Europe Journal Entry 4: Dublin

It is Wednesday, October 17th 2007. I slept in until noon today, and as I wake I can taste the previous night’s cigarettes in my mouth. It has been months since I smoked one let alone two, but the French girls Charley and I hung out with smoked frequently so we decided to indulge them a bit. Though I have slept late in the day, it has not been without interruption. At one point I awoke to one of the French girls whispering my name and asking me to stop snoring so loudly! “You’ve slept for three hours! Now let us sleep for three hours!” It was quite funny and embarrassing at the same time. They were kind about it. I gently turn on my side and hope that my snoring subsides. When I wake up at twelve the girls are gone, they drove to Galway that morning. Charley and I should have gone with them, they hinted at us going but we hesitated. But we finally make a day of it and join up with Chad for a walk through the city.

We walk through the Temple Bar discrict, Grafton Street, around Trinity College and to the south of Dublin. We stop to watch some football and get some beer and coffee at a pub. We tried to get into St. Patrick’s Cathedral but they had some special service going on, disappointing but then we sit in the park right next to it and hang out. The sun is setting in the West and the rays shine through the trees to create a contrast of light and dark on the grass and pavement that at once feels warm even though a cool breeze moves all around us. As we head back towards our hostel, we pass by Christ Church Cathedral, which is the oldest church in Dublin. It is 5:30 in the evening so we decide to step in for an evensong service. The choir begins to sing, and this ancient church reminds me that people have walked many miles in their lives and have hopefully encountered the divine in the same space where I now pause to raise my ear in hopes of at least hearing a whisper. I have more hope today that people can genuinely reflect the nature of God at times in life, and I see in the hostels that people just want to meet other people and to know that they are not crazy in their loneliness. I find myself wanting to hear someone else’s story, where they came from, how they view life, and where they want to go next. I want to tell my story too, to provide a small glimpse into my little world, my customs, my oddities.

Before we get to the hostel, we stop in at a market and buy some food supplies for our dinner meal. We decide on spaghetti. Cheap, quick, and it serves a lot. It is the best meal I have had in a long time. Miles of walking will create unrelenting hunger. And so we stuff ourselves, and yet we have some left over for our new friend Sako, a Japanese girl who was cooking food alongside us. She burned the rice she was making so it works out perfect. She sits at our table and talks with us awhile and tells us about how work at a local coffee shop was going. She loves Japan but wanted a new experience, and Ireland seemed intriguing to her. After dinner, we invite Sako out with us for a few drinks and to listen to some music. We travel to the outskirts of the Temple Bar area and encounter this small pub and overhear a musician inside playing some American pop music on his acoustic guitar. As we approach the door, a big Irishman with broad shoulders steps in my way. “There is a cover” he says shortly with a stern manner. I look back to the group in confusion and go to grab my wallet and as I turn back the man’s shoulders fall and he begins to laugh hysterically. “Just kiddin’ man, come on in!” I laugh nervously but it was a funny moment. The people here so far are just genuinely friendly, and in this short encounter I realize that Dublin feels comfortable, it fits me better than I had previously assumed. The Guiness begins to flow from the tap and falls into our glasses, which eventually fills our stomachs. And we sat back and enjoy a good show by the young singer in the corner covering Dave Matthews, David Gray, and U2 tunes.

Tomorrow we leave for Sevilla. I am a little nervous to be going to Spain. I wonder how the language barrier will be. But this trip is already about taking risks, about getting outside of the comfort zones we defend ourselves with. And as scary as it can get, I still find moments of comfort. And the way I make sense of it is that God is indeed full of grace.

Personal Narratives

I recently read this article by essayist Alan Jacobs on the issue of personal narratives as a witness to God’s activity in history. Jacobs’ main argument is that as the church is moving towards more of a narrative theology and a hermeneutic that is “ecclesiocentric” in nature, there is a minimizing of the value of personal “testimonies” as a way of proclaiming the movement of God in individual lives. In other words, the stories of the individuals in a congregation only cohere and are given their fullest expression when woven into the fabric of the church as a whole. In many ways, this paradigm shift is a counter approach to the hyper-individualism that has taken place in Western civilization, and what we are seeing now are attempts at restoring communal aspects that have been lost in our culture. However, as much as there is a desire to reconnect people with finding meaning and purpose in their local church, there is a fear that their own personal journeys will be lost in relation to the community at large.

Jacobs mentions one form of personal storytelling that has remained constant in the Protestant church, the individual “testimony”. Many who have sat in a church service or a small group Bible study know that at times individuals are given opportunities to tell their own story and to articulate how God has moved in their lives. This is often used a method for leading people to conversion or at least witnessing to the fact that God does indeed engage in the lives of individuals. In many ways this has furthered the idea of self-discovery and has produced a flourishing business for books, tapes, videos and journals allowing others to find out the meaning in their own stories. The problems that can be created out of this are such things as narcissism, sentimentality, and the desire to find truth for oneself but have little advice for one’s neighbor. A key example is the use of “journaling” that is promoted by some.

There is hope for those wanting to make sense of their personal stories whilst not falling into strictly ”ecclesiocentric” or personal narratives. Jacobs offers three key examples: the Puritans use of the personal diary or journal as a way of framing one’s life to see patterns in their faith journey; the idea promoted by Walter Benjamin, that our stories should provide counsel and wisdom for others; and Augustine’s thoughts in his Confessions that reflecting on our lives can lead to repentance in the present and hope for the future. In respect to the faculty of memory, Jacobs provides insight from Kierkegaard to warn us that as much as we reflect backwards, our present lives move forwards and so our memory is shaky and thus our interpretative process is also being newly transformed, thus we are called to revise and rethink our narratives constantly in the desire that we may ourselves more truthfully. And though we may encounter problems or obstacles as we long to describe our journeys, we as Christians should not abandon personal testimony. As long as it serves to help us “frame” our lives better, offers counsel and wisdom to its hearers, and helps us to repent and hope more often, Jacobs believes we should promote the existence and usefulness of the personal narrative, not as an abandonment of narrative theology in relation to the church, but as a key component in the overall proclamation of the gospel.

 I would be interested to hear what you all think about this?