The North

There’s a cool breeze blowing through the quiet city on an overcast October day. I’m walking along a wall that borders the city and takes me past churches, memorials, and monuments. The autumn leaves have fallen, and I’m laying on the ground to try and get that perfect angle for a great picture. I’m not nervous or worried about who’s around, or what people will think when they see me on the ground, holding my camera at an unusual slant. In fact, I haven’t been concerned at all during my stay in this city. The people were quiet, gentle creatures, very welcoming and friendly to me and my group. On our coffee trips, we’ve always been greeted with smiles and “Oh! Where are you from?”-style questions.

But this city has a far from peaceful past. The tension is still very real, the wounds are still very raw, and the people are still very hurt. Belfast, Northern Ireland was, and still is, a city that has been torn and divided for quite some time. As an outside visitor there, I would have never known about the troubles that have afflicted this city for years, but having an “inside” guide and taking an “inside” tour, opened my eyes to the problem of pain. But maybe I should start at the beginning to give you a broader point of view…

We started our trip to Northern Ireland with a “mural tour” in (London)Derry, Co Antrim. We stopped at the BogSide Artists shop and looked at the photos taken from the 60’s and onward. We were then guided on a tour of the murals, which ranged from paintings of children playing on war-torn streets to victims of the hunger strikes. Perhaps the most moving moment to me was at the end of the tour, when we were taken around

the backside of an old, worn down pub. While everyone else was looking at the last mural, my attention was grabbed by what appeared to be bullet holes in the walls of the pub. Near the side of the pub, was a shattered Guinness sign. Coincidence or not, the broken glass had an eerie affect when mixed with the dark sky and cool win

d that had welcomed that morning. When I stood up from taking pictures of the glass, I noticed a plaque in a discreet location on the side of the wall. Reading it made me sick to my stomach, or want to cry, or both.

It read…

In Proud and Loving Memory of Manus Deery

Murdered On This Spot By The British Army

19^th May 1972, Aged 15 Years

He Shone On Earth Now He Shines In Heaven

I just imagined the scene. I didn’t want to, because it was painfully real, but I allowed it to keep playing out in my mind. Thinking about it even now makes me sick. Just standing on the same spot that a young man was shot and killed made everything else in life slowly fade away from the forefront of my mind. The whole day, I thought about the boy’s face, and wondered about his story, his family, and who he would be today if he hadn’t been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Yet, every story has two sides. The next day, we met with an ex-prisoner named Jake, who took us around the inside of Belfast. We stopped at mural after mural to read memorials set up for people who had died in the conflict. We felt out of place with all of the “Union Jack” flags flying, but we never felt unsafe. On the murals, we read about the progress made and the heroes of the day, of the fallen members and the victories won. Again, the weather seemed to know that we needed an overcast day to allow us to soak in the somber history of the city and its surrounding areas.

Another very moving aspect of Belfast was the walk of the “Peace Wall”. It’s funny, because the name holds no truth to the real reason for it, and peace is the furthest thing that it keeps. It is more of a “dividing” wall and its presence in the city only helps the feel of “taking sides” that most feel when they enter Belfast. Even Jake said that he believed the peace wall wouldn’t, or shouldn’t, come down for another twenty years. That is a long time to wait for “peace”.

As somber as this trip was, it was one of the best trips of my life. To expand on that, let me tell you why. We stayed at a hostel called Downhill in Armagh. It was downhill indeed. Nestled between two cliff-faces, the hostel was a lovely white home, facing a beautiful beach. There is virtually nothing else around it, so it got very dark at night. I walked the beach every night, and every night, it was a different beach. In one direction, you could see the lights of a city in the distance, across the water. In the other direction, you could see another city, separated even further by water. There was also a large, hollowed-out tower on top of one of the cliffs, and it was a breathtaking sight to see it at sunset and watch the rays of light strike through the window holes. It was overload for the senses, because, besides the sights, you had the smell of saltwater and the sound of crashing waves at high-tide to overwhelm your mind.

On Thursday night, my roommate, Megan, and I were walking on the beach, talking about life, God, and where we were at with our feelings. It was an awesome time, because we were just being raw and open with God and each other. As we were walking, I looked over to her and said “You know? The only thing that would make this night better would be a shooting star”. And guess what? God delivers-Within five minutes, we watched a star race across the night sky. Later that night, we joined our group on the dark beach to sing praise songs and pray for this land.

That beach truly felt like the “eye of the storm”, because just mere miles away was a war-torn, hurting place, but I felt closer to God than I ever have before. Isn’t it crazy how God works like that? Before I went to bed that night, I prayed a prayer of peace for Northern Ireland. A prayer of peace just like the calm and stillness that had just washed over me.

Northern Ireland was incredible, and I’d live there in an instant. It’s far from perfect, but it is on its way to healing and reconciliation.

Peace in Northern Ireland, the peace of God, will reign tonight.

Amen.

-EEF