What's in a name?

The first time it was suggested that I consider a ministry position in Northern Ireland, I automatically thought "Protestant, Catholic." These terms seem to define and divide every part of life in Belfast. The segregation is not always evident, though. Although riots get all the media attention, it is in the everyday interactions where sectarianism is most important--and most subtle. Unlike skin color in the US, which shouts loud and clear, here it is usually hard to tell someone's background by their appearance. When people in Belfast meet each other for the first time, they ask questions that might seem normal: What neighborhood did you grow up in? Where did you go to school? But the answers have special meaning here. Growing up in "New Lodge" would mean something very different from "Rathcoole," as neighborhoods are extremely segregated. It seems everyone here feels the need to first establish someone's background before actually engaging with them. Now this is usually a very subtle thing, even to the people themselves. They might not quite realize that they are doing it, because it seems so normal. Nevertheless, the most important question behind any initial interaction is usually: "is this person one of us?"

As I get more accustomed to the culture here, more comfortable with and aware of things around me, I find myself doing the same thing. I wonder if this or that person is Catholic or Protestant, where they are from and what their experience has been like. At this point my curiosity is driven by a desire to hear how the Troubles have impacted that person's life. But I must be careful not to get comfortable with one group at the expense of the other. This danger arises because they segregate themselves, and thus my interaction with them is usually separate as well.

As in conversation, the streetcorners have subtle signs marking territorial loyalties. Like the US, graffiti often indicates which gang/paramilitary organization controls an area. But even paint on curbs and streetlights, which I wouldn't normally notice, is a signal here. I took the pictures below on my way to work one day, where I pass by curbs and streetlights painted red, white and blue, the colors of the Union Jack-- indicating a Protestant/Loyalist/Unionist neighborhood. Some markers are much more obvious, like flags and murals (see picture above). Is this place prepared for peace? Does "peace" simply mean an end to violence, or a lasting solution that would eventually involve a more integrated society? I imagine the mural refers to the former, but I am afraid that only the latter case can provide the context for true reconciliation.

I say that "I am afraid" because that utopia seems to be so far from the current situation-- because it will take the struggle and sacrifice of so many to move this city forward. "It feels like we spend our lives avoiding certain parts of town," one pensioner told me recently. "But what else can you do? You have to live your life." Those sentiments are typical: to cope with the violence many people have learned to simply avoid trouble spots. Thus those who might be somewhat accepting of the other side avoid the question altogether. Others in a position to reach out are silenced by a violent minority-- the paramilititaries that exercise control over most neighborhoods.

Even the terms "Protestant" and "Catholic" mislead those who haven't lived in the reality of this city. In the US these words are purely religious descriptions, but in Belfast they carry strong political implications. The word "Catholic" implies support for Republicanism or Nationalism, movements that see Northern Ireland as a part of the Republic of Ireland and see supporters as Irish citizens (thus the name "Irish Republican Army"). "Protestant" implies support for Unionism or Loyalism, which hold that Northern Ireland is a part of Great Britain and sees supporters as British citizens. Religious identities have been turned into political labels. Many who would term themselves Protestant or Catholic would not necessarily call themselves "Christian," and most of those involved in paramilitaries never set foot inside a church.

Obviously, the terms did not simply materialize out of thin air. They are steeped in the cultural tradition of Europe, and especially that of the British Isles, that often intertwined religion and politics into single ideologies. Political actors used the church, and the church used politics, to the damage of both. Although it has taken hundreds of years, churches here are beginning to recognize the dangers involved in political alliances. The day-to-day work of churches here differs little from those elsewhere, whether its encouraging congregants in faith and love, or caring for people through difficult times. Although there are notable exceptions, most pulpits do not encourage certain political leanings. Segregation usually happens because congregants self-select into the tradition they are more comfortable with. It is, in fact, remarkably similar to racial segregation in the American church.

Some have asked if my time here has made me cynical about the church, and the answer is most definitely not. If anything, I have witnessed church leaders struggling to change what they see as a society seething with anger and suffering from deep wounds. They are trying to change both their own congregations and their wider society, to open eyes and hearts to see the painful, and sometimes simply absurd, results of hatred. When violence threatens or in its aftermath, clergy are often the first ones to reach across lines and sooth tensions. Whitehouse Church collected money for a nearby Catholic church that was burned by an arson attack in 2001. Less than one year later, local Catholic churches returned the favor by offering thousands of pounds to help rebuild Whitehouse after it was destroyed by a similar attack. Many use their religion as an excuse to hate, but here I have also witnessed many who take the words of Christ seriously when he says "Blessed are the peacemakers," (Matthew 5:9) and "Love one another, as I have loved you" (John 15:12). I am of the firm conviction that we are called to nothing less.