My Sunday Best 06
On Light and Liminality.
When I was 11 and Jackie asked me if I was a Catholic or a Protestant, I said, “Neither, I’m a Christian.” No, she shook her head, you have to be one or the other.
Do I?
I have been asking that question ever since. Do I?
Growing up in Northern Ireland is complicated. I can be British, Irish or Northern Irish; Catholic or Protestant; Unionist or Nationalist. If Protestant, I can be Methodist, Baptist, Presbyterian, Free Presbyterian, Reformed Presbyterian, Brethren, Exclusive Brethren, Church of Ireland, Elim or a member of a non-denominational church. If I opt out of all of the above and move to Sligo, what am I then?
I worry the frayed edges of this tapestry a lot these days. It has something to do with my geographical distance from my homeland. It is also about connecting deeply to the Irish landscape, its stories and language as a potential descendant of its oppressor. There’s a reckoning.
I have been inspired this month by two wise, Northern Irish elders: David Dunlop and Stephen Wilson.
I attended the launch of David’s latest book, When The Light Gets in last week. I was challenged by his commitment to fiction as a vehicle for shining light on sectarian issues and exploring the lives of those who dwell on the edges of faith traditions asking, ‘Do I?’ You can listen to this excellent podcast about his creative process and fascinating life experience that fuels his work.
Stephen is a photographer based in Belfast who has worked on many different projects, many of them focusing on the people of Northern Ireland. His most recent project is called Liminal: Photographing the Void. It looks at sacred spaces where people gather to worship, where dust gathers and stories are told.
The dust rests between the tightly woven threads of a stain-guarded, polyester-wool mix, designed-by-committee blue church carpet. The dust of years. The dust of ages. The dust of the faithful. The dust of the unfaithful. This is the dust of christenings, weddings, funerals, centenary memorials, dwindling congregations, organ fund-raisers, Christmas services and the week-in-week-out ritualisation of life in all its fullness. This is the dust of a thousand stories.
This is my dust; the dust of disappointment. The dust of the presence of an absence that may never have been a presence at all.
We live in dust. Dust is what remains.
Extract from, Very Little, Ultimately Nothing by David Capener (Included in Liminal)
His Kickstarter campaign seeks to raise funds to produce a high quality limited edition photobook. It showcases his photographs as well as stories, poetry and essays that shed some light on this liminal landscape. It is a beautiful, life-giving project. Look through his photographs, read the story and consider supporting this artistic venture - there are only four days to go!
I am grateful for this work as I make sense of my own story and make new maps to navigate this territory. Perhaps you might enjoy it too.
Happy Sunday x
“If I opt out of all of the above and move to Sligo, what am I then?” What a brilliant line 😍 a beautiful sharing, thank you x
Thanks for this Bethany. Just listened to the podcast and will def check out the book now. Thanks!