Moving On

It has been a very emotional couple of weeks. After a lot of soul-searching, prayer, thought and conversation, we made the difficult decision to leave Corrymeela, 5 months earlier than originally planned. I will miss many things and people which we have left behind, but in spite of the many tears I have shed, I feel it is the right decision and a sense of peace pervades my sadness.

We made the decision and announced it to our fellow volunteers almost a fortnight ago, and on Tuesday we left Corrymeela, not knowing if or when we will go back. It was with sadness that we turned to wave our final goodbyes. 

As well as being sad to say goodbye to many special people who I have been used to seeing everyday and now don’t know when I will see again; my great sadness is the disappointment of discovering that something I thought I would be able to deeply believe in, something I felt fitted so closely with my vision of the world; turned out to be a very different place to the one I had imagined. When I look back to the excitement and hope with which I approached this year, full of expectancy that here was place to whose vision I could really sign up; I am deeply sad that it has ended in this way. But reflecting on what Corrymeela is, in my own real experience of it, I also know that, while there have been many great experiences and special moments, it is indeed time to “brush the sand from my sandals” and move on.

And while I am sad because of what I am leaving behind, there is also excitement: the months ahead are filled with possibilities and potential. The search for what I am looking for, whatever that may be, goes on. Maybe I will never find perfection, if I am honest, I doubt I will; but I am not going to give up seeking it, at least not yet.

So I will miss you Coventry and everyone in it: I will miss cups of tea and long conversations; I will miss mad themed parties and walks by the beach with spectacular views; I will miss film nights and art nights and too much to eat; I will miss thoughtful reflection and the cheesiest of jokes; I will Fred the moose and other silly songs; I will miss Thursday night football and Sunday night dancing; I will miss community dinners and breakfast club; I will miss chatting in the kitchen and worship in the Croi; I will miss sharing sadness and joy, excitement and frustration. I will miss you.

On the other hand, while I will miss the everyday encounters, I will not miss your friendship, because I am sure that, even if we don’t see each other for some time, the friendships will last long beyond this departure.

This is the Sea

One of the joys of being here is being surrounded by the spectacular beauty of the coastline and the ever-changing sea. The poem below is inspired by those surroundings, as well as by other aspects of life here, but hopefully it speaks for itself. Meanwhile, although no photo (at least not any taken by me) can do justice to the views here, I thought I'd share some seascapes taken on recent walks around the area.

The whisper of babbling cliff-side streams

Drowned out

By a wall of waves

A voice that roars

With heart-felt fears

And aching agony

As unyielding cliffs

Say no

To changing and moving

And yet

They do

Rocks hard as

Rock

Yet cracked and worn

Imperceptibly

By mere droplets

While the moon pulls

As heart-strings wrench

With memories and pain

And thus

The ebb and flow

Of half-told stories

Whispered

Through reflected prisms of light

And dark

And the backwash draws

With subtle sighs

Its debris

Into the deep

Each stone

Alone

Dragged

And tossed or torn

And drowning

Yet in this monotony

Or multitude

Of grey

A colour also speaks

And from the depths

The restless roll and swell

Of legacies

And unsolved histories

Never still

Or stopped by will

Twisted

By time and tide

To different meanings

And a hundred half-truths

Which are a whole truth

To him or her

Or you

Or me

Seeking

In the crashes of confusion

To be singled out

And heard

Amidst unceasing energy

Of darkening waves

Or on the bright white froth

That flies on wistful gusts

This is the sea

But up above

The trickle of a tiny stream

Still sings

And the heart soars

Shared stories, personal histories

Last Monday most of the volunteers headed off for a trip to Derry / Londonderry. It was my third visit to the city in three weeks, which I also visited with two groups I had recently worked with. The format of each of the three visits was relatively similar, with local people taking us to tour their city and sharing some of their stories of the history of this troubled place.

I do not regret repeating the trip three times. It was probably that repetition which reminded me of Derry's most important lesson: that in Northern Ireland, and maybe everywhere, history is a very personal reality and objective truth doesn't really exist.

Each week our tour guides told the history of a city which still lives in the shadow of key events from its distant and more recent past; most notably the siege of Derry in 1689 and Bloody Sunday in 1972. I appreciated their candour and honesty as each told the history of their home through the prism of their own experience. "The same story" was different each week.

In a city statistically dominated by the Nationalist / Republican / Catholic community it is perhaps unsurprising that all our guides came from that background. Conflict has long emphasised not only the differences between the two communities here, but also the similarities within them in an attempt to simplify the complexities into two seemingly homogeneous groups. The people we met in Derry were a reminder that identity is rarely so simple

Perhaps Northern Ireland's history is less the story of two communities, and more the story of 1.5 million individuals.

What does it mean to welcome?

As someone who likes to travel, who enjoys visiting friends (and sometimes strangers) who relishes new experiences, I have experienced many welcomes. I have been made welcome close to home and far away, I have been made welcome for brief interludes and lengthy stays. I hope I have done my share of making others feel welcome too.

From the personalised welcome sign for each group who walks through the door and the first proffered cup of tea, welcome is something the Corrymeela community holds to be of central importance. It is the justification for much of what we do: words, actions, and ways of being which create a place of welcome.

The gift and decision of welcome is something we talk about freely and easily, but I have been thinking for some time it is also a subject worthy of further reflection because views of what it means to make others welcome definitely vary.

There is an understanding of welcome that resides in invisible service, in the desire for everything to be done before it is asked for and to be so perfect it passes almost unnoticed. The "other" is welcomed as a guest, a recipient of all we have to give, as someone from whom no contribution is required. The welcome is from us to them and all they have to do is receive it and enjoy it, and feel special. The five star hotel thrives on making guests feel like they are more important than, well, almost anyone else, but certainly than those who are "making them welcome."

But there is an alternative model of welcome, that of inviting the other, for however long or short a time they are with you, to be part of your community. Welcome does not have to be a one way process but is the act of creating a shared space, in which the guest is served, certainly, but also invited to share in service; where everyone is considered to have something to give as well as something to receive. Apparently the first guests at Corrymeela were greeted with the news that they would need to make their beds, and when they looked around for sheets and blankets were pointed in the direction of wood and nails. While acknowledging the possibility that time and nostalgia may have somewhat exaggerated the facts, I like the sentiment. A welcome that creates a sense of equality can inspire taking ownership and create a real sense of belonging. If we want people to "feel at home", perhaps this is only possible if we ask something of them.

I know where I feel most welcome, so next time I see you, do not hesitate to proffer a tea towel. And I will take it.

Welcome

Come well 

Into this space

And be at home

Mine

Yours

Ours

A shared space

Because you are welcome here

Welcome

Walk through 

An open door

Into open hearts

With outstretched open hands

Be here

Be at peace

Be at home

Because you are welcome here

Welcome

Come well 

And come willingly

To receive

Still more, to give

Let us sit together

To share tea and stories

And serve together

Because you are welcome here

This welcome

An invitation

To come and give

A little of yourself

Whoever you may be

Givers and receivers 

Equally

This is love

And you are welcome here