cycling adventure. Tour de France
climbs over several Pyrenean passes marked the beginning of Brian and my trek, then for weeks we headed north through the farm land of western France. The weather was perfect, the roads were calm, and the scenery picturesque.
The ending point for me was Gatwick (London), where, after a wind-aided rapid cycle through southern England, I boarded a plane to the US and a surprise short week touching base with our home. Then off again to N. Ireland and Albania, where for two weeks I taught in
Udhekryq Bible School, located in Erseke, a village in southern Albania. For the first several days in Albania, Nancy stayed in Tirana, the capital, where she renewed friendships with people from last year and offered several English Language

Methodology seminars in the local University. She then joined me in Erseke for rest of the time. While at the school we were privileged to live in an apartment with Fred and Margie Strock, 50 year veteran missionaries in Pakistan. We also got to know the leaders of the school, and their church and mountain camping facility. We walked through the camp area they used for 1,000 youth this past summer, and also walked through the larger area they hope to purchase for an expanded ministry. These are people with quite a challenge and even greater commitment and vision!

Our final stop in Albania was at the church we had shared in while there for five months under Nancy’s Fulbright assignment. In just a couple hours there, we were blessed by the pastor, Barry, and the congregation, many of whom recognized us and greeted us warmly. We were also gifted with a trip with our hosts to the north of Albania, driving literally to the end of the road to the point where Montenegro begins. That area is rugged Balkan territory, but our lunch was just outside the city of Shkodra, on the shores of the largest lake in the Balkans, in as beautiful a setting as you could imagine.

I am writing this sitting just outside our bedroom, at the back of our new little house. I am looking out over out pond, which is glistening in the morning light, and into the trees of the forest behind us. Our youngest daughter, JJ, greeted us when we returned from Albania, and is here for just a couple days en route back to Tacoma from Washington, DC. Our other daughter, Emily, and her husband and their daughter, Colette, have been here every day since we returned. The peaceful morning, following three days of record-setting rain (needed because of a months-long drought) and the prospect of all of us being together is a wonderful thought. From Greensboro to Ireland to N. Ireland to Spain to France to England has been a grand adventure. We have new friends for eternity plus, by the grace of God, have been able to make a bit of difference in some lives along the way. We have been challenged and we have had a great time. We are thankful to God for all and in all. Truly his hand has guided and is guiding—and that hand is the hand of a loving Father who continues to bless, who continues to be the One the Psalmist sang about in Psalm 31:19, How great is your goodness.

Spanish Pyrenees/Pass between Spain and France




He was probably in his mid twenties and he was traveling fast. He had a big smile on his face and his hair was streaming behind him in the wind that his downhill run was creating. As he passed me he turned and shouted Allez! Allez!, which, pronounced Allay! Allay!, is the classic cyclists’ word of encouragement and camaraderie. I managed to grunt out a half-hearted responsive Allez to him, but just barely—and only one. You see I was on my bicycle on the cusp of the hardest part of the uphill climb to the col (summit) from which he was descending, the col de Peyresourde, one of the famous cols traversed often by the Tour de France. Brian and I had chosen our route from Barcelona to Brittany with one purpose being to cross one or more of these famous cols and that is what we were doing.

Looking back from the top of the Col de Peyresourde

As the young smiling rider passed me I once again faced the profound question—Why am I doing this? The day was warm, the climb had already been long and grueling and I had far to go to reach the top. I had chosen this route, paid money to fly to Barcelona, and was taking time I could spend in other ways, and all to face what was one of several torturous days in the Pyrenees. My encourager was in his twenties, I am facing 64 years old at my next birthday. He was free of any gear besides his bike, and I was carrying all the gear I would need for three weeks cycling. He was fit and trim and I was only hoping to get somewhere close to that as the days would proceed. I was hurting and he was smiling. Why am I doing this?

French Countryside
Fast forward now to two weeks later. It is a perfect autumn day and Brian and I are cycling along the south bank of the Loire River. The river itself is not visible most of the time, but farms and fields and forests are all around us, and the colors of autumn are beginning to show. There is a slight breeze at my back and the skies are brilliant blue and the air crisp but not cold. There is no pain and no torturous path awaiting me, all day will be like this. And with this day my earlier question is answered. With this day the earlier climb makes sense, and with this day the whole comes into focus.

And that focus is not simply that the idyllic days make up for the painful ones, or that it is worth enduring the hardship as a necessary adjunct to the pleasant, but rather it is that the different parts that make the whole so rich. At the end of the trip some of the suffering will fade and the reality of having made it to the top—and on for weeks longer—will be as rewarding a memory as the recollections of the tranquil days nearly effortlessly cycling through the fields of France. The views from the top of high passes to the valleys below will be as memorable as the vast fields of sunflowers and corn drying in the fading sunlight. The easy and the hard, the beautiful and the not so beautiful, the verdant and the dry, the suffering and the pleasure, it is all part of the journey, and all together it makes the trip so much richer.

Brian Enjoys a French Snack

And that is like life, and particularly the life of the believer. It is the whole which, when seen as part of the journey of faith, makes it so rich. It is the hard and the easy, the painful and the pleasurable, all together, when seen as part of God’s call and God’s path, that form a collage of beauty and worth. It is the cross and the crown that come as a package, that together make up the stuff of the abundant life that Jesus said he came to bring. And it is the recognition of this that causes us to keep on in our journey of faith—and even pray for the strength for more, even to plan another trip over new mountains and through new meadows…

French B & B

I have just returned to Greensboro for a week before heading off to Albania next thursday. Difficulties in accessing computers in France prevented reports from the road on the cycle trip referred to here, but here is a bit of what happened on the road from Barcelona to London.....

Fields, Forests and Farms of South-West France


French Castle Turned B&B

The past week has been taken up with family time—and it has been great! Emily, Steve and Colette arrived last Tuesday, and since then we have visited and revisited sites around both Dublin and Northern Ireland. Traveling with a one year old is an experience I have not had for many years, and while it does have its difficult moments, I love it. They brought a stroller with them, and it is used some times, but most of the time Colette is with grandpa—either walking along holding a finger or being carried. Tough life!

Our visit to the North was highlighted by a time with the Bruces, the family that served at Calvin while I was in Lisburn four years ago. They are all well, and said to be sure to say hello to all the Calvin folk. David has taken a new position, moving from Scripture Union to the headquarters of the Presbyterian Church of Ireland. He is in charge of Home Missions, which means he has some pretty significant responsibilities related to the whole of the work of the church. Let’s remember him in prayer…
During our visit in Lisburn Nancy and I were hosted by Brian and Andrea. Brian is my co-cyclist with whom I will begin pedaling in just a few days. We will fly to Barcelona then cycle north to the north coast of France, working our way up and over and through the Pyrenees—following some of the routes the Tour de France regularly uses. We are hoping for good weather and trusting that we will be able to make it up the hills that the pros climb, although our speed will probably be just a little less than theirs.
At Lisburn we also attended the Sunday evening service, got to see friends there, and then headed north to the cottage of another Lisburn friend, the Clerk of Session while Nancy and I were there, John Millar. Nancy and I had been there before, and I knew that it would be a perfect place for the visitors from the US to have a bit of rest and enjoy the best of Irish scenery. That is what happened. We walked the beach, crossed the famous Carrick-a-Rede rope bridge, clambered on the basalt columns of the Giants Causeway, and introduced Colette to cows and blackberries. The cottage is situated on a rise above White Park Bay, with a view of the beach and a panorama to the north, east and west. What a treat it was to be there!



Now the rest of the family is in London for a couple days while I have returned to Dublin for the final “duties” of teaching and preaching. Our time in Dublin has been wonderful, and as it draws to a close we look back with thanksgiving to God for the opportunity to be here, serve, learn and get to know more people with whom we will have contacts for years to come.

One of the interesting aspects in moving from Seattle to Greensboro is the perspective on history which we have moved in to. While the history around Seattle is interesting, particularly that of the interaction between Native Americans and early settlers, from the perspective of North Carolina all that is modern history.

Now we live (when we are at home) only a mile from the site of one of the turning points in the Revolutionary War—our home is just off Old Battleground Way and near New Garden Road, a strip of asphalt that covers the marching line of the British soldiers as they headed north to encounter the Continental Army. Downtown Greensboro has a plaque noting where the government of the Confederacy met on several occasions, and the Woolworth on Elm Street (Main Street) is the site of the first sit-in during the Civil Rights movement. The roots in the south are deep.


But after a little time in Ireland, this history migrates into the folder entitled Recent Events. As I have noted before, we have visited burial sites dating back between four and five thousand years, walked past St. Patrick’s well, visited the landing place of the Vikings, and strolled in the central courtyard of an English castle built in the twelfth century. Around the corner from us is the Bleeding Horse Pub which bears a plaque honoring its foundation in 1649, just up the street is a public library founded in 1701 (Marsh’s Library, containing some of Jonathan Swift’s collection), and a church that is only 500 years old is not worth a footnote in the historical record of the area. The roots here are much deeper.

But being surrounded by the past does not mean being limited to the past, and the fascination of this place in this time is at least to a large part in the dynamics of today. Entry into the EU changed the face of Ireland, and moved it from the sideline to the center. The infrastructure was developed, high-tech and low-tech industries grew and prices skyrocketed. People from all over the world have flocked to Ireland, many of them students or professional people, in fact so many that a recent mapping of Dublin was striking in the amount of red—red meaning over half of the current residents were not born in Ireland. All of this is behind the description of Ireland as the Celtic Tiger.


Yet even this more recent history is giving way to news that this part of the world continues to change. Three signs of this have appeared in the headlines recently. One is the dramatic change in the public behavior of Dr. Ian Paisley, the most vocal proponent of maintaining the union of Northern Ireland and Great Britain, and Gerry Adams, the leader of Sinn Fein, the party most committed to a united Ireland. In the past month they have sat together, laughed together and worked together as they both bear positions of leadership in a newly constituted Northern Ireland Assembly.
People in the north and south are amazed at this turn of events, and believers attribute it to a work of God in answer to prayers for peace on the island.

The second is an announcement last week that Aer Lingus, a global symbol and national pride of the Republic of Ireland, is going to abandon its Shannon, Ireland, routes and open new ones in Belfast, Northern Ireland. The people and politicians of Ireland are incensed at this move, the Irish clergy have issued a letter decrying the prioritization of profits over people, but it is a sign of the changing times.

Finally, Nancy and I spent an hour one recent afternoon greeting a Viking ship, the Sea Stallion, as it sailed and rowed into Dublin Harbor. This ship was built in the Viking Ship Museum in Denmark and built to show how Viking vessels would have appeared over a thousand years ago. The interest in this ship stemmed from the 1962 discovery in Denmark of five Viking ships, with the subsequent determination that one of them had been constructed in the Dublin area. This discovery spurred an interest in Viking sailing by historians, the ship was built using ancient techniques, and the crew of 60 sailed it from Denmark to Dublin. As a social experiment (60 people in an open boat with no privacy) the project was of interest to many, but as an historical statement it was to others. The dock this afternoon was lined with thousands of people, dignitaries from several countries, television and other media—all there to greet a ship reminiscent of ones that 1,211 years ago arrived at the same site to raid, pillage and rob…


What do I make of all this? Well, one thing is that the gospel faces an accelerating challenge—speaking to people in a world that is rapidly changing. The second thing is that the gospel is relevant to the world at every stage, every step, and every point in history. The message of the love of God showed so clearly to humanity in the person and work of Jesus Christ is a timeless message. It has had a formative shaping power in the history of Ireland—and it can today. The gospel is not stamped with a time-date: Best if Used By …. It is time-less… And it is the believer’s job to show that to the world. So the author of Hebrews reminds us, Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.

Emily, Steve and Colette arrive in a few days. Then two more weeks and our time in Dublin will be over. It has been good.

Since returning to Dublin following a week away, we have been spending time visiting local sites and learning about the city and the nation. And it has been fascinating.

First we went to an ancient site called Newgrange. Located in the valley of the river Boyne, about 45 minutes north of Dublin, it is one of the oldest signs of human habitation in Ireland. The site includes three large stone mounds, each with an inside passageway that opens onto a burial chamber. We took the official tour of the site and learned that scientists have been able to discover almost nothing about the people who built the mounds, who was buried in them, or why they were built in the shape they have. There is writing in the passageway but no one knows what it means. The mounds are dated about 3000 BC, but beyond that nothing much is certain. Fascinating.

We then went to Dublinia, the Viking center of Dublin, and learned about the Vikings and the city. It seems that at the city of Dublin first became a city with the arrival of the Vikings at the end of the eighth century, and for several centuries it remained as such—separated from the rest of the country, which was made up of feuding clans of Irish with loyalty to one of the several kings. Gradually the Vikings blended with the surrounding population, but they maintained their important merchant and trading positions. On Good Friday, 1014, internal struggles between the several Irish provincial rulers boiled over into a battle at a place called Clontarf, a battle in which the Vikings joined with the soldiers of the area around Dublin (Leinstermen). Romanticists identify this battle as the end of the Viking era in Irish history, but many would say that it was more an internecine battle with the Vikings playing a part, and in fact the Vikings remained as a significant force in Dublin itself for many more years.


The next era we looked at was represented by the Dublin castle. This era began with what is called the Norman Invasion of 1169, an event which some would prefer to label as the Norman Invitation as it technically began with the English responding to a request of an Irish leader for help in his political ambitions. In any case the English arrived, settled into Dublin, built the castle on the site of an earlier primitive fortification, and began a centuries-long gradual expansion into the whole of the island.


Through all of this history, with its various forces and factors, a common thread of Christianity is woven. St. Patrick’s Cathedral, the largest church in Ireland, was built in the thirteenth century, replacing a small wooden church that had stood on the site of a well that the famous saint is said to have used to baptize new believers in the middle of the fifth century. Christ Church Cathedral in Dublin was probably founded around 1030 , and in a rare arrangement shared the status of cathedral with St. Patrick’s. Following the disestablishment of the Catholic church in Ireland both have retained the status of cathedral in the Church of Ireland, while Rome maintains St. Mary’s church as a Pro-Cathedral in recognition of their claim on Christ Church as the rightful seat of the Catholic Archbishop.
At Clonmacnoise, a monastery to the east of Dublin founded by St. Cirian, we walked on paths and entered ruins of a holy site built in the middle of the sixth century. Throughout the Republic reminders of the place of religion in the history of the island, such as shrines, monastic sites, cathedrals and The Book of Kells, abound. And it has been both a task and an interesting journey to see and walk in some of those places.


The more I learn the more I see there is to learn. When we leave Ireland we will know more than when we came, but we will also be aware of new puzzles and big gaps in our understanding that we never knew we had before. I guess that is the way it is supposed to be. It is like our growth in Christ—the more we know about him the more we know we do not know. In The Chronicles of Narnia one of the children made this profound observation about Aslan, the great lion and ruler of Narnia, The closer I get (to him) the bigger he grows. I find that to be true—do you?

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.

On Monday Nancy and I began a week-plus tour of Ireland. My agreement with Adelaide Road Presbyterian Church was to preach 8 out of the 9 Sundays between July 1 and September 2, and the 29th of July is the one I will not be filling—so we have taken the time to see the country. At first we were thinking of flying to some exotic (and probably sunny) location outside of Ireland, as air fares in Europe are sometimes incredibly cheap, but we changed our minds. We decided to rent a car and drive to Irish places we have never seen, and with ten days there is time to do much of that on this relatively small island.

Our general route has been south from Dublin and then west—we will finish the trip by an eastward return to Dublin. The first day we traveled over small roads and ended up in a place called Clonmel, which is on the Suir River several miles west of the south coastal town of Waterford. We had never heard of the place, but found it to be delightful. Our hotel faced the river and the mountains, which meant both a beautiful sunset and a cheerful morning. The predicted rains did not materialize, so in the late afternoon I was even able to enjoy several miles of quiet country lanes from the seat of my bicycle.

The next day was a day of surprises. Early on in our time in Ireland Nancy had received two emails from one of her sisters reminding her that the ancestral homeland of one of their most prestigious relatives, Thomas Condon, was in Ireland and near where we were now traveling. Thomas was born in a small stonecutter’s home in Ireland but emigrated to the United States. He went west as a pioneer Congregational missionary, became a noted geologist and discovered of the famous John Day Fossil Beds. He was a founding faculty member of the University of Oregon, father of the first woman graduate of that university, and today buildings at both the University of Oregon and Oregon State University bear his name.

The information provided about the location of the Condons’ ancestral home by Nancy’s sister was somewhat contradictory, but it also reminded us that while reduced to poverty over the centuries by the vagaries of Irish political and religious history, the Condons had entered the country as part of the extended Norman invasion and for hundreds of years had been important and wealthy landowners in the area. This meant that physical remains of their holdings could still be around. So—the hunt was on.
First we went to an angler’s shop in Fermoy where we inquired about the whereabouts of a town that we knew no longer existed. The proprietor’s curiosity was raised and after two phone calls to relatives the general location of the homelands of the Condons and Roches (maiden name of Thomas Condon’s mother) was located. We next drove to that town and learned that the Condons and Roches had indeed lived in the area, and in fact the castle at the foot of the hill was probably one of the many built and owned centuries ago by the Roche family. We also learned that we could get more information from the Information Center of a town just 8 miles away.


So, after lunch in the café at the foot of the above mentioned castle we headed off for the next town, arriving at the Center we had been told to find just as a man was entering it. This particular gentleman actually knew little, but he did direct us to the local pharmacy with instructions to talk to Eileen, who he said knew more about the history of the area than anyone else in town. That we did, and it was true. Eileen was able to fill in some family details and give us a short history of the general events that would have led to Thomas’ emigration. She also directed us to the owner of a small shop in another village, one near a castle which was now only a ruin but that had certainly been built by the Condons as their family center centuries ago.


With that information, and duly noting that the local convenience store bore the name Roche and the local drapery/toy store the name Condon, our journey continued to


Mr. O’Sullivan at the small shop in Kilworth. There we learned from him that we had found what we were looking for—the ancestral Condon castle. It was not accessible as it was in the middle of a private gated field, but it was there—a new name but the right assemblage of stones. So off we drove, down the lane and into the field—not close enough to touch but close enough to photograph the single remaining tower of what 800 years before had been a grand edifice.


At the end of the day we had been at the homelands of the Condons and the Roches. We had seen castles owned by each of them. We had seen physical evidence that the lines still went on in the place Thomas had left behind 160 years ago. An interesting saga, and one which not only connected us with our roots, something the ancient Hebrews knew was significant, but which also reinforced the wisdom of our choice to stay on the island of Ireland for these few days…

But that is just the start. More about this journey to come.

Today marks the fourth Sunday I have had the privilege of preaching at Adelaide Road Presbyterian Church in Dublin Ireland. I have chosen to share messages from one of my favorite books while here, the letter of Paul to the Philippians, and the study guides for these messages are being posted on the web site of the church, www.adelaideroadchurch.org. If you are interested, feel free to log on and take a look.
The past week began with a visit to some interesting sites around Dublin, in the company of friends from Lisburn who had shown up for worship at Adelaide Road. It was great to see them, and to spend the next day with them in the Wicklow Mountains, just south of Dublin proper. The word mountains is a little deceptive from the point of view of the mountains we knew in the Seattle area, but when I ascend the winding road through them on my bicycle I know why they bear that name. In the space of only a few miles the road rises above the tree line to Highland-like countryside and vast panoramas of the world below open up beneath.



Our most interesting stop on this trip was at Glendalough, a place of both natural and historical beauty. Glendalough gets its name from the Irish phrase Gleann dá locha, which literally means the ‘Glen of the two lakes’. Situated in the heart of the Wicklow Mountains, and designated as a National Park, it is one of the most visited locations in Ireland. People like us go there to enjoy the lakes and surrounding forests, and also to visit one of the most important sites of monastic ruins in Ireland, an ecclesiastical village known as The City of the Seven Churches.


The story behind this city centers around a 6th century monk named St. Kevin who, in a desire to get away from worldly distractions made his way to the Glendalough Valley, at the time a desolate and remote site. The saint’s piety and devotion attracted others and soon a monastic community grew up around him. St. Kevin died in 617 AD (supposedly at the age of 120), but the community continued for the next 500 years (Ireland's Golden Age) as one of the country’s greatest ecclesiastical foundations and places of learning. The Danes who were based in Dublin regularly attacked and burned the city, but it continued to prosper until the 13th century when the Normans destroyed the monastery and placed the area under the jurisdiction of Dublin. The buildings fell into decay and more than 600 years elapsed before a reconstruction program was started in 1878. Further work was carried out in the 20th century.


At Glendalough several ecclesiastical buildings from the 6th century survive, including one of the oldest high towers in the country. These uniquely Irish architectural features puzzle current scholars, who are not certain what they were used for. Some say they were for storage, others for a place of safety during a raid, and others to lead the pilgrims’ way to the holy place. In any case the whole site is impressive, and the glimpse into an important part of religious history is fascinating. If you want to know more about this history I recommend reading How the Irish Saved Civilization, by Thomas Cahill. It is not only interesting and informative, but also very readable.
On Thursday Nancy and I went north to Northern Island (part of the UK) and visited several friends who we knew from our time in Lisburn, including the Bruce clan. Years ago a number of us from Calvin combined cycling and missions and helped in a seaside youth club at Cranfield, south of Dublin on the border with the Republic. David Bruce was the speaker for the morning this past Friday at the same camp, so Nancy and I went there. It was good to see the work continuing, and to reconnect with some of the team I knew from our time years ago. On the way to the camp, just outside Cranfield and up the road a few miles, we passed the place where CS Lewis spent many childhood summers, and the hill which he immortalized as the site of the castle from which the kings and queens of Narnia ruled, Cair Paravel.


So, all in all it was a very full and interesting week. And it was bookended by a Sunday the 15th visit to a summer mission at Greystone (a town on the coast south of Dublin) which has been held there for the past 111 years…And a Sunday the 22nd Irish picnic—complete with a barbeque sheltered by umbrellas to keep the driving rain away.


Living here is a privilege and a gift, and Nancy and I thank God for it. We are in a position to learn from the people here today, and from those who were here over a thousand years before our nation was begun. And those two forces—the present and the legacy—are important for us to know and learn from. And I guess such is the case wherever we are and whoever we are.

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…
.