– Irish proverb
April 2018. I could have walked the Cliffs of Moher for days, gaping at the majesty of a higher power’s creation. There is nothing like the miles of green I saw in Ireland – each verdant blade rippling in an ocean of grass, until suddenly, you are met with a breathtaking drop into the depths of the Atlantic Ocean. It was windy and the tiny, curving path felt both never-endingly long, and yet, insignificant, in the face of such overwhelming natural beauty. I couldn’t help but think…views like this are the face of God.
It’s not that I wasn’t contemplating God or faith before Ireland, but it brought it to the forefront of my mind in a purposeful way that I hadn’t practiced in a while. I used to be a much more religious person. Baptized, First Communion, Catholic school, church on Sundays, surrounded by a supportive community who shared my family’s beliefs. Youth group, and no fish on Fridays during Lent. Ireland is certainly a place I could fit in. But since I’ve become an adult, religion – or more specifically, faith – isn’t as easy, or as black and white as it used to be in childhood. When you grow up, and see the horrors of the world in the news, and how the people around you treat each other with hatred and contempt, it’s hard to believe in the good, or that our existence has some greater purpose. It’s hard to keep the faith. And so often I wonder if I’m making the right choices, or being a good enough person. Do my good deeds even make that much difference on the ethical scales? You feel helpless. And when you lose a loved one, or battle with depression, it can seem hopeless and you wonder how some all-powerful, omniscient God could allow such sorrow in the world.
But in Ireland, standing on the Cliffs, overcome with emotion, I felt the strength of a higher power. This earth is too beautiful. It makes you believe in intelligent design, by some power much greater than our tiny human selves. It gives you faith that despite the ugly nature of people, there is a force for good on this earth and you can make a difference. Because otherwise such majesty just wouldn’t exist, right?
That afternoon, when we arrived in Galway, I heard the bells tolling from the cathedral and as I walked along the River Corrib I felt drawn to go to Mass, something I hadn’t done in years. As I stepped inside, I felt cushioned by the comforting silence and elevated by the scent of incense. Ritual found me, and I easily found myself lost in the motions of my childhood – holy water, sign of the cross, genuflect. I remembered what they meant to me, those feelings of familiarity that lull you into mystic contemplation, like the soothing clicks of rosary beads. I wandered, gazing up at beaming stained glass windows in this massive building built of stone and thought, yes, here I feel God too.
It’s funny, the places you encounter deity, unity with the absolute. I felt it not only on the cliffs, and not only in the cathedral’s sacred halls – I found it in the company of new friends I met on the trip, in the tunes of a Irish fiddle’s song, and even in the breeze that blew across my face at the top of Blarney Castle. Ireland was a place that allowed me to find that feeling again, and it was a much needed reminder for me that we all need to be open in where and how we might find faith.
My profession as a teacher has introduced me to people from all over the world, who practice all different faiths and hold myriad beliefs – Judaism, Islam, atheism, Hinduism, Christianity, Buddhism, even animism and Santería. I’ve gotten goosebumps during the call to prayer at mosque, and I’ve felt peace during meditative chanting at temple. The lights of Diwali bring tears to my eyes the same way that Easter candles at midnight mass do, and I love getting lost in discussions of mysticism or reading Sufi poems. I can’t truly say that I believe there is one true religion, or that the only path to heaven, or enlightenment, or Jannah, is to claim only one practice as my own. Because I feel the same light and truth and goodness in the writings of Rumi as I do in the teachings of Buddha, or in the New Testament. And I feel God just as strongly in church as I do basking in the warmth of the sun at the park, or in the smiles of my students each day.
Somewhere along the way, I lost that sense of awe and wonder, that belief in something greater than us, and Ireland’s peaceful fields and quiet strength helped me find my faith in the good again. I will always be thankful for how my time there re-centered me and reminded me that even though you certainly don’t need to cross the world to find peace in your heart or renew your faith, sometimes a change of perspective can illuminate your path forward and shine some light into the darkness.
Jill Came Tumbling After 