Parable 28 - Irish Eyes

Megan knew that her long-ago great-great-grandmother Eileen came from Ireland in the 1850s. Eileen was one of more than a million people who sailed from Ireland to America, escaping the Potato Famine. In 1852 she traveled alone by ship, and although she was very much alive, the memory of her wake was tucked deep in her heart.

It was a common occurrence to have an American wake for those about to leave Ireland for the United States. Eileen’s three brothers had died because of the Great Famine. She was the only child left. Her parents spent their savings to book passage for their one surviving child. Before she left, they gave her a wake because they believed they would never see her again, and since none of them knew how to read or write, it was unlikely they would correspond.

About a dozen friends and neighbors attended the wake, giving advice and small presents. One gift was a Celtic ring and another a small wooden cross.

One piece of advice was to get educated, for that was something that could never be taken from you. Knowledge gained could never be stolen.

Those memories had been passed along from one generation to another. Now they were tucked deeply in Megan’s heart, which made it hard to enjoy the St. Patrick’s Day party in her college dorm. Goofy hats and green beer were not very appealing. That cross that had come from her seemingly ancient great-great-grandmother now belonged to Megan. It was in her desk in her dorm room.

The partygoers burst into song in their dorm lounge:

“When Irish hearts are happy,
All the world seems bright and gay.
And when Irish eyes are smiling,
Sure, they steal your heart away.”

Megan knew that her Irish story was not happy. Her great-great-grandmother Eileen’s parents had died shortly after she left for America. No one in her family had ever gone back. Maybe one day Megan would travel back to Galway in Ireland, where her ancestors once lived. But first she needed to finish her undergraduate degree, especially if she was to get into medical school so that she could be a primary care physician, like her mom.

Megan didn’t take this for granted. The stories of hardship remained real to her. No, she didn’t want a green beer, but yes, she eventually joined in singing the song. And OK, she put on a green hat and laughed with her friends.

Meditation

Most of us know that Irish stories and myths are often marked by unhappy endings. Our American stories usually have happy endings. Ireland never fully regained its population after the Great Famine. Nearly 200 years later, the population is still less than it was in the 1840s. That’s a lasting scar.

When we are Christian, there is a temptation to jump ahead and not dwell on the pain of today. Of course, we do want to remember that our faith teaches us about the resurrection.

St. Patrick was successful in converting Ireland to Christianity with its ever-hopeful message. Yet pain and hardship are real. Loss is real. Death and suffering are real. We are ill-advised to gloss over them.

At wakes, people often say, “At least they are in a better place now.” It is a nice thought, but most people who are grieving don’t want to hear it, because it doesn’t acknowledge the pain of those who are losing their loved one. Perhaps the Irish have a way of holding pain that honors it.

In today’s scripture, Jesus heals a man who has waited 38 years. That’s a long time.

During this Lent, we have an opportunity to learn about pain and suffering. The resurrection is coming—we know that. But for now, let’s hold on to the cross that our ancestors carved. Let’s try to gain the knowledge that can never be taken from us, even when the lesson is painful.

Water the seed and ask yourself...

What do I think my ancestors want me to remember?