"To Seem The Stranger Lies My Lot"

To seem the stranger lies my lot, my life

Among strangers. Father and mother dear,

Brothers and sisters are in Christ not near

And he my peace my parting, sword and strife.

England, whose honour O all my heart woos, wife

To my creating thought, would neither hear

Me, were I pleading, plead nor do I: I wear-

y of idle a being but by where wars are rife.

I am in Ireland now; now I am at a thírd

Remove. Not but in all removes I can

Kind love both give and get. Only what word

Wisest my heart breeds dark heaven’s baffling ban

Bars or hell’s spell thwarts. This to hoard unheard,

Heard unheeded, leaves me a lonely began.

Gerard Manley Hopkins

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Hopkins is in Dublin - his final assignment. Years of unsuccessful, unproductive postings loom behind him. Now, he is teaching in Ireland where, yet again, he does not "fit". He is different, a convert to Catholicism while most of his students are Irish-born true- believers, likely sympathizers of the "Cause". His decisions to convert, become a Jesuit, obey their tenets have been costly. The promise of Surrender’s peace lies unfulfilled. He is estranged from his family, "removed" from England, anguished by the tension between his 2 callings - priest and poet. He "hoards" his poems, keeps them to himself (for the most part) and, when he "unhoards", they are misunderstood, unrecognized. He fears that he has achieved very little, he is back to where he started, where he "began".

There are moments when this poem hits hard, when Scotland seems far removed. On arriving in the American-South, I immediately realized that accommodations were needed if I was to "fit". Most obviously, my accent and use of Scots phrases proclaim difference. Most of the time, they generate warmth and interest but, all too often, they are a source of ridicule and disdain. Over the years, I have moderated both although, to this day, they continue to hinder understanding.

If my accent is the most obvious indicator of being different, it is my Scottish family that is the most telling. It is there that my taciturn, laconic self was forged. As suggested by a very close Scottish friend, it is impossible to understand me without knowing my Dad - a life centered on managing his P.T.S.D., days (sometimes weeks) of silence, constricted emotions, embedded hyper-vigilance. Be quiet Alistair and "caw canny loon".

Included in the impact of Dad's wartime trauma was his total rejection of religion - faith in an omnipresent, caring God was NEVER part of his world. In our family, church was irrelevant, transcendent possibilities were denied. The complete antithesis of my American family . Some sort accommodation was required. Over the years, I have willingly explored religious themes, participated in Presbyterian rituals/hierarchy and, to this day, I am energized by the study of Early Christianity from a historical perspective. For the most part, my presence is encouraged/supported and I have formed vital and supportive friendships. Assert my metaphorical/historical understanding of Scripture/Christian Theology, however, then it clear that I do not "fit". I am different, I am a stranger

In all of this, I have NOT relinquished my deep skepticism but benefit from my understanding of "non-overlapping magistreria". I do not look to scripture to understand cosmic inflation or evolution . Neither science nor religion define/explain what happens as I listen to a Beethoven slow movement. I also know that religious faith (stipulation of a transcendent presence) informs and enriches the lives of folks who I love and respect. Let it be so.

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