I sit in the Galway
bus station
thinking over
the irony of this trip.
I came to Ireland
to meet the Irish,
but it seems like
all I’ve met so far
are Americans.
Yesterday,
at the dock in Inisheer,
I met a really nice
old couple from New York.
We talked all the way
to Inishmore
and they bought me
a pint of Smithwick’s
while we waited
for the ferries
that would take us
separate ways.
On the ferry
to Galway,
I met a group of three
young married couples
from different places
in America.
When I found
my room in the hostel
last night,
I met two girls
from America
who are studying
in England.
Just moments ago,
I met an old couple
from Boston
here in the station.
Though I’ve enjoyed
the company,
it seems that
I can’t escape
the States
no matter where I go.
Even the radio stations
are inundated
with the leftovers
of American pop radio.
It’s rare to find
a station that plays
real Irish music.
How depressing.
This country
has one of the most
beautiful traditions
in music,
yet they’re trading it in
for the garbage
that floats across
the air waves
in the country
that is slowly polluting
the rest of the world
with its culture
of materialism,
greed, and lust.
Lord, please
don’t let them
import our errors.
At any rate,
Galway impressed me
no more than Limerick.
I’m just not much
for cities.
Mass was nice
this morning
and the cathedral
was beautiful,
but I was disappointed
to see no young people.
My utopian dreams
seem less and less real.
I found out this morning
that Sunday is a slow day
in Ireland.
I’m glad to see
that they still
take the Sabbath
fairly seriously,
though it means
half of the day is gone
before the first bus
leaves for Knock.
I’m too worn out
to explore any more
of the city,
so I have been
sitting around
all morning,
learning a lot about
patience
as I wait.
I’m realizing more and more
that time spent waiting
is not wasted.
It has been relaxing
to pray and ponder.
It’s actually nice
to not be in a rush.
Waiting is only painful
because we make it
that way.
Modern man in his
foolishness
has set accomplishment
as the standard
for the value
of one’s life.
Now we’re never happy
unless we are
achieving some goal
and quickly moving on
to the next one.
As a result,
we do not even have time
to enjoy
those accomplishments.
Should it be
any surprise, then,
that we know
no peace.
For the first time
since my childhood,
I’m experiencing
the peace
of merely existing.
I’m experiencing
the wonder
of creation.
Most importantly,
I’m experiencing
stillness within
and finding that
God does speak
to our hearts
if we’d only
shut up and listen.
After the intensity
of working from
ten in the morning
to midnight
every day of the Summer
except Sundays,
I’m finding out
how desperately
I’ve needed these times
to relax
and be at peace.
This is also good preparation
for Knock.
By opening my heart
to God now,
I’ll be ready
for whatever grace
He desires
to pour over me
at the end
of this pilgrimage.
Only now
do I begin to realize
how I’ve let
my spirituality
be influenced
by the culture around me.
My prayer life
has always been based
on accomplishments:
finish a certain amount
of prayers
before the day is done
and all will be well.
I’m now learning
what prayer is all about.
While standard prayers
are important,
the very heart of prayer
must be listening.
To calm the heart,
the mind, and the senses
so that the still-small voice
can break through
the noise of daily life:
this is the center
of any real spirituality.
Only then will I
be open
to the many ways
the Lord speaks to me
through my everyday
experiences.
Without silence
on my part,
there can be no hearing.
I still my thoughts,
open my heart and mind,
and, for the first time,
truly pray.