A woman IRA volunteer on active service in west Belfast with an AR18 assault rifle. Photo: Colman Doyle Collection/National Library of Ireland
Today I am taking a ferry over the Irish sea to go to see my father, who is struggling. I have never lived in Ireland, and each visit brings me into contact with bits of my heritage which I mostly feel on the outside of, looking in.
Northern Ireland is almost synonomous with the word ‘troubles’. The legacy of all the violence is palpable, not just from the monuments and murals, but in more subtle ways in which people interact. There is a welcome, lot of humour, but also a caution. You can see it too in the lack of footpaths in the countryside, or the way that communities display their tribe in the form of street decorations and flags.
The history of the troubles is not well understood by most people on the English side of the Irish sea, despite the fact that many of lived with it as part of each news bulletin. But then, any attempt to do justice to this history would be long and winding and have to deal with sectarian rights and wrongs which lend different perspectives and woundedness.
It is important for all of us to remember however that the trouble were birthed in injustice – by whom, towards whom and who did it first, we will have to put to one side, but there was indeed injustice over many generations. The Irish diaspora, of which I am part, has scattered around the planet in part to escape this injustice, either in the form of economic hardships or direct threats to life and limb. Back ‘home’ the peace is fragile still, in part because injustice remains, all the worst for being divided along religious lines.
The stories of the Bible are full of similar material. In an almost-echo of the words from the beginning of the book of Isiaiah, this is from the prophet Amos;
There are those who hate the one who upholds justice in court
and detest the one who tells the truth.11 You levy a straw tax on the poor
and impose a tax on their grain.
Therefore, though you have built stone mansions,
you will not live in them;
though you have planted lush vineyards,
you will not drink their wine.
12 For I know how many are your offenses
and how great your sins.There are those who oppress the innocent and take bribes
and deprive the poor of justice in the courts.
13 Therefore the prudent keep quiet in such times,
for the times are evil.14 Seek good, not evil,
that you may live……I hate, I despise your religious festivals;
from amos chapter 5
your assemblies are a stench to me.
22 Even though you bring me burnt offerings and grain offerings,
I will not accept them.
Though you bring choice fellowship offerings,
I will have no regard for them.
23 Away with the noise of your songs!
I will not listen to the music of your harps.
24 But let justice roll on like a river,
righteousness like a never-failing stream!
This sensitivity to injustice must have been particularly strong for a people in exile, enslaved within an all-power Baylonian empire. The Irish might have particular reason to feel empathy.
This part of my Advent journey will remind me once again that the every day work of justice and peace are not trivial matters and that the effects of injustice leave a long legacy, and one that down the road can lead to the very worst kind of trouble and violence.
But I will also give thanks for those peacemakers who still stand in the breach where they are needed, be that in Belfast, Gaza, or our own backyards.
Peace be with us
In the quiet space between snowflakes
We listen to sad songs, and
Feel the prickle of tears, pushed
By beautiful broken things
Less than half-perceived
But never forgotten
In the warm space you made for me
I hide, guilty for those we left outside
Wishing our table was bigger
That every mouth was filled
Every refugee was home
Like we are. Hoping that
In the dark space between all those twinkling lights
Peace is waiting
Like scented water
Fingered by frost and ready to fall -
Ready to anoint our dirty old ground
Like Emmanuel
this fragile tent 