Monday Morning Music Ministry

1-6-25

Around 20 years ago I lost my daughter Emily. Language gets a little funny here, so I must quickly explain that we lost her to the people of Ireland. Specifically, Northern Ireland. More specifically, to the city of Londonderry. To be even more specific, she was lost – language is indeed funny: I mean found – to the divided city of Londonderry / Derry, a city split down the middle, half in Ulster (the United Kingdom) and half in the Republic of Ireland. Micro-focus: to the neighborhoods and streets of that troubled city where for generations people had hated and fought and killed each other.

“Troubled” city: the so-called sectarian violence that divided neighborhoods and divided families and whose trademark was a “Bloody Sunday.” That day was merely the most populous and extreme example of decades of thousands of deaths and many more thousands of people, including children, inoculated with hatred. Catholics and Protestants did not debate theology; “religion-inspired resentments” is non-funny language; after centuries of national rivalries and cultural strife, hate can become a habit.

It was to that city of Londonderry / Derry, and that crying need for healing and reconciliation, that Emily traveled. She had felt the call of missions work as a little girl, and served on trips to Central America, Russia, and eventually to Northern Ireland through the help of our friend Paula Hays. Emily went on one trip; followed later on another, and after deciding to locate in Derry, invited other believers from America including my other daughter Heather, who took her church youth group on a missions trip.

Emily’s ministry often involved seeking out street kids or youths when the pubs closed, offering coffee, friendship, and Jesus… not denominational pitches. In this work she met Norman McCorkell. They fell in love, attended the Irish Bible Institute in Dublin together, and married, gracing me with two wonderful grandchildren.

Emily did not know it, but she was to duplicate a path traveled by Norman’s father, ironically but in a similar way.

Norman McCorkell Sr., had been a fireman in the Fire Brigades in Derry. Prosaic work, you might think, naturally somewhat physical. But during the “Troubles,” there were fires everywhere, many set by arsonists and terrorists. Car bombs. Stores set afire. Not infrequently, police and firemen were targets of snipers. I have met friends and relatives of the McCorkells who lost family members, even saw relatives killed, during these times. It was, perhaps, a blessing in disguise when Norman Sr was diagnosed with a heart problem and forced to retire.

Did I say that language can be funny? Norman, ex-fireman, did not go from the frying pan into the fire, but vice-versa. He became a worker, eventually a leader, with Prison Fellowship, the missions organization founded by Chuck Colson in America. For 29 years he visited prisons in his area, preaching from the pulpit, conducting Bible studies, holding meetings. Several new health problems overtook him, and he retired from active ministry; and he died last week.

(photo by Elsie McCorkell)

Since COVID, I have not made a trip to Derry to see the generations of McCorkells. I will surely miss Norman Sr., who was fun to talk to, ready with smiles and winks, could be earnest about his faith – he gifted me with local Prison Fellowship materials – and his love, common in Ireland, of American Country Music. Sadly, I never was able to manage a trip to Nashville for (and with!) him…

I watched a video feed of Norman’s memorial service in the Kilfennan Church. It was a beautiful and traditional service with hymns and Psalm readings and a moving sermon. One of Norman’s associates, introduced only as Jerry, shared some personal aspects of witnessing to prisoners, sharing God’s love and Christ’s compassion, and offering hope.

He spoke of Norman’s lack of hesitation to enter cells alone, to meet difficult inmates, to pray with hardened men.

He spoke of Norman’s “grand manner” of putting people at ease; of soft words, for instance instead of good-byes, asking “Would you mind if we just said a little prayer?” and “Can I just tell you today that God loves you?”

He spoke of what seemed to be Norman’s favorite word. To me, it sounded like “we.” But this is Ireland; the word was “wee” – as in “Can we have a wee word…?” or to a friend like Jerry in the beginning, “Can I ask a wee favor of you…” that led to his own decades-long volunteer work.

He spoke of Norman’s habitual mode of pursuit: pursuing God to grant blessings; pursuing friends to join the ministry; pursuing prisoners so to share the love of God.

He spoke of the prison ministry that expanded beyond Norman’s appointed hours and confines of prison walls. Follow-ups… mentoring… prayer times… contacts after prisoners’ releases.

In the congregation were quiet witnesses – the man who led Norman to faith years earlier; released prisoners who are leading productive lives; and converted followers of Christ, all because of Norman’s work.

Jerry mentioned one of Norman’s favorite Bible verses. Matthew 12:20 expanded on Isaiah’s words, “A bruised reed he will not break, and a smoldering wick he will not quench,” until He brings justice to victory.… It is a verse that inspired the title of a recent book by my friend Becky Spencer, and is a comfort to the downtrodden. In the words of a country song, victims of life’s circumstances.

Mentioning country music, this humble servant’s funeral service ended, after several ancient and reverent hymns, with loudspeakers playing out Sonya Isaac’s country hit “Only Jesus Loves You More Than I Do.”

Amid the memories and verses and music was the over-arching sense of the verse from Matthew 25, “Well done, thou good and faithful servant.” What a blessing if such can be said of any of us when we pass! What a challenge for the work we who remain must do.

Little is much – even, and specifically, those wee efforts – when God is in it.

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Click: Going Home

3-18-24

There is an “Irish Shop” a few towns away from where I live. It sells imported items and offers annual tours to the Ould Sod. The American-born woman who operates the shop with her husband always seemed to appreciate our visits, and, like my late wife, is a kidney transplant recipient, so there was never a shortage of conversation.

Once my daughter Emily, who has lived in Northern Ireland for 20 years, visited with us. She shared the reasons she move there – visits as a missionary to street kids in the “troubled” neighborhoods wracked by sectarian violence and the well-documented ancient hatreds; how her ministry was scrupulous about being “Christian,” not Protestant or Catholic in its outreach; about the many severe dangers in neighborhoods they entered with hot coffee and warm words. And how, soul by soul, hatred is dying and love is rising. Her heart is with those people – so is mine, especially now that I have two Irish-American grandchildren.

One time I entered the shop alone, and by way of introduction – for she has many customers – I said, “I’m the guy with the daughter who works with the street kids of Derry…” She remembered and said, matter-of-factly, “Oh, yes. Teaching the Protestant kids to hate Catholics.” No tongue-in-cheek. She was not kidding. Automatic reaction. Despite having heard testimonies, even having talked with Emily.

That remark, that attitude, knee-jerk prejudice, taught me anew about the lingering presence and power of hate.

I am sadly reminded that hatred and prejudice persist in this world. Some people seem happy only when they hate. Some people are virtual professional haters about causes and issues halfway around the world, even when they have never been to those places. These tendencies are in the news every day. For me, I still nervously listen to short-wave radio newscasts from Londonderry/Derry, on the border of Northern Ireland and the Republic of Ireland, where, yes, bombs still explode.

St Patrick knew about hatred. He was not a legend; that is, he really existed, unlike some other “saints” who nevertheless are celebrated. He lived in the late 400s, born in western England and kidnapped by Irish marauders when he was a teenager. As a slave he worked as a shepherd, during which time, somehow never despondent, his faith in God grew. He escaped to Britain, became learned in the Christian faith, and felt called to return to Ireland. On that soil he converted thousands, he encouraged men and women to serve as pastors, he worked against slavery, and helped quash Druid paganism and heresies. Among his surviving colorful lessons is using the shamrock to explain the mystery of the Trinity to converts.

He left Ireland on occasion… to travel through European lands, preaching, sharing Christ, explaining the Gospel, establishing church communities. Four hundred years after Christ, it is notable that even when the mighty Roman Empire adopted Christianity as the state religion, it was Patrick who first preached to alien and hostile tribes and barbarians. Roughly contemporaneous with St Augustine in Northern Africa, he was the first great missionary since Saint Paul himself.

Today, almost 1600 years later, in an odd way St Patrick is more of an American saint than Irish or universal. Why do I have that opinion? In America, not Ireland, cities hold massive parades, dye entire rivers green, and festoon homes and schoolrooms, even those of Blacks and Jews and Hispanics, in green. I once was in Dublin on St Patrick’s Day, and in the Temple Bar section of the city there were uncountable drunks in funny green hats, green vests, and “Kiss Me, I’m Irish” buttons. To a person, they were all… American tourists.

The Irish, north and south (and in the Anglican Communion too) revere St Patrick in a more proper and reasonable manner. My son-in-law Norman McCorkell, Emily’s husband, shares some thoughts here. He is a BA (Hons) graduate of the Irish Bible Institute in Dublin, and is passionate about discipleship and mission.

Patrick passionately embraced the best of Irish culture, redeeming it for the Gospel by firmly standing against elements that were incompatible – ending the slave trade; reducing tribal warfare and murder. His life was an example of a new and different kind of courage – one that lived fearlessly and peaceably through God’s promises in an atmosphere containing daily threats of those horrors: murder, betrayal, and enslavement.

Despite the violent, and even magical, opposition from locals (Druids and chieftains), and criticism from church leaders (conventional bishops in Britain), Patrick used his lack of formal church training to work creatively within his context. Instead of employing church structures used by the civilized Roman Empire – based in cities, where bishops were supreme – Patrick formed an ecclesiastical model more like the Irish, who were rural and tribal. The inhabitants of Ireland had no settled towns, roads, currency, written law, government bureaucracy, or taxation. Society was decentralized, and organized around tribes led by local “kings.”

With Patrick’s influence, monasteries were established and developed as places of spiritual devotion and learning. Young men who had once given their lives to clan feuds were now transformed by the good news of Jesus Christ. Monasteries became “sending centers,” noted church scholar Steve Addison: “the Irish church took on the character of a missionary movement.” And thus Ireland became a glowing spiritual base for sending out monks into western and northern Europe to “be pilgrims for Christ.” This made Celtic monasticism “highly flexible, adaptable, and able to be transplanted – everything that the Roman Empire was not.”

“Sending Monasteries” grew rapidly throughout Ireland and Europe, bringing with them unprecedented prosperity, art, and learning. These population centers on the continent would eventually develop and become cities.

And by the way, Monasticism became bastions of civilization and Christianity during the long “Dark Ages.” I thank Norman for these words from “the Ould Sod” itself. These are lessons for today: what we can do, too, even by ourselves and against great odds, to bring the revolutionary message of Christ’s Good News to others. Love, not hatred.

Patrick was a saint for all, and is a Saint for today. He taught us not to drink green beer, but how to overcome challenges, hear the Holy Spirit, formulate a vision, and change the world. Not just his land but the world; and the world ever after.

Click: St Patrick’s Breastplate (Be Thou My Vision)

3-19-18

In some ways, St Patrick is more of an American saint than an Irish saint. He was born in Britain and enslaved, while young, in Ireland. While tending flocks in the lonely hills, the unschooled boy sought God in his musings and humble prayers. Eventually he came to faith, followed God’s voice to dare returning to Britain. He did… he learned more of the Bible and Christian doctrine… returned to Ireland and mightily evangelized a special race of people, leading to their empowerment to great things, temporal and spiritual.

Why do I say he is, in a way, more of an American saint? Because in America, not Ireland, cities hold massive parades, dye entire rivers green, and festoon homes and schoolrooms, even those of Blacks and Jews, in green. I once was in Dublin on St Patrick’s Day, and in the Temple Bar section of the city there were uncountable drunks in funny green hats, green vests, and “Kiss Me, I’m Irish” buttons.

To a person, they were all American tourists. The Irish, north and south (and the Anglican Communion too) revere St Patrick in a more proper and reasonable manner. My son-in-law Norman McCorkell, of Derry, Northern Ireland, is our guest blogger this week. He is a BA (Hons) graduate of the Irish Bible Institute in Dublin, and is passionate about discipleship and mission. He serves on the teaching team of Foyle Vineyard Church in Derry; and visits the local prisons as a volunteer through Prison Fellowship Northern Ireland.

During the “Patrick celebrations” the more theologically minded among us will find it difficult not to marvel at the prolific missionary work in Ireland led by Saint Patrick. After returning to the land of his enslavement as a teenager from western Britain, some 400 years after Christ gave the command to go and make disciples, Patrick inaugurated a disciple-making movement in Ireland that would change civilization. His burden to see the pagan “barbarians” transformed through the Gospel stood in stark contrast to the church of the Roman Empire, which for many years constrained the Gospel to within its borders. A lack, frankly, of missionary zeal.

Patrick passionately embraced the best of Irish culture, redeeming it for the Gospel by firmly standing against elements that were incompatible – ending the slave trade; reducing tribal warfare and murder. His life was an example of a new and different kind of courage – one that lived fearlessly and peaceably through God’s promises in an atmosphere containing daily threats of those horrors: murder, betrayal, and enslavement.

Despite the violent, and even magical, opposition from locals (druids and chieftains), and criticism from church leaders (conventional bishops in Britain), Patrick used his lack of formal church training to work creatively within his context. Instead of employing church structures used by the civilized Roman Empire – based in cities, where bishops were supreme – Patrick formed an ecclesiastical model more like the Irish, who were rural and tribal. The inhabitants of Ireland had no settled towns, roads, currency, written law, government bureaucracy, or taxation. Society was decentralized, and organized around tribes led by local “kings.”

With Patrick’s influence, monasteries were established and developed as places of spiritual devotion and learning. Young men who had once given their lives to clan feuds were now transformed by the good news of Jesus Christ. Monasteries became “sending centers,” noted church scholar Steve Addison: “the Irish church took on the character of a missionary movement.” And thus Ireland became a glowing spiritual base for sending out monks into western and northern Europe to “be pilgrims for Christ.” This made Celtic monasticism “highly flexible, adaptable, and able to be transplanted – everything that the Roman Empire was not.”

“Sending Monasteries” grew rapidly throughout Ireland and Europe bringing with them unprecedented prosperity, art, and learning. These population centers on the continent would eventually develop and become cities.

Norman tells us several enormously significant things here:

Saint Patrick was a real saint, not a manufactured icon – a real man who overcame ignorance and slavery; sought God’s leading… and followed it.

His work, and his powerful, persuasive witness, transformed the social manners and repressive tendencies of countless tribes and warrior-kings in ancient Ireland. The Irish indeed saved Western civilization.

St Patrick overcame his challenges by love, and the Gospel of love. He was brave, all by God’s grace.

Four hundred years after Christ, it is notable that even when the mighty Roman Empire adopted Christianity as the state religion, it kept it within its borders, as large as the Empire was. It was Patrick who first preached to alien and hostile tribes and barbarians… the first missionary since Saint Paul.

— These are lessons for today: what we can do, too, even by ourselves and against great odds, to bring the revolutionary message of Christ’s Good News to others.

I thank Norman for these words from “the ould sod” itself. My daughter worked for awhile for the St Patrick Foundation, which works to bring healing, knowledge, and reconciliation to the two Irelands.

For Patrick is not an American saint, no. But he was not a Catholic saint alone, nor Protestant nor Church of England nor Church of Ireland.

He was a saint for all, and is a Saint for today.

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A thousand-year-old Irish hymn, “Be Thou My Vision,” has an extra meaning, sung here by Ginny Owens, who is blind.

Click: Be Thou My Vision