I finally am someone. I finally have an identity. I had one for most of my life, but then I lost it. Now I have it again. I finally have a box into which I can be fit.

Growing up I had several identities—an infant, a child, a youth and, for many years, a student. Then I joined the ranks of the employed—I was a pastor. And by that people understood that I served in a particular church, doing a ministry that could be to some degree defined. At least it had an official, written and approved job description and I was on the payroll.

But in 2006 I felt called to leave that official role, to step out of the formalized pastoral function. And at that point my identity became confused. Categories based on age have blurred these days, and in any case I did not yet fit the category commonly referred to as senior, as I was not 65. Some agencies begin that designation at an earlier age (McDonalds gives senior coffee to anyone over 55 and AARP starts sending invitations to join at something like 50), but longevity and health in our culture could argue for a later age. And Social Security has delayed the target date for reception of benefits. So, on leaving the active pastoral leadership role I did not do so as a senior.



Then there is the word retired. People naturally assumed that if I were not serving on the staff of a particular church, that is if I were not on the payroll of such, I would be retired. And being retired I would be a recipient of retirement benefits. However, that is not what Nancy and I chose. I neither applied for benefits nor sought gainful employment. In fact our prayer was that the gifts we have could be used in places that could not generally afford to pay someone to do what we would be doing. We just wanted to volunteer and to be helpful to the kingdom. But there was no category for this.

I was asked on many occasions, while filling out forms or responding to innocent queries, to indicate my occupation, and it was difficult. If I were given multiple choices, one would almost always be Retired, but none fit. I was active in ministry but not gainfully employed in ministry, a situation that seemed not to fit in any box. People would ask me what I was doing, and as soon as I said that I had moved out of the pastoral leadership role, they would assume I was retired. And the church bureaucracy assumed the same. While my home presbytery had given me the title Minister at Large, the categories recognized at the higher levels did not seem to include this. When it came to filling out certain pension-medical forms there were two options: Active or Inactive. When I inquired about the definitions of these two options the answer was simple: are you getting a paycheck from a church? If not, Inactive is the right form for you. And this despite the active ministry I am involved in while in the US, in Mexico, Ireland and Albania, plus the clear definition in our Book of Order that Inactive is a status reserved for those who have ceased to participate in the life and work of the church.

So, I was left with trying to invent a way to describe my situation, since Minister at Large carried no content to acquaintances, interested persons, or the board of the denomination. And my attempts generally made little sense to anyone. I was a person without a box to be fit into.

But all that has changed because now I am officially Retired. I have been granted that title by my presbytery and I have the evidence to prove it—a monthly pension check. I also received my first Social Security benefit check this month (I am taking it a year before officially reaching maximum benefit age) and my Medicare card says that as of February 1 I am under that umbrella. I now have a label I can be identified by—I am back in the world of the defined.

However, the curious thing is that this does not change what I am doing or why I am doing it--it is a box and a label that really does not fit me. Nor, if you look at it, does it have a place in the Christian life… For some time I would tell people who said that I must be retired that the word retire does not appear anywhere in the Bible. This is true in some English translations, but in reading Numbers in my NIV I found the word. And I checked and found that it does occur, but only once in the Scriptures. The citation is Numbers 8:25, which says about the Levites, the attendants of the Temple, at the age of fifty, they must retire from their regular service and work no longer. Now to some that may be a comfort—lower the pension age to 50! And work no longer. But I would not like that, and many others would share in my dislike. And there is more to the story in the text, for it continues in the next verse, They may assist their brothers in performing their duties at the Tent of Meeting… And this I like, probably primarily because it defines this stage of life for me—a stage of helping.

One of the great challenges America is facing now and will increasingly face in the years ahead is the demographic reality of aging. People are living longer and are healthier for longer than ever before in the history of humanity. But systems are not in place to maximize the positive potentials of that change—for society, for the church or for the individuals. And part of the reason is the lack of words to describe the options of this stage. Retired has specific connotations, and those connotations are neither accurate nor helpful for many who are fit into that category. In fact the word is so misleading that I am afraid that now that I have the title I will have to spend as much time disclaiming its connotations as I did trying to explain who I was before I had it. And I know I am not alone in this quandary, as some of the people I look up to most have been retired but continue energetically to assist their brothers… That is what I am seeking to do, and while it does not provide a paycheck and is not easily defined, it is a wonderful job to have!

I have always believed that the compensation of a pastor is not pay for work done but a way of freeing someone to do what God has called and gifted him or her to do. If such is the case then Active in the pastoral ministry does not stop with and is not defined by a paycheck. And taking it one step further it is not even defined by a position in a church or an arbitrary age. The apostle Paul knew that his identity was as a servant of Christ Jesus, and I wish there were some way in which that identity could be understood and communicated today because it fits who I would like to be and who I pray I have been. And it fits not only me but countless men and women, lay and clergy, paid or volunteer, of all ages. Vocational options in many people’s minds are limited to three: Employed, Unemployed or Retired. But for the believer they are limited to one overarching and all-inclusive option: a servant of Christ Jesus. That option is the only one which accurately describes who the believer is, and it provides flexibility to accommodate all who claim the name of Christ. It is who we are to be whether we are pastors, businessmen or women, stay-at-home parents, or church office volunteers. The box is the same for all, the form it takes is what changes. It is a title that gives significance to all who bear it, and it is not a title that anyone will ever outgrow, nor a work to which we can ever apply the title Retired.

There is an old trite but amusing saying that goes, Working for the Lord may not pay much, but the retirement benefits are out of this world. Maybe the word Retired could be applied in this sense, but I doubt that it should be since while the work of eternity may not look like the work of today, it will fulfill in the grandest way the God-given need for something significant to do. And it is a work that will go on forever.

I have now reached that point in life where I am Retired. But please do me the favor of not putting me into that box, and I promise you I will do my best to keep you from doing just that. I do not receive a paycheck from anyone, but I am doing what I always have sought to do, and enjoyed doing. That work is not focused in one place with one people anymore, but the work is the same. It is rewarding and exciting, and it is something I thank God for…

I was wandering through the South Terminal at SeaTac airport, just passing the time before boarding a plane to Greensboro, when I saw it. At first I walked right past, certain that I had missed part of the message. But then I looked again and there it was—unmistakable, clear and startling. I had glanced at it because I was considering buying something to drink, but dismissed it as my choice. That is until I realized what it I was seeing.

There in front of me was a bright, shiny vending machine. Situated between the Pepsi machine and the snack dispenser it was exactly where it would be expected to be. It was a coffee dispensing vending machine. I don’t suppose that such an offering would compete with the many Starbucks counters just a few feet away, but for someone not wanting to wait in a line it could offer a desired commodity. The machine was attractive and new—that was to be expected. But what was not expected, and what I could hardly believe to be true, was the message that silently scrolled by in a red-orange LED display just above the slot designed to receive the necessary coins to complete the purchase. That sign read All beverages from this machine are free…


Free it read—at least that is what I thought it read. I waited for the words to come around again, and they did. All beverages from this machine are free…

That made no sense. Next to the machine that would dispense a small bottle of water for two dollars or the one offering approximately a dozen potato chips for the same price it was impossible to have a cup of coffee for the price of zero…There must be some gimmick I thought—some trick to get me to commit to something that would cost me as much as the neighbors were charging. Maybe the coffee was free but there would be a charge for the cup. A little far-fetched thinking, but at this point far-fetched seemed closer to reality than acceptance of the words that kept coming around, All beverages from this machine are free…

Now I cannot say that a cup of coffee was my first choice as I wandered the terminal, but this message made it so. And not just a cup of coffee but a cup of coffee from this machine. So I pushed the buttons and waited. Sure enough, a cup dropped and coffee poured into it. And when it stopped pouring I took it out and tasted it—not great but good and hot. And as I stood there in amazement, tasting what had been given me, the message changed on the machine. No longer did it say All beverages from this machine are free… Instead it read, This is cup number 8,231 from this machine. This second message circulated once or twice, then the original reappeared for others to see, All beverages from this machine are free…

To this day I do not know what this was all about. I do not know if the machine is still there. I will check the next time I am at SeaTac, but I do not know. What I do know is that it seemed so out of place that I could not believe it at first. Nothing is free, so they say—there is no such thing as a free lunch so goes the axim. Certainly in an airport where products sell for twice their price just outside the doors, the message was startling. But because I tried it, I do know that the message was true. And while I was the only one accessing the machine at the time, I guess I was not the first to find out that indeed, All beverages from this machine are free…

This little encounter with a machine and a message made me pause. It made me think about all sorts of mundane things—but also about one that is the center of the Christian faith. All other religions, philosophies and ways of life charge something up front to receive what they claim to give. That charge may be money, it may be a sacrifice, it may be a life worthy of receiving what is offered. But, as the Apostle Paul says, the Christian faith says that what we as humans pay for, that is what we deserve, is death, while what we are offered—freely and without charge—is life. When Jesus said, I came that you may have life, he did not mean I came that you may buy life but I came that I may give you life.

Now I know that someone had to have paid something to place the coffee machine in the airport, and someone had to have paid to purchase the coffee, supply the electricity and provide the cup. The coffee was not free—but it was free to me. And the message of God’s love is that He has paid the price for what we need, and because that price has been paid the message that now scrolls across the heavens for us to read is All that is in God’s heart is free…It is a message that is so out of line with all other messages that we are taught that it makes no sense. It is a message that seems out of place and unbelievable. It is a message that is so strange that many will simply dismiss it as a mistake or a trap. But to those who receive it, who believe in its truth, it gives the power to become children of God. An unbelievable message on one hand, but the hope of the world on the other. Thanks be to God!

Greensboro, North Carolina, is different from Seattle, Washington. And the Piedmont is not the Puget Sound. Some would compare the two and declare one better than the other, but to me that is not an issue. Each has its own character, personality and beauty.

To equal the grandeur of the Olympics and Cascades would be difficult. To have something as picturesque as a ferry gliding across the Sound towards the city of Seattle as the sun is setting to the west and lighting the skyline in front of you would be hard to duplicate. To compete with the panoramas from Hurricane Ridge or the homes of Innis Arden would be nearly futile. So for me where we live now does not try.

Instead, our back yard today has historic reminders of the American Revolution, the Civil War and the Civil Rights movement. It has rolling hills with small towns and scarcely used rural roads. It has lots of sunshine in the summer and in the winter. It has lots of small lakes and ponds, and it has deciduous forests. The forests of the Northwest are primarily evergreen, which creates a certain feeling. But the forests here have a distinct look and a unique beauty. In the summer the different species of trees creates a diversity of size and shape and color that makes individual trees stand out as individuals, not just one of a mass. While I can not name most of what I see, at times I gaze in awe at a magnificent specimen of something—massive in size and old in years, standing tall with branches waving in the wind.

In the fall, of course, the colors are breathtaking. Reds and yellows and oranges explode everywhere. You do not have to drive to a particular place to see the display, it is all around you. Everywhere you go the heavens are telling the glory of God; and the firmament proclaims his handiwork. (Psalm 19:1)

And then fall mellows and the leaves lose their grip, falling to the ground. When they land in a yard or on a street the job of raking or blowing and sweeping and gathering is a job that everyone around here knows all too well. But no one gathers them in the woods, instead they create a brown carpet that covers the ground until spring. And this carpet, blanketing the earth beneath the tall and now bare trees, creates its own world. It is a world for walking.

Some years ago Nancy and I were in the King’s Forest of England. We stopped the car just to get out and walk in the woods. It was an experience that we had read about in books by various British authors and poets, but that we, as westerners, had not had. This experience is now one we can have daily—at least until the green of spring starts the cycle all over again. I just have to step out our back door and I am in the woods—woods that extend for miles and miles. And when I do it, I am translated into a different world. It is a world of stark beauty and solitude. It is usually quiet, except for the crunch of the leaves as each foot falls with each step, the rustle of the occasional squirrel as it scurries past or the unexpected flight of a bird. Even the owl whose head turned to carefully follow me as I walked by, did so in silence. Walks in the woods in the winter are designed for meditation, thought, and prayer. When the sun shines through the bare limbs of the towering trees, it creates an ethereal sense that is almost like the world of a gothic cathedral. It is a special place and a special time.

So, when people ask me which I like best, the west or the south, I can not say. Each is a part of the grand and multi-faceted world that God created, and that when done, he pronounced very good. Each has a uniqueness that I see and appreciate, a uniqueness that I thank the One who created all for giving me the privilege of knowing.

Last week was one of those weeks that are well worth remembering—for three reasons. One was that during the week our younger daughter, JJ, signed a contract for employment in an important position with Netflix, a movie distribution company. While the signing means she will be moving away from Greensboro, it was great news for the whole family—as I am sure it will be for the signing company. Her gifts and the new position are a perfect fit. A second was that our elder daughter, Emily, signed a contract for part-time employment as an ESL teacher in one of the local community colleges. Again, her gifts and the position are a perfect fit, and we rejoice over the economic and personal benefits that will ensue.


The third event that made the week special was that on December 17 Nancy and I celebrated our 41st wedding anniversary. In the midst of getting ready for Christmas I can’t say we did anything of great significance in the way of a celebration, but the milestone alone made it a memorable day. For some of you who read this blog 41 years of marriage is not that great an accomplishment, but for others it is something to look forward to and work towards. And I mean WORK towards…

As a pastor I have had the privilege of sharing in the wedding of many couples. Prior to the wedding itself I have usually spent several hours with the couple, giving them words of wisdom that may or may not be heeded—and that may or may not be worth heeding! In any case they were words that I had heard, learned and experienced in my own life. Let me share just three of them…

1. I would ask each of the partners to name one reason why they were getting married that did not use the word love. The question would usually be met with a quizzical look, but in exploring it further the real point would inevitably surface—the purpose of the marriage. What I was asking was for a reason that would bind the couple together when the emotion of love temporarily faded, as it inevitably would. And there is a right answer to the question—the service of God. My point was that the strongest marriages know that they are together not just for themselves or each other, or for the children they might have, but that God has called them together for a purpose, a purpose that will further his kingdom and its work. Marriages that know this truth and that seek to find ways in which as a couple and as a family God can be served, have latched onto the highest purpose and the strongest binding force for any family.

2. I would look carefully at the advice given by Paul concerning marriage, particularly his advice in Ephesians 5. I would focus on that particular passage for two reasons: it contains the most complete exposition of a healthy marriage anywhere and it is too often very misunderstood. The first thing I would note is that the usual break in Bibles is between verses 21 and 22—so that the marital instruction begins with wives, submit to your husbands… This break is, however, not where it should be. The break should be between verses 20 and 21, which makes the instruction begin with Submit to one another out of reverence for Christ. There is big difference in these two starting points as the subject of what follows is properly defined as ways of submission, not issues of dominance… Secondly I would note that there is little practical difference between the advice given to wives, submit to your husbands, and that given to husbands, love your wives as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her. In both cases the emphasis is on what one can give to the other—that is agape or sacrificial love. There is no sense of demanding anything from the other in this passage, but rather the whole point is mutual service of each other. In other words the passage is not about authority or dominance or control, but about giving, serving and helping. Finally, I would point out that the entire advice is about what one is to do to be the most helpful, caring and giving mate for the other, not about making the other into the mate one desires. I note that the natural tendency in marriage is to blame the other for troubles, and to try to get the other to do something we want them to do or be someone we want them to be. However, the entire advice of Paul is about the self, not the other. It is about our work in being the husband or wife God has called us to be, not about judging the other’s effort or accomplishment towards that goal.

3. A common element in a wedding ceremony is the unity candle, a large white candle that is placed unlit on the communion table between two smaller lit candles. At some time in the ceremony the bride and groom each take one of the smaller candles, representing themselves, and light the larger one, symbolizing the two coming together to become one. During my talks with couples prior to the wedding I ask whether or not they will be using this element. If the response is positive I then ask what they plan on doing with the smaller candles after they light the larger one. More often than not this is not something the couple has considered, and the typical response is blow them out. My response to that is a short statement about a third quality of a strong marriage—the development of the gifts and strengths of each party—and why the two candles should remain lit alongside the larger one. I tell the couple that when the wedding ceremony begins they come as two people, and as they walk down the aisle at the conclusion of the ceremony they walk down as a new unit, a new entity, a new creation—but this new creation does not obliterate their respective individuality. In other words, part of the work of a marriage is to build the marriage as a unit, but another part is to build each marriage partner as an individual. This is one aspect of what it means to serve each other—to help the other develop their unique gifts, talents, joys and potentials. It means not having to do everything together and, far from being threatened by the strengths or interests of the other, to celebrate them and help the other grow and express their strengths and talents and enjoy their interests. It means giving each other space to be an individual as well as cultivating life together.

Talking with couples before their marriage was usually a positive and encouraging task. It was also one which made me regularly evaluate my own marriage, and see how well I was living out what I was telling the couple to do. In that sense it was humbling… And it made me realize how blessed I was in my own marriage. Before I proposed to Nancy I asked a godly woman I knew, and who knew both me and Nancy well, whether or not in her opinion it would be right for us to marry. I did that because I did not trust my own decision making given the love I felt towards Nancy (yes, love can lead people to make bad mistakes). She encouraged me to go ahead, which I did. I am glad she said what she said and that I did what I did. I am grateful to God for 41 years of his blessing, and I am looking forward to however many more years he will give us—for our joy and for his glory and service.

Life for me these days seems to be partly defined by having less and enjoying it more. When we left the Northwest we intentionally moved down in size and possessions. We gave away much of what we had accumulated over the past forty years of marriage, and moved to the south, a new part of the world for us. We arrived with almost nothing but books and files and memorabilia, and most of the few furnishings we did bring quickly moved into our daughter and her husband’s house. Looking around our new house I can recognize one hutch, one chair, one rug, two lamps, two bunching tables and two small cabinets from our Northwest living—the rest has slowly come from shops nearby. And there is not a lot of the rest, because our house itself is less than half the size of our Shoreline house. It is small enough for me to plug the vacuum cleaner into one plug in the hallway and reach every corner of the house. We do not need an intercom because a word spoken in any recess of the home is pretty audible throughout.

We made this housing life choice partly because doing various ministries away from home for months on end we wanted a home that was easy to lock and leave. Part of the choice also came because our children have grown and gone, and also hosting students and internationals, which had been a big part of our life, would not make sense with us gone so much of the time.

But having lived with the new for a while now, besides the obvious economic benefits of smaller and less, I have found other wonderful benefits. One is that with fewer walls and floors and bathrooms and a smaller roof there is much less home-work that needs to be done. The list of to do’s is much shorter, which means the things that there are to do can be done at a more leisurely pace and with greater attention to detail. It also means that there is much more time to do other things—things that in the long run probably mean a lot more than many of the home projects of the past.


Another benefit is community. The part of our neighborhood we live in is pleasant and well maintained, but just around the corner there has been a McMansion building spree going on. The new homes have dramatic entryways, bonus rooms, a theater room, sprawling kitchens and at least one bedroom with walk-in closet and bath for each family member. As Nancy and I wander through some of the open houses for these homes we wonder how members of the families that live in them ever communicate with each other. The norm of these homes seems to be isolation and self-sufficiency, whereas the size of our home demands interaction and communication. Our younger daughter JJ is living with us for a while, and we are always interacting because there is no place to hide.

For years I have wondered about the housing choices that many make in various stages of life. Particularly I have wondered about choices that are bigger and bigger with more and more. I believe that the home is one of God’s gifts to us, and one of his larger gifts, and as such it is something which we are responsible to use for the building of his kingdom. The home, in other words, is something which we steward for God, and the measure of that stewardship is its use for him. And I wonder how that is lived out in too many circumstances where size seems to outdistance both need and ministry.

What Nancy and I have chosen we feel very good about, we find it freeing and satisfying. It is less than before, but far from being a sacrifice or a loss, we marvel regularly about the blessing and beauty we have in it! Our choice is right for us, but it is not to say that there is always inherent virtue in small nor lack of virtue in large. I know that every person and every family has its own set of issues, needs and opportunities. But I do commend stewardship of the home, the largest investment most of us have, to all, and do know that every one of us is and will be accountable for that stewardship. The economic realities of our time have put severe strains on some because of their housing decisions. It is my prayer that believers will recognize the spiritual realities of their housing decisions, and make choices which are both personally freeing and reflective of the challenge to all, which is to seek first the kingdom of God.

Two weeks ago I returned from Albania, where I had been teaching a class on the Parables of Jesus at the Udhekryq Bible School in Erseke. Last night Nancy returned from the same place, where she had been teaching conversational English to adults in the town. Every time we go to Erseke we are blessed by the people there, the beauty of the place, and the chance to serve with some pretty amazing people.

Now we are back together and on duty as parents and grandparents—another blessing. And we are back in our little home in a very beautiful place—especially in the fall. Nancy missed most of the color but I was back in time to be awed by the reds and golds and browns of the leaves first hanging on then dropping off the grand trees all around us. Those leaves are now piled outside most of the homes in our area, awaiting the city trucks to come and take them away, but before meeting such an ignoble end they had their day of nobility. Locals say they cannot remember a fall in which good weather lasted as long, and during which the colors were so glorious. But I am sure that ordinary falls are spectacular as well.

Thinking about the splashes of color and the fall of leaves I am reminded that the colors are actually signs of death. The colors come because the leaves have erected an impermeable barrier between themselves and the nutrients that flow naturally from the rest of the tree. They cut themselves off from their life-source, and then they die. Their demise is impressive, but it is still their death. The leaves look pretty, but that beauty proves they cannot survive.



Perhaps this is a sort of analogy to human life. As long as we are connected to the source of our life, that is God himself, we are truly alive. But as soon as we create a barrier between ourselves and God his life does not enliven our lives, and we die. The marks of death may not be as visible as the changing color of a leaf, but they are inevitably present. There is a hardness, a brittleness, a coldness that creeps in. Instead of being able to sway in the winds of change and trouble we are blown away by them. Instead of being a productive part of a whole, a colony that lives and breathes, giving life-giving oxygen to other living things, we become isolated and alone. Ultimately we fall all by ourselves, like each leaf that slowly flutters in solitude to the ground.



But if there is an analogy, the analogy fails because God, the source of our life, is always able and eager to restore us to himself, to give us life once again. Unlike the leaf which, once severed from the tree, can never return, we can return. We can be engrafted, recovered and renewed. That is the good news. A leaf that turns golden in the fall is not comforted by the knowledge that in the spring a new leaf may sprout to take its place on the tree. The only good news would be if the gold leaf had some hope of being re-attached to the tree, of reestablishing its line of nutrition—but leaves cannot do that. Once colored in the shades of fall, it has no hope. But the opposite is true for us. We can, through grace, know once again the pulse of life. We can be returned to where life is, and re-attached to that life.

So, the fall is spectacular—but it has a sadness to it because it marks the end of life. But, unlike the leaf, we do not exist as beings with no hope. We have the hope that is in Christ, the hope of being new creations, the hope that Paul spoke of in 2 Corinthians 5:17, Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come! That is truly good news any season of the year…

Life has been very busy the past several weeks, and access to a computer has been limited, so this blog has been on hold—but that has changed. Three weeks ago today (Saturday) I had begun what turned out to be a wonderful time cycling with a friend from Bilbao, Spain, to Faro, Portugal.

I had wanted to go through the Basque country of Spain and the Picos de Europa, a small but impressive range of mountains in north-west Spain, and that is what we did. At the same time there were parts of Portugal I wanted to experience, and we did those also.

Then from Portugal I flew to London, where Nancy and I met, spent the night, then boarded the plane for Thessalonica, Greece, and then the bus to the Torchbearer’s Bible School in Erseke, Albania, where we are now. High speed internet just came to Erseke, so I should be able to do some updating of this blog, but in Spain and Portugal that was not the case.


Cycling in the Basque country of north-west Spain means hills—and sometimes mountains. And we faced them. Some of the territory reminded me of northern California, with its pine forests, and some reminded me of the dry land of eastern Washington. The Picos de Europa was beautiful and majestic, and the other mountains and hills impressive as well. Climbing them on a bicycle was hard work, but the roads were fine, the traffic sparse, and the weather perfect. Each day began with a small breakfast at our hotel then proceeded with a day of cycling—a short stop for a snack in the middle of the day then to our destination and finding a place to sleep. Good meals highlighted the evenings, although as the Spanish do not start eating dinner until 9:00 at the earliest, those meals were always much later than hungry cyclists would want.


From the Picos into Portugal our route went nearly straight south, over hills and through wine fields, into the Duoro River Valley. That valley is one of the world’s great wine growing regions, and it was harvest season. Descending into the river valley there were nothing but terraced grape fields as far as the eye could see—it was quite a sight. And the river itself is worth a trip.

From Pinhao, on the Duoro River, we went by train to the Portugese west coast, arriving at Porto in the afternoon. They we cycled down the coast to a seaside resort, Espinho, for the night. From there our route followed the coast for several days, and through some very rough roads, to the port of Nazare, north of Lisbon. Wanting to miss the Lisbon traffic we took the train through the city to its south side and then proceeded on the coast road, cutting across to Lagos, on the Portugese Algarve coast, then to Faro.


All in all in the two weeks we cycled just over 800 miles, during which there was nothing but good weather and good traveling. On a cycle trip life is reduced to the simple things—food, water, a bed to sleep in, and pushing a pedal down tens of thousands of times. You try to keep away from the destinations tourists flock to, as the roads there are usually more crowded. You look for little roads, small towns, and unknown places.


If a tour bus is stopped at a café you pass that one by, but if locals are congregated you know it may be a good place for a good meal. Since you are carrying all your things with you wherever you go, that means space limitations and weight to haul up hills, so you do not purchase many souvenirs or gifts for others.


You do not have to worry about eating too much or stopping too often at a local bakery, since you are probably burning up more calories than you can easily consume. And cycling in a foreign country means you are not constantly bombarded by news of economic disasters, election scandals and the like.


In short, unless the weather turns bad, there may not be a more relaxing way to travel—and by God’s grace I was able to enjoy it again, able to gaze at some of the wonders of God’s creation, and as I went along sing How Great Thou Art…

Life has been busy. A new grandchild adds a lot of work to the parents, and since Nancy and I are here in Greensboro because of the family, it adds much to us as well. And it is a joy! And getting ready for a course on the Parables plus a brief trip to Shoreline to see mom, sister and loved friends at Calvin added more to the busy-ness.

In a couple days I leave for a cycle adventure in Spain and Portugal, then on to Albania to teach at the Torchbearers' Bible School in Erseke. Nancy will join me in London and we travel together to Albania, then she will stay on for a couple weeks after I am finished and head back home. She is teaching two English classes for adults in the community--as a form of outreach from the church there.

Fall has arrived here in Greensboro. One day it was in the 90's, the next in the 70's, and it has stayed in the 70's since. The leaves are just starting to turn, but I hope they do not do so too quickly lest I miss the amazing beauty of fall in this part of the world.

Our granddaughter Colette loves earth-moving equipment, and a week ago a bevy of them appeared in front of our house. About a dozen workers showed up and at the end of the day the street in front of our house, from just past our driveway to the middle of our neighbor's driveway, was repaved. About 100 feet was coated with new tarmac and it looks nice. But for the life of me I can not figure out why they did it. The street that they covered was not worn or rutted, it had no cracks at all. And the entire street, not just a patch in front of our house, was exactly the same. We now have something new, but have no idea why.


And, having pondered that for a bit, just a few days ago a painted dotted line appeared over the new pavement. It is the kind of paint that precedes new cable of some kind--which means that the new street cover will probably be torn up soon for some utility project. Which makes the whole project even more of a mystery.

Now I have to assume that someone knows what this is all about. But that someone is not I. It all looks like a foolish waste of time and material to me. But maybe it is not.


And as I have been thinking about this (a little, not a lot) I have been reminded of some of the things that God does in our lives--the things that seem to make no sense at all. I mean the hard things or the strange things, the things that make us wonder about the plan of God, or if he has any plan at all.

The great difference, of course, is that the things about God's doings that make no sense to us simply reflect what the Psalmist says, "For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways," declares the LORD. (Isaiah 55:8) Those things are right and good and wise--they come from a God who cares for us to a degree that exceeds our wildest imagination and who expresses that caring in ways that at times exceeds our capacity to comprehend. Whereas such can not be assumed about the work of paving... And this all reminds me of the mystery of God, of our limited ability to understand, and calls me to trust him in those things that I can not understand...Which is quite a bit of life!

Emily, Jacques, Steve and Colette. All doing very well--except tired!

In two weeks I will be heading to Seattle to see my mother and sister. There is a 95 year difference between mother and Jacques, and I stand between the two. Makes me think about life and its span, its beginning and its ending. And makes me think about what we do with what is between the two.

Carl, the pastor of the church we are attending here in Greensboro, spoke today about vocation--the call and response. The word career comes from a Latin word meaning to run. It implies seeking a goal and pushing towards it. The word vocation comes from a Latin word meaning to call or be called. It implies a goal that someone else has set before us--which is a Christian view of life.

At the end of his life Paul wrote, I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith... (2 Timothy 4:7). Connecting these words with what he had repeatedly said about his life-work, he was saying that the thing God had called him to he had successfully done and the work God had called him to he had successfully finished. In Isaiah 6 the prophet hears the voice of God, and it is a voice of calling--an invitation. And the prophet responds. The voice clearly spells out some of the hardships ahead, but the prophet responds anyway. In both these men their life work was set by a voice from God and an acceptance of that voice. They were called and they responded.

That call from God is what sets the stage for meaning between birth and death. It is in hearing the call that we are invited into the life which is most fulfilling and it is in responding to that call that we experience that life. Such is the case for the span of our existence on earth, and such is the case for each day.

While few of us will hear a voice from heaven in the same way that Paul and Isaiah did, nevertheless God is calling and if we tune our ears to his voice we will hear it. It may not be to something dramatic and it may not be to something many will note, but if what we do we are doing with a genuine desire to be doing the call of God, and if we do it with the enthusiasm and commitment that that call merits, then it is probably of God. It will fill a need in the world and it will fill a need we have in our hearts. And if we are on the wrong path, but sincerely seek to be on the right one, God will speak--he is not a God who hides...

Many people today are running. They are on a career track, pressing forwards as fast and as hard as they can towards a goal that they have set for themselves. God wants to free us from that running--and he does it by calling us. He offers us a vocation. When we respond to his invitation instead of pursuing our own we may have to work harder than we would for a career, (take up your cross daily and follow me...)but we will find that we are not alone on the track. And we will find meaning in the most menial or the most glamorous--the meaning of being co-workers with God himself...

A little boy named Jacques (Steve's mother's last name) Emanuel (my grandfather's middle name) Content was born this morning at around 7:45. 7 pounds 14 ounces. All systems in good working order. Mother doing very well. Father very happy. Grandparents very happy. Photo or two to follow as approved by agents (mom and dad). Praise be to God!

On Friday we said goodbye to Harry and Ellen Bruce, who had come with us from Ireland and spent just under three weeks here in Greensboro. They were great to have around, and real friends for Colette, as well as great customers for the local Subway sandwich shop and all the malls. What a privilege to be part of the family of God and share experiences and opportunities with each other and their children.


Then tonight, Sunday night, there was a gathering of the Ackles-Content clan. JJ couldn't be there because she is in New York, but Steve, Emily, Colette, Steve’s mother and I were all together at our house. The Olympics were just finishing and the closing ceremonies were in the background, but they were not the reason for the gathering. The reason was we were making final preparations for tomorrow's early morning run to the hospital and the birth of our second grandchild, a boy this time. We did last minute things, made exact plans for the morning, talked nervously, and prayed.

The birth of our first grandchild, Colette, was different. We did not know when she would come—it was up to her! This time, because of complications last time, Emily and Steve made the decision to have a c-section. So it is not up to the new one—he is entering the world on someone else’s time table, not his own. He is full term and comfortable, but little does he know what awaits him in the next few hours. Change is hardly a sufficient word to describe what he is about to face—but it is hardly a sufficient word to describe what Emily, Steve and Colette are about to face as well. And probably grandma and grandpa too. There will certainly be more soon on this event in this blog, but for tonight I am reminded of the words of Psalm 139:14 and 15, For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.

And just a short p.s.—for some reason I have been thinking recently about an ad I saw in a paper in Ireland. No connection with the upcoming birth, I am sure, but it struck me as strange and I have not mentioned it before. We may have the same in the US, and I could just be out of step with the way things are done now. In any case I have not noticed it before. The ad was for pre-wedding cosmetic/surgical procedures… The ad did not specify which parts of the body could be treated, I assume that would be optional, but whatever was chosen the claim was that that part would be better looking, at least for a time. The procedures noted were guaranteed to last for at least three months—then there was no guarantee that reality would not strike. Seems a bit bizarre and possible could give new spin to a popular saying, first better then worse…

Nancy and I are back home. At least we have returned to the United States and to our comfortable house in Greensboro, NC. The flight from Dublin was uneventful (which is how I like it), despite the full plane across the Atlantic. It seems that most flights these days are pretty full, which makes sense for the airlines. I read horror stories about some people’s flying experiences but I have not had any significant problems. This time the plane (Boeing, of course…) was comfortable, the food adequate (I do not fly expecting to be served a gourmet meal), and the in-flight entertainment consisted of individual screens (albeit small) with a plethora of options. Our luggage arrived in good shape, except that my bike box had been slit completely open by security, and the bike itself was only kept from falling out by one small piece of duct tape that had evaded the inspector’s knife. Once again duct tape to the rescue!

Harry and Ellen Bruce, two of the four children of our friends David and Zoe Bruce from Northern Ireland, are with us for a two week visit. I think the 95 degree weather that greeted us on arrival has been a bit disorienting to them, but it makes outdoor activities more possible than some of the cloud and rain in Ireland—at least if one can tolerate the mid-day heat. They have also both learned the value of the siesta, Harry shared a birthday with Colette, and they are good fun and help to have with us.

Returning to Greensboro raises once again the question of place. Fifty years ago in his book A Place for You, the Swiss physician-psychiatrist Dr. Paul Tournier mused about that topic. He said that everyone needs a place, that is somewhere that they call home, somewhere that they feel comfortable and safe, relaxed and accepted. He also said that if a person does not have a place then their life will be a journey to find one, and the void will impact all they do, all the relationships they develop and all aspects of their lives. Once finding that place, however, he said that wherever a person went there would be a degree of comfort and security—of self-contentment and tranquility.

This morning I was reading in Genesis about Abraham’s pilgrimage from Ur to Haran to Canaan to Egypt and back to Canaan. I read of God’s promise to him of a place, of a land stretching from the river of Egypt to the Euphrates. And I read of Abraham settling down in the Promised Land—claiming that place by setting up a home, grazing his cattle in the fields, and building an altar. Here was a place for him—a touchstone, a familiar location where he and the land would be one.

But then I mused on the New Testament’s view of place. It is much more transitory, much less stationery, much less settled. In Philippians we are told that our citizenship is in heaven (Philippians 3:20). In Hebrews 13:14 we are told that Here we have no lasting city, but we seek the city which is to come. In James the Christian community is addressed as a community of aliens and strangers, as in I John we are told to not love the things of this world. It seems that in the New Testament there is an intentional distancing from attachment to place and in its place is an attachment to person, to a person, that is Jesus Christ. What this means is that the security, permanence and touchstone for the Christian, what place provided for Abraham has been replaced by the person Jesus Christ.

If this is accurate then there are a couple important consequences. One is that the promise of a land which was made to Abraham, and which has today taken on great political importance in the reemergence of Israel, is not something to be fulfilled in the physical sense. If followers of Christ are truly heirs to all the promises made to Abraham then the promise of a place has been transformed—not abrogated but transformed to something greater. We are co-heirs with Christ not only of a small piece of real estate but of the entire realm of the kingdom of God. And today we experience that inheritance in the power of the Holy Spirit. The other change is that no matter where we live the greatest allegiance, identity and security is to come from our relationship with the person of Christ, not the physical land or house. And that means that when we are secure in Christ we have a security which enables us to be at peace and at home wherever we are.

Now, having said that I still think there is something wise in what Dr. Tournier said as it is applied to a physical place. I still think that it is important to have a home base where we feel safe, accepted and at peace. As Christians the importance of such is not primary anymore, but it is still significant—and it is one of the calls and challenges of the church. My first call out of seminary was to First Presbyterian Church of Fresno. That church adopted as a motto the title of Dr. Tournier’s book, A Place for You. That is a wonderful motto for any church—and a challenging goal as well. To be a place for people from different backgrounds, with different abilities and disabilities, with different perspectives and different needs; to be a place where those varied people feel at home, feel secure, feel needed and valued. Jesus made all sorts of people feel at home with him, and when a church reflects that in its fellowship, worship and witness, then it is truly being the body of Christ.

To have a physical place that is a place for you is important. In fact I tell pastors I have had the privilege to mentor that unless they love not only the people they minister with but also the place they minister in they cannot minister effectively. Physical place is important. But to take our primary identity from any place or to devote time and resources to a home over all else or to put allegiance to a nation over allegiance to the kingdom of God, is a form of idolatry and false worship.

Nancy and I are a bit out of place. We return to a house we thoroughly enjoy, a family that we love, an area with historical and geographical interest, and we are finding a welcoming church family. We are arranging the house and the yard, even looking for a good place for a hammock...That gives us a sense of place.


But our ancestors, particularly Nancy’s, at great cost and sacrifice moved west as pioneers, and we feel a little bit like traitors. And we do miss the particular beauty of the Northwest, family there and the church community that is still such a part of us. But we are in the place God wants us, and we are with the One who is our place. He is the One who was with us where we were before, is with us now, and will be with us in the future—to be our place, wherever we may be. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age… (Matthew 28:20).

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…

Just a quick note to let you know that I have changed the format of this blog, and hope you like the new.

Also, I have added a link on this blog to a new blog I am experimenting with called Bible Studies. On that site I plan on posting studies I am preparing in relationship to the messages I am giving while preaching in Carlow. If this seems to be helpful, I am planning on doing the same with lessons on the Parables which I will be giving in Albania, on Pauline Letters and other topics in Mexico, and perhaps material I have previously worked on. To access, just click on the link to the right. To get to this page from that one, there is a similar link on the Bible Studies page. The direct address to the Ephesians study is www.acklesbiblestudies.blogspot.com. Other addresses will be added for other studies.

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.