CROSSING BORDERS
The last several weeks have been a whirlwind between Ireland, Santa Cruz, and Nashville.
BUT—
Before I even get to that, if you haven’t already supported the new project I’m kickstarting, we have less than two days left to reach our goal.
I left for Ireland in early April, and left 2 weeks ago this morning. My mate Sammy Horner and I hosted my Mercyland Songwriting Workshop for the fourth time in the little town of Gorey, and this year, I made sure I had a few days to shake off the jet lag before diving into the rewarding and hard work of mentoring songwriters.
Each year, the town officials welcome all the attendees with a reception, replete with little girls performing Irish dances, Celtic harpists, and speeches from Gorey representatives, followed by a word from myself and Sammy.
These days, when traveling across the pond, I know that many whom we encounter in other lands are wondering what is becoming of America. The face of our country as they knew it has changed. Not to mention how our governmental decisions are affecting gas prices and availability. I get asked a lot of questions, like “Are you okay?” and “Are you safe?”.
In my word to the citizens of Gorey, I made a brief acknowledgment of the worry that I encounter when crossing borders. I said I perceived the welcome we Americans received as a token of hope for our people, that a change for the better will occur sooner than later.
I made clear that I was speaking for myself, because I couldn’t be certain that every American in the workshop shared my feelings, and I wanted to be respectful of them.
I’m trying to learn to move in and with grace, not something I’ve always concerned with. My workshop is called “Mercyland”, and that alone is a reminder to give grace when possible.
One of our Ireland attendees has come for four straight years, which tells me that I’m doing something right, something beyond my songwriting expertise. He and one of the Irish attendees have, in the past, battled out their political differences online in the public arena. At the commencement of our annual workshop, I worry a little, hoping that their disagreements will not surface at the workshop.
This year, no grievances were aired, for which I was grateful. Each of them was kind to the other, perhaps remembering that they are “Mercylanders”, and have a name to live up to. A name that includes the word “Mercy” shouldn’t be that hard to figure out. “Christian” is a similar word, isn’t it? A name that includes the word “Christ” seems to beg for a certain essence from whoever takes on the name. But these days, “Christian” is a word that many are uncertain of, in terms of what to expect. Is the person identifying as such a person of goodwill? A nationalist? Prejudiced?
When my sweetheart Jenny and I first met, the word “Christian” came up, and it gave her pause, because most of the “Christians” she knows have far more interest in expressions of division, exclusion, and self-interest than in the words of The Beatitudes.
There are borders all over the place, boundaries that we sometimes can’t perceive unless we trip over them in conversation. We never know how a simple remark can trigger outrage and the termination of a conversation or even a relationship. Times are tricky, aren’t they?
Maybe, like me, you’re trying to find the merciful path, a path that doesn’t avoid the truth, yet still hopes for a bridge to meet on.