Week VI • Wednesday
Gordon Wilson, wee draper from Enniskillen
Week VI • Wednesday
Voices from the Landscape
Gordon Wilson died suddenly in 1995 at 68. I had known him slightly: my father once brought me to his draper’s shop in Enniskillen for my first suit. A devoted Methodist, he lived and worshipped on the island hill beside the Catholic Church and Anglican Cathedral.
I returned from Haiti to Belfast during the Troubles—an inadequate word for the conflict from 1969 to 1998 that killed 3,642 people and scarred thousands more. Among many stories of courage and cruelty, Wilson’s is the clearest example of grace and forgiveness.
On Armistice Sunday, the IRA bombed the Enniskillen Cenotaph, killing his daughter, Marie, and eleven others. Buried under rubble, she reached for his hand and said, “Daddy, I love you very much,” before dying in hospital.
The next morning, Wilson said on radio: “I bear no ill will, I bear no grudge. Dirty sort of talk will not bring her back.” He had prayed for the bombers. These quiet words from a “wee draper from Enniskillen” had extraordinary impact. Soon afterwards he accepted an invitation to attend Mass at the nearby Catholic church; the congregation greeted him with a spontaneous standing ovation.
His forgiveness was lived, not spoken. He worked for peace, even meeting the IRA Army Council to plead for an end to violence. Later, as a Senator in Dublin, he and his wife received death threats, yet he remained gracious and understanding—especially toward victims who could not forgive.
Wilson did not live to see the Good Friday Agreement, nor the full influence of his witness. Historian Jonathan Bardon wrote that no words in 25 years of violence had such emotional impact, and the Queen quoted him in her Christmas message.
IRA figures later admitted his words had shaken them. In Defining Moments, Danny Morrison said he could no longer act as an IRA spokesman after hearing Wilson speak. Others, including Mitchell McLoughlin, confirmed his crucial role in pushing the peace process forward.
wonderings
- I wonder what kind of peace Jesus offers when he says, “Do not be afraid,” and how that peace speaks into Ireland’s story of division and healing.
- I wonder what it feels like to trust “the way” when the path ahead, like during the Troubles, is unclear, painful, or full of fear.
- I wonder how Gordon Wilson’s forgiveness might help us imagine new ways of reconciliation in our own relationships and communities.
- I wonder where I am being invited to cross a threshold of hurt, history, or mistrust — and what grace might
Reflection
Can anything grow out of rubble?
Rubble – the image of destruction – the grey ruins of Gaza, the shattered buildings in Dresden, the desecrated cathedral of Coventry, the bodies crushed at the Cenotaph in Enniskillen? Rubble, clogging lungs and choking plant life and growth. .
And yet – from under the rubble of Enniskillen, words of love –“I love you Daddy.” Not words of anger or bitterness. Maybe those words were the seed planted in Gordon Wilson’s heart. Maybe that seed produced the green shoots of words of forgiveness.
And maybe those shoots eventually produced fruits of grace and peace which we experience day by day in Northern Ireland.Fruits that must have seemed impossible in the grey, choking rubble of he bombing. Yet which stubbornly kept on growing. Just as fragile, beautiful wild flowers defiantly force their way up to in the barren wastelands left by violence.
Rubble can be cleared as the Trummen Frauen in Dresden and Berlin showed. Their spirit refused to be crushed and their cities have been rebuilt more beautifully than ever. But much deeper resurrection from the stifling “rubble” of Germany was the excruciatingly hard work for Germany of accepting the burdens of its shameful past.
Vergangenheitsaufarbeitung was a process of lifting the spirit of Germany from the soul destroying rubble of Nazism. As Gordon Wilson continued his work of reconciliation despite criticism, so too, there are those who seek to undo German attempts at redemption.
But there are many who cherish and protect the rebuilding of all that Germany can now genuinely be proud of ( (See “ Learning from the Germans. Confronting Race and the memory of evil”. Susan Newman.) The truth is that God was in the rubble of Enniskillen as evidenced by the lasting impact of Gordon Wilson’s life.
Of course, for many of us the rubble which threatens to crush us comes , not in dramatic and traumatic ways but just in the overwhelming stresses of day-to-day life. God is with us here too and can help clear our lungs of the suffocating rubble and allow our souls to breathe freely.
Henry and Elizabeth Keys,
Ireland
prayer
A Dhia na trócaire,
socraigh ár gcroíthe imníoch
agus treoraigh sinn i slí na síochána.
Leighis créachta na cuimhne
in Éirinn agus i ngach áit,
agus déan sinn mar uirlisí misnigh,
maithiúnais agus dóchais.
Go stiúra do shíocháin ár gcoiscéimeanna
agus go ndéanfaidh do ghrá sinn iomlána.
Amen.
God of compassion,
steady our fearful hearts
and lead us in the way of peace.
Heal the wounds of memory
in Ireland and beyond,
and make us instruments of courage,
forgiveness, and hope.
May your peace guide our steps
and your love make us whole. Amen.
bible reading
John 14:1–14
The air in the upper room is thick with confusion and fear. Judas has gone; Peter has been warned of his coming denial. The disciples sense that something is ending. Into that trembling silence, Jesus speaks words that have steadied hearts for centuries: “Do not be afraid.”
He does not offer certainty, but relationship. “I am the way, the truth, and the life.” This is not a map or an argument – it is a person. The way is not a route to safety but a journey into deeper trust; the truth is not an idea to be defended but love embodied; the life is not escape from death but communion that endures through it.
Rowan Williams writes that the peace Christ gives is not “a freedom from disturbance but a rootedness in the life of God.” Faith, he suggests, is not about managing fear or mastering knowledge, but allowing our lives to be drawn into God’s unbroken flow of love. Peace comes when we stop clutching for control and allow ourselves to be held.
Jesus does not promise the disciples clarity – he promises presence. “I go to prepare a place for you.” In John’s Gospel, this is not only a future hope but a present reality: the abiding space within God’s own life where love has already made room for us. That place is not far away; it is the heart of Christ.
For Europe, a continent that has often confused truth with dominance, and “the way” with power, these words carry a quiet invitation to humility. To trust Jesus as the way is not to claim exclusive possession of truth, but to walk the path he walks: the way of service, compassion, and peace. It is to seek truth not as weapon but as relationship – to embody it in acts of mercy and mutual understanding.
In every generation, the Church must learn again that peace does not come from mastery, but from belonging. As Rowan Williams observes, faith begins when we learn “to stand still and let God be God.” The disciples will soon scatter, yet Jesus’ promise will pursue them: “Where I am, there you may be also.”
The way of peace is trust. The truth of peace is love. The life of peace is Christ himself – still kneeling, still serving, still leading us home.
reflective action
Do one act today that crosses a boundary- cultural, denominational, political, or personal.
A message of thanks, a listening conversation, an apology, or even lighting a candle in a place you would not normally enter.
Let it be your own small version of entering the other
journalling prompt
How might forgiveness, even if only partial or aspirational, open a window for healing—for me, for another, or for my community?
Record your feelings honestly.
What resistance do you feel?
What small seed of grace might be emerging?
