Sunday


The Irish are more than familiar with hospitality. When you can walk into a place a stranger, and walk out chock full of solidarity and acquaintance, you know there’s more going on than just required politeness.

Sunday morning found me worshiping a diverse God in a stone steepled parish that summoned its family with beckoning bells. The stone walls of the one-room church resounded with tradition, liturgy, and historical sacredness.

A flock of grey and lovely little ladies wouldn’t let me walk away without joining them for lunch and tea after the service. Real Norn Irish lunch comprised of hardy soup, wheaten bread, and heaping plates of tea biscuits, to dunk in our flowered china cups of tea.

When I finally did walk away from the “bring and share” lunch that day, humming a hymn sung to the tune of Oh Danny Boy, it was with a heart full of good things, old things… steady things.

 

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