Joy in Peacemaking
This peace work wasn’t creating policy; it was listening to another’s reality
Last summer I went to Northern Ireland for a peace-making retreat. We met with artists, songwriters, and ministers who had been a part of the Good Friday Accords. We stood in the room where the Catholic priests met monthly with the protestant pastors because, they reasoned, how could you love your neighbor if you didn’t know who your neighbors were? The protestants and the Catholics, the British and the Irish met clandestinely for years; people with opposing ideologies, values, religions, putting their lives in jeopardy, to lay the groundwork for a world after The Troubles. This peace work wasn’t creating policy; it was listening to another’s reality.
One of the priests who asked , “How could you love your neighbor if you didn’t know who your neighbors were? “
We were serenaded by a world renown group of youth Trad musicians. They brought excellent music and a contagious joy.
Tommy Sands’ music was a sound track for The Troubles.
The group of us American stood in awe at the story, and the leaders layered the week of hard history with award winning student musicians, cultural myths, reclamation of Celtic spirituality, and the practical outworking of all of this work in the day-to-day living some thirty years later.
An image at The Larder, which was so much more than a food bank , but a place for community. to reconnect with their roots and each other.
As the week drew to an end, our leaders gave us the essence of the questions that the group at Clonard Monastery asked one another in all those years of monthly meetings. We gathered in threes and fours to ask each other the same questions as a way to mend today’s fracturing world.
A group of us found our hearts bound together through this process and continued to meet once a month on Zoom after we returned home, asking, “What goodness is bringing us to the edge of our seat? What's distracting you or standing in the way? How are we invited to be?” Each month we hold space for one another, with no advice, no talking back, we just put our answers into a safe place and leave them there to be held in the light. enclosed by a prayer that says:
May we find the wisdom we need,
God be with us.
May we hear the needs of those we meet,
God be with us.
May we love the life we are given.
God be with us.
The happy bride and groom.
I am currently on a plane, flying back from the wedding of two members of our group who met in Ireland. We affectionately call ourselves the “porch circle,” with The retired seminary professor from Portland married the former nun from Notre Dame in circular Catholic chapel, filled with retired sisters, led by a father, homily by an evangelical pastor. The “flower girl” was a 102-year-old nun, the “honored friend” was a son, and I’ll be honest, the priest sounded very much like The Princess Bride. Those of us who gather monthly flew in from all over the country to bear witness to this gift of Ireland peace that kept giving.
The chapel and the flower girl.
The Trader Joe’s brunch.
The next day we pulled together a brunch (blessing the proximity of a Trader Joe’s, and the VRBO host who figured this gathering wouldn’t violate the “no parties” rule). We ladies knew how to cook together, and our spouses knew how to be support staff, and in the kitchen, we were community, overjoyed that a year of asking, “What brings you to the edge of your seat?” meant we could celebrate something this ecumenically beautiful.
After everyone dispersed, the dishes boxed, and the leftovers bagged, we sat in the living room, eating the extra cupcakes and punch, telling each other what is distracting us , and muddled our way to how we are called to be, welcoming our partners, who didn’t travel to Ireland, into the ritual. We listened to one another’s stories and participated in the groundwork of peace-making, so we could go home and continue to live on the edge of our seats. #JoyAsResistance
Part of our group we affectionately call our “porch circle.”