In Literature class, we're reading a book called
A Portrait of an Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce, an Irish modernist. As we're going over not just text but Irish history, so many fond memories of Ireland are brought back (my classmates Charis, Ted, John, Sophia, and Selene were all on the trip, too). Today we discussed the IRA and significant characters that led movements, held power, and fought for their country. It's hard to believe and remember the struggle that still goes on within Ireland today.
During our time in Belfast, we had the opportunity to meet Catholics, spend time with them, and even bring them over to a Protestant church. Rossi (sp?) was an especially memorable guy for me, because at first glance he seemed like a fine-and-dandy, always happy or couldn't care less kind of guy. As we spent the whole day with him, we slowly uncovered how the terrorism and struggle was really a part of his past and present, knowledge and belief. He came with us on a tour at a Protestant police station, and joined us for dinner before we left Belfast. I'll never forget how eager we were to find out more...how eye-opening and heart-wrenching it was for us to hear stories from people who still experience that terrorism, knowledge, courage, loyalty, and patience. A few of us even kindly asked him to switch seats in the middle of dinner so that we could all hear him speak...and by the end of the night, his plate was cold and full because he was too busy sharing (poor guy!)
I think the burning question that we all had was, "When is it going to end?" We wanted a happy ending. A solution to the conflict. We're used to a story with hope, with answers. As I think about it now, I realize that this is why all our hearts still feel close to our time in Ireland-we want our friends to be okay (Protestant or Catholic). For even a few days, our experience in West and East Belfast, simply driving along the dividing wall or meeting fighters who had been in prison, was frightening. Intense. Surprising. I can't imagine not being able to go to the grocery store 5 minutes away because it's on the opposing side. I can't imagine having to drive/walk an extra 15 minutes out of fear of getting jumped.
Yet as Rossi talked, he seemed to have hope. He was grateful. He knew that the Protestants have been hurt, too. He knew that both sides have suffered and that both still hold a defiant belief, but not without a constant and nagging fear or caution. So many questions pop up for me now. How far would I go to defend my faith? How far would I go to defend my country? Am I, like Joyce, disapproving of this conflict and constant struggle? When would I lose hope? When would I lose sight of God?
I really hope to be back in Ireland one day. I told myself that I would pray for these people, our friends and even strangers, who live simple lives in the rain, in the culture, in the farms and cities. Tonight I wonder how God's moving and working and loving in Ireland. I wish I could see!
Rossi taught us a couple of phrases. I just googled them and those pronunciations seem to be different. Google's wrong, Rossi's wrong, or they're both right. Just like northern and southern Ireland huh?
"Hello" or "God be with you"- "gia-dutch"
"God be with you, too"- "gia-maya-dutch"
The internet may tell me otherwise, but I'll never forget these..and how much we wanted to remember and pronounce these correctly because we loved these friendly yet powerful (at least in translation) phrases.
God be with you, Rossi.
