Drive By Shootings

I have to say that in spite of the amazing scenery and uncharacteristically fabulous weather on the southwest coast of Ireland – the Ring of Kerry, the Dingle Peninsula, Killarney National Park, the Cliffs of Moher – I enjoyed my photography a lot less than I did in Scotland, even in some of the so-called “less scenic” places. In large part, it had to do with the pace. We had such a full itinerary and so many things to see that I’m not sure that I saw anything with real depth or clear vision. I’m finding that for photography to really be a meditative way of prayer for me, it must be unhurried. Occasionally you can glimpse the holy on the fly, but more often, I think the sacred is more fully experienced in the lingering, in the savoring, in the waiting for the scene to present itself instead of slapping a frame on whatever is in front of you at the moment. Far too many of my pictures felt like drive by shootings (pun intended) even when we were out of the car.

I would have loved to have had the luxury of two weeks in Ireland, not so I could see more but so I could see more slowly. What I wouldn’t give for a full two hours to explore the rocky climb we took at the end of the Dingle Peninsula, or the really exquisite views we had along the Ring of Kerry. If I could have just lingered in three or four of our stops – not all of them -- I would have felt so much more centered. Now mind you, I’m not complaining. Our week in Ireland was full and rich in every way: we visited universities and small towns, magnificent churches and breathtaking coasts, took in theater and history, kissed the Blarney Stone and toured the Guinness plant. Maybe I’ll just have to let this be a reverse process this time around – perhaps the savoring, lingering, joyful appreciation will come in the post-picture-making, in the cataloging and sorting, the sifting and reflecting. I have a lot of holy editing to do.

Failte!

Traveling in Ireland, I’ve come to believe that some stereotypes are are just plain true – and that's not necessarily a bad thing. We had heard that the Irish were warm and welcoming folk and every day we have witnessed this firsthand in our interactions. It began with Sam who met me in the courtyard of St. Columba’s Church in Kells and proceeded to take me on a personalized tour in his car for an hour which included running to the town square to see if a large cross had been repaired (my original query), taking me above the town to the tower built as a folly in the 1800s for the elite to watch the hunt and races (which afforded an incredible view of 7 counties!) and then finally a tour of his farm that had been in his family for five generations. He even brought me into his kitchen to introduce this stray American he had picked up in the town to his wife and offered me a glass of Irish whiskey which I reluctantly accepted (so as to not offend) only after dousing it with water and 7-Up to make it a little more palatable for my non-drinker tastebuds. The next day it was Ann, the desk attendant that we unfortunately awoke at her home at 10:45 p.m. when we arrived in Killarney well past their closing at 6:00 p.m. She graciously got dressed, came and joked with us as she rather cheerily let us in to our apartment. The next morning we met Dermot O’Sullivan, the founder of O’Sullivan Cycling, who regaled us with biking tips, street humor, and colorful language. And that’s not to mention the singing waiter who buddied up next to me at the pub or the dog show prize winner who stopped and chatted with us for about twenty minutes in the parking garage or the man that helped me to get on the internet here. At every turn, we have found the people of Ireland to be exceptionally inviting, genuine and charming. If churches could be equally so, there would be far fewer empty pews.

I commented in Iona that I felt like I had ventured there as a Hospites Mundi (“Guest of the World”) and our stay in Ireland has only reinforced that for me. Everywhere you turn, you see the sign Failte which is Gaelic for “Welcome.” It's clear that this is far more than a way of marketing the quaint towns and villages that dot the landscape; it is a way of life for so many of the good-hearted people who have laid out the Failte mat for us so generously. I do, however, want to dispel one stereotype about the Irish and their love of drinking: there is not a pub on every corner – more often there are two or three (for real). Cheers!

Trading Altars

I found myself smiling inwardly and outwardly as I made my way around the Old Course in the shadow of the Royal and Ancient Club on a beautiful Saturday afternoon in St. Andrews. The constant grin was motivated by two feelings: 1) I was on golf’s most hallowed ground, the site of the most recent British Open earlier this summer and also official “keeper of the game” at the R & A. It just reeked with tradition and here I was on a tour walking across the famous 18th hole footbridge; and 2) The irony was not lost on me that in many ways, I had just swapped one altar for another, having traveled from the holy island of Iona just the day before. It all depends on who/what you’re going to worship...

Early Saturday evening I crossed the Forth River, skirted around Edinburgh and headed south to the Scottish Borders. The scenery was fantastic and the light glowing as I drove past miles of idyllic countryside only to experience the inner photographer’s frustration of nowhere to pull off on these narrow roads to capture the moments. The next morning I unexpectedly encountered a group of young rugby players in training who caught my attention (and lens) and provided a delightful prelude to the first of the Border Abbeys I was to visit in Melrose. Sort of the local version of MSI.

Melrose Abbey captivated me as I learned the story of this besieged monastery and church whose roots go back to St. Cuthbert in the late 6th century with the remaining structures (and composite layers)dating to 1136. For several centuries, the Cistercians, an offshoot of the Benedictine Order, were a flourishing community here and at its peak, Melrose Abbey housed hundreds of monks and double the number of lay members who worked the fields, carved the stones, and prayed alongside them. Originally begun as a reform movement (the Benedictines had gotten too liberal and lax for their tastes), they ironically became victims of their own success. Through the generosity (and nueroses -- what better way to insure your salvation than to endow a side chapel?) of many powerful and influential benefactors, the order acquired a great deal of wealth (a practice they had earlier critiqued) and this proved to be part of their downfall. Melrose, Dryburgh, and Kelso I visited the other two later in the day) were also done in by English/Scottish border skirmishes and the fervor of kings and religious leaders taking on the “corrupt” symbols of “fallen” Roman Catholicism, and the result was a lot of beautiful, though badly damaged, restored, burned again, restored, crumbling buildings.

I was particularly moved by one of the descriptions of the monasteries as “factories of prayer.” The rhythm of their days had the monks praying the hours beginning at two o’clock in the morning (Nocturns) and closing with bedtime prayer at 7:30 pm (Compline). While I greatly admire the devotion and can appreciate the powerful role the monastic movement had in preserving and developing Christianity, not to mention the example of daily devotion to God, I always find myself wrestling with a form of spirituality that is so cloistered from the rest of the world both literally and figuratively. I need my faith to be rooted in the broader community, integrated into the flow of “ordinary” life, expressed in everyday encounters with family, friends, and neighbors. And quite frankly, that’s the model I see in Jesus – to retreat for a time for silence, prayer, and renewal, but not a lifetime. That, and I really like to sleep in past two in the morning.

With Sad (but oh-so-full) Hearts

After an Agape Feast and a late night game of Flip (a card game I taught to my new international group of friends), we woke earlier than usual for our last meal together, packed up, and headed to the Abbey for a Service of Leavetaking. It was a collection of heart-full and heart-sad pilgrims who gathered there, quietly trying to soak in the signifigance and holiness of this place one more time. As it has been all week, the liturgy was simmple, poetic, and steeped in the images of creation. We sang a beautiful Psalm (just one of several new songs I am hoping to bring back to BUMC) and pronounced a mutual blessing upon one another: those who were staying (staff & volunteers) and those who were leaving. In between we reminded ourselves that as sacred a place as Iona is, there is no ground that is not holy, no space where God's presence does not dwell. En masse, we walked down the hill, waved and hugged our goodbyes, and then boarded the ferry to Mull, the start of very long but peaceful and scenic day of travel.

A couple of years ago at a Men's Group meeting, Jeff Diamond talked about his desire to perhaps one day go on pilgrimage together. I am hoping to return to Iona at some point and over the course of the week, it has crossed my mind more than once that there may be others from BUMC who would want to join in. Are there?

Perigrinatio in Iona

What an incredible setting in which to begin my Sabbath Leave! I had expected Iona to be a special place; what I had underestimated was just how mystically beautiful it would be at nearly every turn and how centering the rhythm of morning and evening prayer would feel. I have definitely come to the right place to focus on photography and prayer as opportunities for both abound. I'm blessed to be among a truly international community on this sacred island with fellow pilgrims from Australia, England, Zambia, New Zealand, Holland, Canada, and the U.S. We have been drinking plenty of tea, went on an excursion to the neighboring island of Staffa, had a communal ceileidh last night (think “Scottish square dance”), and today I got to play 9 holes on an authentic Scottish Golf Course (complete with cows and sheep serving as greenskeepers/obstacles).

One of the books that I’ve been reading here describes the unique Celtic understanding of perigrinatio or pilgrimage as not only an external journey to a holy place but more importantly, a concurrent journey inward, as well. In the Celtic tradition, pilgrims would set off as hospites mundi (“guests of the world”) with an open heart toward God, people they’d encounter, and the gift of experiences along the way. I am grateful to be on my perigrinatio as a guest of the Iona Community and with your love and prayers. As hard as it was to leave VBS before it was over (I really mean that!), this has proven to be life-giving and holy ground for me, too.

To the End of the World (and Back)

Thanks to the generosity and support of my congregation (Bethesda UMC) and a grant from the Louisville Institute, I begin my 3-month Sabbath Leave this coming Thursday, August 5th. Buoyed by the wonderful chaos and energy of 300 kids at Vacation Bible School, I’ll fly to Glasgow, Scotland, take a train to Oban, board a ferry to the Island of Mull, ride a transport bus to the other side of the island and then board yet another ferry to the Island of Iona. (Finally) there, I’ll spend a week as a pilgrim at the Iona Community, an intentional, ecumenical Christian community, where I will immerse myself in the rhythms of prayer, work, the arts, dialog, and self-reflection. It's sort of like spiritual whiplash, I know, but I can't wait.

My travels will then take me eastward to and around Edinburgh, including a photographic tour of the Border Abbeys. From there, I fly to Dublin where I will meet up with Holly and some good friends for some biking and photography along the southwest coast of Ireland. We'll soak in the sights around the Ring of Kerry, Cork, the Dingle Peninsula, and Killarney National Park. After returning to Maryland, I then head up to Rockport, Maine to be part of a workshop at the Maine Media Institute (Zen & the Art of Photography).

What I hope to do with my time away over these next three months (most of the last two of which will be spent in and around Rockville) is to explore with greater depth and intention photography as a way of prayer. For some time now, I have found that I pray best when I have a camera in my hand. Not only does the practice of photography inform my understanding of what prayer is through its inherent disciplines of waiting, stillness, attention, and fresh vision, but at an even more fundamental level, photography has become a way for me to pray. So here begins my journey of Framing Holiness.