by Tarsha Banister
When I walked the rugged coastlines and stood among the ancient stones of Ireland, I could feel the weight of the past beneath my feet. From monastic ruins to famine memorials, the Irish carry their history with a deep reverence — not to be trapped by it, but to be shaped and strengthened by its lessons. As an African American woman, I felt a kinship in that rhythm. My own heritage also calls me to remember — to honor the struggles and triumphs of ancestors who endured the unthinkable, drawing strength from their resilience to guide the present and shape the future. Both the Irish and African diasporas remind us that the past is not a chain to hold us down, but a compass pointing us forward.
Ireland’s story is also one of remarkable endurance in the face of disruption and conflict. Centuries of colonization, famine, and political unrest could not erase their language, music, or faith. Instead, those trials deepened their identity. In that, I saw the familiar strength of my own people — a determination to keep our songs alive, our faith unshaken, and our stories intact, even under systems designed to silence them. Both our traditions teach that hardship can be the very soil where creativity, solidarity, and transformation take root.
Celtic spirituality, at its heart, felt like an invitation to breathe — to notice God in the wind that brushes your cheek, the stream that sings over stone, the quiet firelight that warms a still room. It is a spirituality where heaven and earth are interwoven, where the sacred is found in the ordinary. In this, I found a deep echo of African spirituality, which also recognizes the divine in nature — in rivers and mountains, in the sway of trees and the warmth of a shared meal, in the rhythm of life itself that pulses through community. In both traditions, creation is not a backdrop, but a participant in the holy conversation between God and humanity.
And then, there are the stories. In Ireland, storytelling is not just a pastime — it is a lifeline, carrying identity, preserving history, and knitting communities together. That heartbeat is the same in African and African American culture. From the griots of West Africa to the spirituals sung in cotton fields, from the testimonies shared on front porches to the proclamations lifted from pulpits, our stories have been our inheritance and our resistance. They are how we heal, how we remember, and how we hope.
One of the most sobering moments of my trip was touring the Titanic. Standing before the history of that great ship, I was reminded that even humanity’s most celebrated plans are not immune to tragedy. The Titanic’s story underscored a truth that transcends time — that human suffering is inevitable. And yet, it also testified that through community, faith, and the audacity to hope, people can rise with resilience and courage. It is in the aftermath of loss, not the absence of it, that the human spirit proves its strength.
I left Ireland with more than photographs. I left with a renewed commitment to honor my roots, to see the sacred in the everyday, and to keep telling stories that hold truth, beauty, and resilience. Fostering new friendships with other clergy was a particularly rewarding part of the journey, encouraging me as a faith leader stepping into a new assignment. While the retreat was refreshing, the journey of the heart will forever be etched in the corridors of my spirit. Experiencing Celtic spirituality alongside my African American heritage affirmed for me that across cultures, the same Spirit is at work — calling us to remember where we’ve come from, to honor the land beneath our feet, and to live in ways that ensure our stories and our faith endure.
In the end, Ireland was more than a destination — it was a mirror, reflecting back truths about faith, resilience, and leadership that I now carry into my work in the heart of the nation’s capital. As a congregational consultant and faith leader, I return home with a renewed sense that the same Spirit who speaks through the Irish hills and African homesteads is moving here, in our city streets and sanctuaries. The lessons of honoring history, embracing disruption as opportunity, grounding ourselves in creation, and telling our stories boldly are not just poetic ideals — they are practical tools for leading churches toward deeper connection, healing, and hope. Ireland reminded me that when we are rooted in God and in one another, we can stand, flourish, and bear witness — no matter the winds that blow.