Jack

Do you know of any famous people from Belfast? I do! I do!

My knowledge of the famous and infamous is... limited. Most of my friends learn this soon enough, when they name famous actors/singers/existentialist philosophers/whatever, and watch comprehension slide off my face like cheese off hot pizza.*

It's rare for me to discover someone who 1) other people know about, and 2) who I know about, like, and understand. It's extremely rare. One of these someones is:

(These three photoes are all over the internet... I'm not going to bother with sources.)

Who, I discovered when I got here, was born and raised here. Literally, right down the road. I have got off class and was bored and wandered down the same roads that he got off class and was bored and wandered down. I still think this is really cool.

Photo from http://dnausers.d-n-a.net/cslewis/brochure9.html (Jack's on the left - the other kid is his brother, Warnie.)


You do know who this is, right? Maybe not from the photos. He was an author, after all - the only photos you see are the ones stuck on dust jackets. This is C.S. "Jack" Lewis,** scholar, author, Christian apologist, expert in Rennaisance literature, sci-fi enthusiast (before it was cool), and all-around oddball genius. He’s best known for the Narnia books, and for the fact that he replied to every letter a fan ever sent, and for being friends*** with J.R.R. Tolkien. He also loved tea, thought sports were boring, and, yes, was from Belfast.

The infinitely kind Dr. Forbes arranged for half a dozen or so of her family and neighbours to go on a C.S. Lewis tour, on the logic that they could use me as an excuse, as you don't usually go on tours of a city when you live there.

The guide's name was Sandy. We got in a little bus at city centre. He pointed out the shop where Lewis, as a child, had wandered in and heard the "Ride of the Valkyries" being played (to advertise a gramophone, I think), and we got off and looked at the building where his father – Albert Lewis – worked, the place where the house was where he was born, the school he spent some time at (and hated), the church his grandfather was rector at, and so on. The guide quoted extensively from Surprised By Joy, which I haven't read, so it was all wonderfully interesting...

It was a quote from that book, in fact, that first sparked my... spiritual interest, I suppose you'd say... early in my teens. For the first time I’d heard a famous thinker quoted, from a nonfiction book, and I’d actually understood exactly what they were talking about. And he was writing from a similar direction to the one which I was coming from, so I found myself reading arguments that could just as well be addressed to me... also a rare and thought-provoking occurrence.

But really, if you want to know anything about Lewis’ books, go and read one. He was annoyingly productive as an author. There must be hundreds of the things. The Chronicles of Narnia, Mere Christianity, and The Screwtape**** Letters are some of the more popular ones, and each (I think) is worth a read. I'm not quoting him here, because, if you're reading this, you're probably friends with me on Facebook, and you probably see C.S. Lewis quotes all the time because of that. But back to the tour.

We got off once more and huddled round the gates at Little Lea. This was the house the Lewis family moved to when little Jack was still very little, and it's the house he remembers best: the house where his mother died, and the house where he would climb through the attics and hide in corners and read.

You can just see the peaked roof above the trees.

Our last stop of all, however, was The Seeker.

This is a statue, dedicated to Lewis, that stands in front of one of the city’s libraries. It doesn’t depict Lewis – the figure opening the wardrobe door is Diggory Kirk, the Professor from the Narnia books. He’s posed just opening the wardrobe...

Around the sculpture, in the pavement, Lewis’s name is written, with his date of birth – and date of re-birth – and with a description of him as a writer, a scholar, a teacher, a Christian... and an Ulsterman.

Belfast doesn’t widely advertise its history – though next year, the hundredth anniversary of the Titanic, has got people planning. But it seems to be proud in a quiet sort of way of C.S. Lewis. There’s a mural somewhere as well, and of course, there’s the study room at the QUB library:

Maybe I’ll re-read the Narnia books when I get home...

* I'm hungry.
** All anecdotal stories aside... seriously... what would you call yourself if your parents had christened you Clive Staples?
*** Who disliked the Narnia books because they were incoherent and allegorical, and described Lewis’ style as “pompous silliness.” Lewis, in turn, said (upon meeting Tolkien) that he ought to be smacked. Ah, true friendship!
**** I still think Screwtape would be a great name for a cat.

Holy Week & Easter

* Very enthusiastically, as will children anywhere when encouraged to make noise.

** She even brought out a blanket. It was like watching an infomercial. Are all those knitting needles slowing you down? Try a little crochet, and watch yourself create a baby blanket in a single night!

“By the time you read this, Easter will be past. Or will it? ... what we have is a seven week season of Easter... I think this is very important. The Christian faith is an Easter faith. Resurrection is central: no resurrection, no faith. It’s as simple as that... for a Christian, it’s even more important to celebrate it with worship and rejoicing than Christmas!... The usual interpretation of Easter is that it means you go to heaven when you die. It’s not my interpretation... It sounds dreadfully boring – all that harp-playing and Philly cream cheese? No thanks... Read the Bible, and you’ll soon discover that what the Lord’s resurrection leads to is altogether far richer and more exciting than that. It’s all about the renewal and transformation of creation itself...”

- Rev. Ron Elsdon

Easter in Northern Ireland... a bit late, I know. But it’s worth its own entry. The first week of break was Holy Week, and I spent most of it in church. I’m going to try and remember everything I did - so if this sounds like a list, I’m sorry. It was a lot to take in, and I’m still working through it in my head, even if I organize my photos and update my blog. But hey – it’s still Easter! And these two churches have kept me thinking, talking (and, often, fed) for nearly six months, so I’m going to talk about them as much as possible.

Holy Week began with Palm Sunday at St. Bart’s, where the children sang in front of the congregation.

In case I haven’t linked it before, this is St. Bart’s: http://www.stbartholomew.connor.anglican.org/wordpress/  



Where I sit on Sunday mornings.

Of course, this being Ulster, what they sang* sounded like “Shote hosannas tae ower Keng.” I still love the accents here... and you should read the above quote in a very proper English accent, as it’s a quote from the English rector’s letter in the parish magazine.

That night I went to Fisherwick. I was having trouble singing myself, because of being sick. But it was wonderful. The church was really throwing itself into the season, with a three-day prayer vigil – to pray for people to hear the word of God and make time for it in their lives - an art exhibit, and services of different kinds every night of the week. Trying, like Ron’s letter, to get people to really think about Easter as more than a day you just go to church on Sunday for.

This is Fisherwick: http://www.fisherwick.net/  

Monday, I probably should’ve studied, or cleaned my room, or done something otherwise productive. So I went to the zoo – more on that later. Let’s just say I was the only student who knew what a prairie dog was.

Wednesday I came in for the morning at Fisherwick, and found the place empty. There was tea and biscuits, and pictures and sculptures by local artists all arranged around the church. So I laid on the floor and drank tea, and thought and prayed and watched the sun shine in through the angels’ wings in the stained-glass windows. It was a beautiful day.

In the afternoon, I went hiking. In Belfast? Yes. I took a bus to Cavehill Country Park, and climbed to McArt’s Fort – that’s the bit known as “Napoleon’s Nose,” which supposedly inspired Swift to write about Gulliver on Lilliput. For people where I’m from – think Stony Man. I wasn’t tall enough, though, to climb into the cave on the hill. But it was fun. Afterwards I went to The Patchwork Goose, where you could hardly walk for heaps of yarn and fabric and hoops and this and that, and where I bought sock yarn, for knitting... feeling a little awkward as the shop lady had just spent a good five minutes expounding upon the wonders of crochet** at some other customers.

Pictures later.

Wednesday night was Fisherwick’s Taizé-style worship service. The choir did most of the singing, and the music was recorded, but I still knew half the songs by heart, including “Jesus, Remember Me” and “Bless the Lord, My Soul.” The minister had arranged them chronologically – with a song for each part of Holy Week. I’d never heard that done before, and it was beautiful.

On Thursday. Maundy Thursday, I brought my knitting with me and went to sit in the church. For the four hundredth anniversary of the King James Bible, they’d gotten people to read aloud during mornings and afternoons of the whole three days. I heard part of Isaiah, and Luke and Acts.

To people unfamiliar with the Gospels: Luke is the one that’s very narrative, includes women, the Magnificat, the shepherds, and “Blessed are the poor.” The author of Luke also wrote Acts, or the Acts of the Apostles, which tells what everybody else did after Jesus left – the conversion of St. Paul, and the stoning of St. Stephen, and so on. There’s a lot of emphasis on salvation being for all people. I like Luke. And it was really neat hearing it all read aloud, start to finish. You hear things that your eyes might skip over on the page.

Thursday night was the “Contemporary Praise” service.

Good Friday began with the early service at Fisherwick. It was a Communion service, and we sang “There is a Green Hill,” and “When I Survey the Wondrous Cross,” both of which I must’ve heard and sung a dozen times that week.

St. Bart’s had a short children’s service, later, followed by tea and biscuits while the children did crafts, making little paper baskets and things like that. This was followed by a quiet hour in the church.

That night was their Tenebrae service. That means... oh, here’s an explanation: http://www.kencollins.com/question-39.htm

Afterwards I went back to Fisherwick, where the choir sang Compline, and I sat and talked with people until the place went dark for the final night of the vigil.

Saturday morning, was breakfast at Fisherwick, served by the group of people going on a mission trip this summer, who’d spent the night up in the church. It was a full Ulster fry and it was wonderful.

But by then I was pretty much in shock, and I went and spent the day in my room, with a note on my door telling people not to talk to me till after Easter.

Easter Sunday!

Sunday morning was another breakfast – at St. Bart’s. It’s apparently a joke in NI that the only thing an Ulsterman can cook is a fry, so the men’s group does a huge fry breakfast every Easter morning, with nice tables set up and everyone invited. I sat next to Joan, an elderly lady who told me about her travels, teaching English in other countries, and how she never really learned to cook well because of the wartime rationing she grew up with.

You can tell it’s Easter when the church turns white, and when the clergy are standing around grinning like mad and handing out Cadbury cream eggs.

The Elsdons invited me to lunch at the rectory, along with a nice lady named Leslie, who I found out has guinea pigs and a good sense of humour. As before, Ron led me into the living room (or whatever they call it here), where I sat while he made tea. Then he came in, and Janice came in – and then left to change into shoes that weren’t killing her, having run about all week – and then Leslie came, with a bag of wine, and we all had tea and coffee and biscuits.

The rectory coffee table.

Tea went something like this:

"So," Leslie joked, "When's the follow-up post-Easter service?"

"Tonight, led by Leslie, readings by Meghan," retorted Janice, before drinking several cups of coffee.

“Ah, and his lordship has chosen to grace us with his presence,” said Ron, as the cat came in. Herbie climbed between the laps of Ron and Leslie, before he got bored with us and went to loll on his chair behind the sofa.

The rectory cat - Herbie, who is quite spoiled, and enjoying it immensely.

Both Janice and Ron were exhausted after Holy Week, and were glad to relax. We talked about travel and books and the silliness of the royal wedding. We had a lovely big lunch, with wine, and rhubarb crumble for dessert.

I came back later on for the Easter carols service, after which I went home, watched Godspell, ate cookies, cried for two hours, and slept.

Since it’s late, and I’m tired - I’ll stop there. Happy Easter, all!



One of the kitchens at 7 College Gardens, decorated for the season.

Saint Patrick's Day

Lá Fhéile Pádraig sona duit!*

Saint Patrick’s Day started Wednesday night. I went to the Inter-Chaplaincy Saint Patrick’s Day event at the Student Union. This was advertised as a ceilidh beag** so I thought it wouldn’t be too scary. It was fun. There was a ceilidh band, so, acoustic guitars, a harp, fiddle and whistle. There were a few worship songs and jigs, and then the chaplains paraded in bearing huge quantities of pizza. There were a lot of people there (I can’t guess the number of a crowd if it’s above fifty or so) so they had a speed-meeting getting-to-know-you game, which I can’t remember a single name from. But it was still fun – it’s good to remind people, I think, that the holiday is in fact a saint’s*** day, however many people use it as an excuse to get drunk and wear stupid hats.

The only bad thing about study abroad in a city is having no friends. Every activity that you have the opportunity to participate in is with other exchange students, and you have nothing in common with students from Europe or Asia, and really want to get to know Irish students, but every event that goes on has hundreds of people at it, so it’s near impossible to get to know anybody. I mean, you can’t even hear people talk. I desperately wish there was some kind of small-group activity going on, but I haven’t found it. At least, it doesn’t seem to exist independent of clubs (by which I mean nightclubs). I am an antisocial drinker – I like drinking, sometimes, but I hate loud noise and drunk people, which is a problem when it comes to socialization in a big city.

End rant. *sigh* Anyway....

Did I go to the parade? Yes. I went to the parade. Did I actually see any of it? Surprisingly, yes. While one of the downsides to being small is the inability to see over anybody else, one of the perks is being able to worm one’s way into just about anywhere. Thus, after a few minutes of patient worming across the City Centre street, I made it close enough to see the parade. I’d never been to a Saint Patrick’s Day parade before, so it was exciting - and this one has a colourful, home-made look to it, not like the big parades in the States. I thoroughly enjoyed it.

There was a H & W float, and a lot of people in bright costumes waving streamers, a Chinese dragon on poles that danced in a circle, a school marching band, and more – scroll down for pictures. The crowd was just as entertaining. From the languages and accents heard in the thick of it, at least half the people there weren’t native Irish. But don’t get me wrong – there were plenty of those there, too. The street was a huge, chattering sea of green, lots of children on shoulders waving paper shamrock flags, and there were also plenty of sequined bowler hats and other such tasteless accessories. A few people had even found tricolours and wrapped themselves in them like bath towels.

The crowd watching the parade - a lot of children on shoulders!



What is this? I don't know...



... but it was followed by a troupe of children on unicycles!

One of two artistic fish, carried by people in front of...

... the Harland & Wolf shipworks float.

And the Chinese dragon, obviously a time-honoured Saint Patrick's Day tradition!
Note: girl at the far left lives in 7 College Gardens as well!

The blue people were my favourite. I have no idea what they were supposed to represent (if anything) but they were pretty. They spun their bird streamers round and round, and it looked as though they were caught in the middle of a flock of big, bright birds, such a contrast to the dull colours of the city.

These came after the blue people - the yellow and green, and then the pink and purple!

Then - your friendly Monster Muppet Man!

Finally, a band of marching Scottish pipers.

As I said - exciting!

There were also police officers. Everywhere.

The College Gardens students meandered over more or less together. After the parade, the others disappeared to go off drinking. This was interesting, as I didn’t want to go off drinking, especially at noon, and didn’t know the way back to College Gardens. So I wandered around City Centre for a while, and then went shopping. I’d been wanting to find some tights or long stockings (there are only so many layers you can get a pair of jeans over). I went to a charity shop on the corner. I love charity shops – they’re the little British equivalent of thrift stores. Instead of the DAV or the CHKD, you get Oxfam and the Marie Curie Cancer Centre shops. You get the same shelves of suspicious paperbacks, disorganized clothing, and deranged-looking ceramic animals like pigs and geese and elephants that you wonder why anyone would buy in the first place. It’s fun.  

There was a French family there while I was there, so I got to listen to the parents wrangling their children in exasperated French. I asked the lady behind the desks where people here went to buy socks and tights and things. Almost everyone here wears them under everything, so far as I can tell, even shorts – because it’s cold and damp all the time, you do not want to go bare-legged or wear skirt without anything under them.

I was pointed towards Primark, across the street. Remember how I said there’s no Superstores of any kind? Well, the clothing department in a big store in the States – think Target or Wal-Mart – apparently exists independently, here, in the form of Primark. It’s the kind of place where there are lots of children yelling, lots of sale racks, disposable drinks cups perched on displays, and there are displays of huge heaps of shirts and skirts falling off hangers with signs saying “NOW 50% OFF” and "£1." It's my new favourite clothing store, I've decided, and when I wear holes in all my socks I'll head on back.

Afterwards, I went home. Things were pretty mellow for the moment.

However, I knew there'd soon be a big, noisy party. But luckily I had plans for the night – or, for the next couple hours:

The main table in front of the church. The lady in the blue coat is Janice, the curate.

 Every year on Saint Patrick’s Day, St. Bart’s sets up some tables with snacks, hot tea, and coffee, and gives it out for free to passersby. The theory is that the drunk students will be distracted and get some real food inside them to offset the alcohol, which, speaking as a college student myself, is an excellent idea. In this city things can get crazy bad the week of the 17th - there's posters up in the houses, and e-mails sent out, warning exchange students and pleading with the natives. People just start drinking, and don't stop.


Of course, in addition to this practical concern, it makes a lot of people very happy when someone comes down the sidewalk with a tray saying, “Free sandwiches! Free sweets! Biscuits! Rock Cakes! Happy Saint Patrick’s Day!”


Some people stayed at the tables, and some people went to houses where they knew there’d be parties, and some people went up and down the streets. The block over had crowds of students all up and down, and I emptied a whole tray of sandwiches and tiny sausages in minutes. Hopefully, it did some good.

These splendid people are Ross and Elizabeth, who are from different churches and came over to help out.

I signed up for 4-6, and had to leave by 6:30 because I couldn’t feel my fingers or toes, despite the paper cups of hot tea I kept drinking, more to hold than for any other reason.

I’m now very determined to finish knitting these woollen socks. Watch it get warm the moment I bind off. Just watch.

Happy Saint Patrick’s Day!

*I’m pretty sure this is how you say “Happy Saint Patrick’s Day.”

**“little party” (pronounced kay-lee beg)

***Saint Patrick – Patricius – was actually born in the place that’d later be Wales. He was taken to Ireland as a slave. Just saying.

No leprechauns were involved in the making of this holiday. Unless, of course, the fairies get drunk and go out dancing as well, and need new shoes.

Yorkshire Pudding, The Rectory Cat, Mysterious Wool Shops, And So On

Nothing terrifically exciting has happened to speak of. But I'm going to speak of it anyway.

This past week has been a hard one for mood swings and schoolwork. It's frustrating coming from a life of small-town atmospheres into a city, and into a big school: I'm used to knowing everyone, or knowing someone who knows someone who borrowed this book/collander/hacksaw from someone last week (and so one), and used to knowing where everything is (or, to knowing someone who knows where everything is).

Population statistics for comparison, taken from Wikipedia and other reliable sources:

Williamsburg, VA: about 14, 000*
Swannanoa, NC: about 4,000
Warren Wilson College, in Swannanoa: about 900 students

Belfast, NC: about 276, 000
Queen's University Belfast, in Belfast: about 17,000

So, according to the all-knowing internet, THIS SCHOOL is only slightly smaller than my hometown and my college town PUT TOGETHER.

I don't. I don't even. My brain, it is broke.

Anyways...

... I've expanded my biscuit collection to include custard creams and bourbon creams (chocolate custard creams). I also tried a new recipe last night. An experiment in English cooking:

Toad-in-the-hole!

When I was little, the characters in a book** I was reading ate this for breakfast once. I thought the name was brilliant, and I've been waiting since then to try and make it. My problem was 1) I kept forgetting, and 2) I keep living at Wilson and/or with health conscious/vegetarian people. Now, however, I'm taking advantage of the fact that I'm cooking for myself (both health food and junk food can happen to other people) and have access to dozens of local butchers who sell loads of lovely English sausages.

It's made by browning sausages, and then baking them in Yorkshire pudding batter. My photo was taken after Maureen and I had eaten half of it, so it's deflated quite a bit. I didn't really follow a recipe, so here's the Wikipedia page if, like me, you find the food the most interesting part of this blog: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Toad_in_the_hole You should all try it.

To health conscious types: I served this with carrots. Don't have a heart attack.

Moving right along.

This is the view from my window:

Does anyone know what these trees are? They're very pretty.

They're one of those small beauties that make up for all the annoyances school, and life in the city, heaps on one's head. A website stops working, the guy at the fish-and-chip shop can't hear you and, when you open your little carton of dinner later, it turns out he just gave you chips (the sad), someone makes a recipe you wanted to try when you were gone and doesn't do it the way you'd planned (with ingredients you bought together), your partner for a class presentation happens to skip both the lecture at which you'd intended to make contact with her and the tutorial at which you're supposed to presenet... etc. etc. etc. But there are flowers outside your window, and magpies fly in pairs, and children fidget with Irish step-dancing steps.

Seriously, that last one was adorable. She was wearing glittery shoes, too. This was at the tea table after the service last Sunday. Now - that's something I need to write about, but I never seem to get around to it. I've been going to the second Sunday service at St. Bartholomew's, an Anglican church down Stranmillis, for the past few weeks. Surprisingly, I like it: I suppose being raised with no structure whatsoever means I don't instantly run when someone pulls out a prayer book. Personally, I find the set prayers and organized services calming. The organization allows one to think, instead of thinking "What's going on?" all the time.

I've gotten to sing "All Things Bright And Beautiful" for the first time, and I've enjoyed the sermons and the children's talks. I don't remember yesterday's sermon (sorry, Janice) but yesterday was Transfiguration Sunday, so the children's talk was about school uniforms - how the lady talking hadn't been recognized by a schoolteacher, as a child, because she wasn't in uniform at the time, and how the Transfiguration was like that because the disciples hadn't recognized Jesus as God until they saw him on the mountain top. I love how in-context this is... how many churches in the States would be able to use an example like that? Here, most children wear uniforms, so it works.

The ministers - by which I mean the curate and the rector, though I'm pretty much clueless at to what those words actually indicate - are very nice, and had me over for Sunday dinner a few weeks ago. Their names are Janice and Ron. I'm sure they have a last name, but I've yet to hear anybody use it. Ron spent a summer working at the Smithsonian, studying volcanic rocks - this was ages ago - so they knew where I came from and were eager to make me feel at home here.

They're also birdwatchers, so all through dinner Ron - who was facing the window - kept seeing birds he'd been wanting to take pictures of, getting up, getting the camera, and rushing back only to the find the thing had flown away. This, while Janice was enthusing about American brownies, until the other students there, a couple, brought up the subject of cats. Dinner ended as a group adoration of Herbie, the rectory cat.

Herbie was fun. I was led into a room, to sit on a couch and wait while Ron wandered around somewhere preparing tea. I tried a biscuit from a tin and looked at the books on the bookshelf. Then, the door opened a fraction, and a cat strolled in: a huge white and grey-striped cat. He saw me and stopped dead, giving me a look that said, "What. What is this." At which point he hid behind the couch, much affronted. I was informed over tea that this was Herbie, and the space behind the couch which I had sat on was His Space.

I'll write more about St. Bart's after tomorrow's pancake supper. And about Fisherwick, as well - am I a total nerd that, when I found out they had an evening service, I got really excited thinking "Wow, I can go to church twice every Sunday!" Yes.

It might be a good time to warn all and sundry that Facebook is on my Lent list. You will have to utilize primitive technology and e-mail me. It's difficult, I know.

By the way, I found the wool shop - Jean's Wool Shop on Cregagh Road. Maureen and I walked all up and down that road a couple weeks ago - no sign of the place. We went back there last Friday, after food shopping at St. George's, and walked all up and down the road again. Still no sign of the place. There's a Tesco, a charity shop, two butchers, and things of that nature, but try as we might we couldn't locate this wool shop. So we bought some milk - it's cheaper at the butcher's than at Tesco - and turned to head back to College Gardens.

And there it was.

Highly suspicious, if you ask me.

Here's what I bought: green wool to make a warm cabled vest, and some variegated green wool for socks. Two complicated projects should last me for a while. I hope.

* Technically, I live in Norge. But I didn't put up the population statistics for Norge, VA, because the internet doesn't believe that people live there.

** One of the "Indian in the Cupboard" books, if you must know. I can't remember which one. You should go and read them all to find out.

This And That... And A Theological Lecture, Just For Fun

I've now been in NI for a whole month! It feels longer, but it also feels shorter, because of the time I've spent in class (not sure how that works, but, it does). I've been cooking for myself for a month, wandering around a strange city for a month, listening to people speak all kinds of strange accents for a month. At this very moment I am sitting in the kitchen - it's one of the few places in this house where we can pick up internet - listening to two of the other exchange students toast crumpets and talk to each other in Chinese.

I've also been seeing the first signs of spring. It isn't deathly cold the moment you open a window, for instance, and flowers are beginning to come up.

Just in time for me to finish my knitting project - yes, the "airplane" project:

Knitted wool lace is the funnest fabric to squidge your fingers in. Fact.

I have to find some more wool soon and start another project, because it's maddening sitting in lectures without something to do with my hands. If I don't knit, I take crazy frantic notes, and if I force myself not to take notes, I fall asleep. Knitting is a good thing.

And, just because:

Yes. I now own Harry Potter as Gaeilge.*

Speaking of books, and of general awesomeness, one of the things I did this past week was attend the 2011 Church of Ireland Theological Lectures. These are an annual event at Queen's. They're free, and you can have tea and biscuits if you come early to the Hub (the Anglican chaplaincy cafe). This year, the speaker was Michael Ward - the "Narnia Code" guy. Basically, he is a chaplain at Oxford and a C.S. Lewis** scholar/enthusiast who wrote his thesis on the way the symbolism in the Chronicles of Narnia corresponds to the seven celestial bodies in pre-Copernican cosmology. That is, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe uses Jupiter-ish symbols, Prince Caspian uses Mars-like symbols, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader uses Sun-like symbols, etc. Which was yet another way Lewis was tracing different mythologies, traditions, and so on back to Christianity, if that makes sense (please... if this is interesting... read the book. Don't listen to me).

I found the lectures intriguing, and I think he's probably right - that there's a level of medieval cosmological symbolism in the Narnia books. The idea that they were written to showcase this symbolism (which I think some people may have gotten just by hearing of it) is obviously absurd, and he made a point of pointing this out. But the fact that it's there makes sense, at least to me, because I've read enough by and about Lewis to know that that's exactly the kind of thing he would've done (which is one of the points Ward made, for people who hadn't read the books - yes, there are people who haven't read the books, but who came to the lecture anyway, and of course were confused anfterwards... *sigh*)

This is how I ended up having tea at a table full of Anglican clergy, including a bishop and a retired missionary. Which was fun. The Hub was decorated in "Narnian" style, which meant a plastic fir tree in every corner, and a dorm wardrobe full of faux fur coats at one wall, with a quite adorable little plush lion lounging on top. The walls had papers with Narnia quotes written in marker, and they'd put up white Christmas lights, and put the first movie on the TV screens (which usually show news or sports or whatever).

And, when questions about Tolkien came up, as they do in conversations about C.S. Lewis, guess who was the only person at the table who knew the answers... being a fantasy nerd does come in useful in the real world sometimes.

Anyway, it was Janice and Ron from St Bart's Parish Church who told me about the lectures. I'll write more about them and the church later.

Ooh - just found the Planet Narnia website: http://www.planetnarnia.com/ I've yet to read the book. I bought it - the long version, of course - and he signed it "to Meghan, with Jovial regards." I have it, and an unread C.S. Lewis book, waiting for me once I manage to clamber over the mountain of sociology and history books that seems to have erupted over my desk.

*I think this is right for "in Irish"... but, needless to say, don't quote me on it.

**Who, for those who don't know, was Irish - from Belfast! More about that later, too (meaning, I'll probably take a tour, or wander around on my own, being a total creeper, and take pictures of plaques and statues and things).

And Then Some Other Stuff Happened

A bit overdue... but here we go!

The Sunday before last, I went to a service at the nearest church to College Gardens, Fisherwick Presbyterian Church. This is, apparently, where the exchange students go. There were a lot of non-Irish and international people there. Two American college grads, over for an internship, showed me around.

It's a pretty building: lots of stone and stained glass. The service itself reminded me of Montreat Presbyterian (if Katie reads this). I liked the sermon. It was on the parables of the Kingdom of God from the Gospel of Matthew, and the part I remember best was when the minister was on the Parable of the Weeds (as in the NIV):

The Parable of the Weeds

 ²⁴ Jesus told them another parable: “The kingdom of heaven is like a man who sowed good seed in his field. ²⁵ But while everyone was sleeping, his enemy came and sowed weeds among the wheat, and went away. ²⁶ When the wheat sprouted and formed heads, then the weeds also appeared.
   ²⁷ “The owner’s servants came to him and said, ‘Sir, didn’t you sow good seed in your field? Where then did the weeds come from?’
   ²⁸ “‘An enemy did this,’ he replied.
   “The servants asked him, ‘Do you want us to go and pull them up?’
   ²⁹ “‘No,’ he answered, ‘because while you are pulling the weeds, you may uproot the wheat with them. ³⁰ Let both grow together until the harvest. At that time I will tell the harvesters: First collect the weeds and tie them in bundles to be burned; then gather the wheat and bring it into my barn.’”

(from http://www.biblegateway.com/, because I'm too lazy to type it up myself.)

Which he explained as being God's reminder to us to tolerate our differences because we, the servants, can't always make good judgements about what's good and what's not... by trying so enthusiastically to weed out the bad, we ruin the good. Only God can always tell the difference.





The windows were too high for tiny me to take good pictures of... but here's something a little lower. Both the churches I've been in so far are decorated this way, very beautifully.


There was a lunch for everyone after the service. This was soup and sandwiches. I'm still in awe of all the substances the British put in sandwiches. There was chicken and stuffing, ham and cheese, cheese and grape, possibly red pepper, etc. and those were the ones I could identify. I tried one of each anyway.

After church I went back to the house, where Maureen and Jessica (a post-graduate education student from Canada) where deciding to go to the City Centre. I joined them and we went to the bus station. Somebody had gotten angry with the bus, or something, last night:

So it was a tad bit difficult to read the schedule. But we caught the right bus, and got to the City Centre, where we went out to eat, and walked around looking at City Hall and its statues.

The Crown Bar

Maureen and me in the Crown Bar

Jessica in awe of the lovely old windows



The sticky toffee pudding, which you MUST TRY if you go, because it's delicious.



Queen Victoria, just generally presiding.

The Titanic Memorial

Soon: the Ulster Museum, the Giant's Causeway, food (clearly the most exciting topic of all), the library, and more, and more...