“The way you tell the story about your world will actually co-create that world. The myth of redemptive violence needs to be replaced. Imagining a new myth is a privilege. It is also our responsibility.” (Gareth Higgins)
I rediscovered the power of storytelling in Northern Ireland. In this land of raw energy and precarious peace. A land of light and shadow, of simplicity and sensuality, of mystery and myth.
I had come to this land of thin places, of paradoxes and synchronicities and metaphors, to listen more deeply. And in the process, I rediscovered my responsibility to use my unique gift. To tell the story of what is possible.
It’s been a long time coming for me. Both picking up my writing again and getting myself to Ireland. I had planned to attend an Ireland Retreat hosted by writer and peace activist, Gareth Higgins, in June of 2020, tacking on an extra week so that I could explore the Wild Atlantic Way and the Celtic countryside. Two years and two months later, on the heels of a life-changing pandemic and tumultuous events in our nation’s history, combined with a painful hesitancy to pick up my pen, I found myself in the company of Gareth and his band of storytellers.
For more than five years, Gareth, a native of Belfast, has been organizing these retreats to connect visitors with local people who have imagined, and dared to live, a better, more fulfilling story.
These were ordinary people telling extraordinary tales. Tales of what is possible when you choose to live with integrity and vulnerability. Choose to take risks because the violence, fear, and pain around you isn’t acceptable.
Ordinary people, like John, Lesley, Paul, and Clare. Unassuming, soft spoken, they could be your neighbor or your city council member, your child’s teacher or your sister.
Each in their own way, they had experienced the painful challenges of “the Troubles,” a period of about 30 years, beginning in the late 1960’s, when Northern Ireland rocked with violent socio-political conflict between republicans/nationalists (mainly Catholics wanting an independent Republic of Ireland) and unionists/loyalists (mainly Protestants loyal to the United Kingdom). More than 3,500 people were killed during that time.
But their hunger for peace led Gareth, John, Lesley, Paul, and Clare to follow the scent onto an unmarked, narrow path towards something uncertain yet promising. Whether leading people on transformative retreats across Northern Ireland, directing an intentional community focused on peace and reconciliation, or serving as a Belfast City Council member who supports a more progressive, all-inclusive union; risking secret meetings with strangers on the opposite side of the conflict to co-create a peaceful solution, or risking alienating family and friends to integrate schools so that Catholic and Protestant children can learn together and come to know and love each other, each one of them has a role in transforming the way we see the world.
Listening to their stories, I felt hopeful and encouraged. They reminded me of what is possible. Of what can happen when ordinary people dare to imagine a more beautiful, peaceful, and lifegiving story. And step out in faith to create it. For the greater good.
As I listened, I realized how much I needed what they had to offer.
First, because of the civil unrest that’s been percolating in my country – and the very real possibility that it may lead to such unbridled violence as Northern Ireland experienced. I needed to remember that there are many of us who seek a nonviolent, more healing approach to conflict. Countless others like them are quietly working behind the scenes. Some right here in my border community of El Paso.
Second, because I know that I have similar stories to tell. Stories I need to tell. Stories with heart that also have their role in transforming how we see and live in the world.
Although my stories take place on the U.S.-Mexico border, they are just as compelling. Just as transformative and life-giving for those who believe in what is possible when you live beyond fear. And trust in the love that is possible.
That’s the message I heard in Ireland.
Thanks to Gareth, who gave me plenty of opportunities to listen and reflect.
He delivered up surprises every day. Outings to places like the Ulster Museum, with its disturbing depictions of newspaper and oral accounts of “The Troubles.” A visit to a Benedictine monastery where a monk shared moving stories of reconciliation between family members of murdered loyalists and nationalists, followed by an opportunity to join in vespers and silence.
He guided us along the streets of West and East Belfast – opposing sides of a political divide, displaying contrasting images. In C. S. Lewis Square, sculptures of Aslan, Mr. Tumnus, and other characters from the Tales of Narnia amused us, while further along the sidewalks, murals of pain painted on city walls memorialized those who died in violent acts.
Despite the contrasts, a common denominator lurked under every image, just as it had beneath every story. Love.
Even in the violence, I recognized love waiting there for someone courageous enough to pick it up and wield its power. The power to transform all illusions of fear and separation.
I recognized that power in the stories that Gareth, John, Lesley, Paul, and Clare shared. And in the daring choices they’d made.
As Gareth says, “The story we tell shapes the world we live in.”
Will I dare to tell a different story? And will we trust in what is possible?
“Love alone is capable of uniting human beings in such a way as to complete and fulfill them. For it takes us and joins us by what is deepest in ourselves. Celtic knotwork is a perfect way to describe the complex nature of love and how it binds us together.”
(message of the Celtic love cross I found on my journey)
A Journey of the Heart 