Horses of Moyross

To create a more robust curriculum in our mission training school, it was decided that we would visit a Catholic community living in Limerick, Ireland. Named “The Franciscan Friars of the Renewal,” this small band of dedicated brothers have decided to forsake all the world has to offer to live together in what is known as a wasteland of an estate. Moyross has been called the poorest and roughest estate in all of Ireland, notorious for anti-social behavior and crime. Perpetual robbery, vandalism, domestic abuse and violence define the estate. However, there is also another, very peculiar, mark on the community. You see, as the community formed over time, it became a place for Travelers to settle and with them, their horses. Yes, horses. So there, roaming in between the sparsely-situated, dilapidated houses and feeding in barren parks and soccer pitches lived another community of docile quadrupeds.


It is the darkest corner…but a light shines in the darkness.


One of the most common themes we focus on is the idea of regeneration, the idea that there is no person or place that is too far out-of-reach of the love of God. With that attitude we can go to any place knowing that we carry within us the power of Jesus to bring about change, hope. So we went. We went for two reasons, to hear from the Friars what it means to give up everything to live out the kingdom in community, to hear what it means to be wholly dedicated to prayer and worship, to hear and see the definition of love and service to the needy. The second was to do what we were learning in the very place we learned it.


We spent our afternoons working in a youth club, visiting homes, cleaning gardens and footpaths, praying, and playing with kids.


This is my own story.


On the first night we went out to start prayer walking but right away there were children in the square kicking about a ball. Within an hour we were surrounded by kids playing football, giving piggy-back rides and endless amounts of spinning in circles. There was an abundance of joy and laughter that was more than likely rare for that dark corner of the world. While we played however, a strange group of fierce looking individuals was forming in a field only 50 meters away. I stopped what I was doing and stood near Brother Thomas. The two of us gazed pensively at the looming gang and I asked, “What is that group, over there?”


“That is a hard group,” he said, ” Nearly impossible to get into. There are only three things they care about: drugs, football and horses. If you can play football you may get a foot in, more so if you know about horses.” Sure enough, in the middle of the crowd was a small, 14 hand high horse, who knows what breed, with a simple bit and bridle and no saddle.


“I think I’m going to talk to them.”


“Do…you want anyone to go with you?”


“Ummm…no, that’s okay,” and with that I began a walk of trepidation, convinced of two things, I was in danger and that God loved that gang of lads.


As I neared the gang each turned, one after another and stared and smirked at my approach. I have no idea weather they thought I was a fool or foe, but they were not exactly welcoming. When I was withing earshot of them I did what any slightly nervous foreigner who was not anyplace he should be did, I grinned a huge grin and began to chat.


“Hi! How’s it going!” (That was met with grumbling and snickering) “I saw that you were riding horses and I wanted to say that I thought it’s great these horses just get to wonder around, you would never see horses wondering around estates in the U.S. Do you ride often?”


A random lad piped up, “Yeah a few of us ride so we do, some on carts as well.” His tone changed, “Sometimes though the city will come and take the horses away, take them to the pound and maybe kill them.” He stared at me looking to see whether or not I was there to do the same.


“Well, I think these horses seem happy enough here,” stroking the present horse’s nose. There was an awkward silence as I stood there surrounded by the leery lads. Then a very strange thought came to me. “I’m gonna ride a horse” and immediately after seeing no saddle, “I’m gonna kill myself riding a horse.”


But I stuck to it. “Do you think I can ride?”


The very question stirred them up. They joked between themselves and started chatting. “Do you ride?” the young man asked.


“Well, I wouldn’t just be a great rider like, but I would certainly give it ago.”


“Right then, we’ll get you the other horse,” he smiled as he turned to face the estate and yelled in a very heavy Limerick accent shattering the thick quiet of the dusk.

“Bring ‘er in boy! Hurry it up!”


Then, out of the dimness and distance a ruddy fellow brought his short, stout, Tabiano-coloured Connemara Pony to a canter and hurried her in…no saddle, perfect balance, his frame moving fluidly with the gait and his eyes set like flint on us all. We watched him come in and halt in our midst. He jumped off effortlessly. All eyes turned to me and the lad I was with dropped to his knee near the horse and slapped it saying, “Right, on you go!” So I grabbed a lock of the horse’s mane, put my foot on his knee threw myself over the back of the mare like a sack of potatoes. I wriggled into place immediately aware of the lack of stirrups. For a moment I had no idea what I was doing, but quickly came to my senses. I sorted the reigns, straightened up and gave the mare a *chk*chk* and a nudged her around.


I trotted away from their sniggering and cheering and headed down the glen trying to keep from falling off. When I finally had my balance, I gave the nag another tap and off we went into a canter. Now at this point a problem was coming to me, and that problem was the police. I didn’t actually know if it was legal to run on the road, past the police, on a horse, through the neighbourhood. Furthermore, I wasn’t so confident in my riding that the idea falling off onto the pavement didn’t seem like fun. So I slowed her down and turned left into a field when suddenly a fellow passed me shouting either blessings or curses that I couldn’t understand. So I picked up speed again and headed back to the group. As I approached they waved me past saying to give it another go so I eased around and went again trying to keep pace with the other rider. I finally reached a pace where I was losing my balance and I was sliding off. (The audience also made me well-aware of my disgraceful riding posture by whistles and cackles). I grabbed a handful of mane and drove my knee into the pony’s shoulder and jerked back into place, turned about and came to a halt at the group.


I was greeted with smiles and laughter. I jumped off and we shook hands, said a few words back and forth and then I was called away home by a friend from the our own group. I would have liked to stay and chat, to find out more about them and share the good news that I carried, but this evening was sufficient because the Lord used me to bring a bit of laughter- To the hardest group, In the darkest corner. His love knows no bounds.