Posted on Jul 20, 2009
The Holy Island of Lindisfarne is a rocky island in the North Sea off the Northeastern Coast of England. A long spit of sand dunes extends behind the island, almost reaching the mainland. Holy Island is a creature of the tides. For part of each day it is a peninsula and traffic can cross on a narrow causeway. For the rest of the day it is an isolated island, especially isolated since the 150 full time residents have refused the possibility of establishing a ferry.
During the summer months it is easy to see why they value their isolation. When the tide is out, busloads of day trippers descend on the island, clogging the narrow streets and crowding everything. When the tide is in, there are only the full time residents and a 150 or so folks staying in hotels and B & B’s. The contrast is stark, and the quiet is all the deeper because of this contrast.
Lot’s of the people who come do so as we would come to spend time at Wrightsville Beach. It is their vacation time at the shore. Others follow an older tradition. Since the Middle Ages Holy Island has been a place of pilgrimage. In those days it was because of the life and ministry of St. Cuthbert, a gentle reconciling figure in a time of conflict in the life of the church. They now come for broader reasons.
Holy Island has become a place of more general spiritual pilgrimage. I have met pilgrims who have come expecting the Holy Spirit to “fall” on them. Others come for the profound sense of quiet. A common thread is that many come again and again, saying that there is something special about this place.
I first felt it two years ago when I ended my walk along St. Cuthbert’s Way. Holy Island was the goal, This time it is the beginning of the journey. I think that all of us would agree that our three weeks or so of European travel was wonderful, but it was also exhausting. These four days on Holy Island have given me a chance to get some rest as the next phase of the sabbatical begins.
There has been time for prayer; Morning Prayer at St. Mary’s, the local Anglican Parish, and quiet, contemporary prayers in the evenings at St. Cuthbert’s Centre, a Presbyterian Church.
Aside from this I have spent a good bit of time walking the dunes above the rocky shore. The North Sea is frisky this week and the waves on the rocks are a lot bigger than we usually get to see at Wrightsville.
Posted on Jul 15, 2009
I arrived on the Holy Island of Lindisfarne ealry in the afternoon after dropping Giles, Sam and Alex at the airport in Glasgow. Last time I came at the end of a 64 mile hike, walking the last 5 miles over the tidal flats. This time it was a quick drive over the causeway. It's a good thing I was driving. Three weeks travelling with the family was wonderful, but three weeks of playing tourguide was exhausting. This time around my Holy Island time was mostly recuperation.
Holy Island can't make up its mind whether it wants to be an island or a peninsula, and depoending on the tides, it is both during the day. When the tide is out and the causeway driveable it is a crowded tourist venue. But when the tide comes in and the causeway is under water, most of the tourists disappear and the population of he island drops to 300. That's when the island comes into its own. Every afternoon I went out to a beach facing the mainland to the North where the waves crash in over the rocks in an impressive fashion. There are supposed to be grey seals, and though I never saw them, I could hear them crooning at night.
I attended Morning Prayer and Sunday eucharist at St. Mary's, the parish church. It is a medieval church whch stands immediately behind the ruins of the Priory. I also attended a quiet, contemplative service at St. Cuthbert's Centre, the Presbyterian Church on the Island. I had spoken with the Rev. Barry Hutchinson at a Centering Prayer group last itme I was there and it was good to get reaquainted.
One day I drove south into Yorkshire to visit the ruins of Rievaulx Abbey. This was the motherhouse of all of the Cistercian Abbeys in Northern England and Southern Scotland, built during a great religious revival in the 12th Century. I managed to get lost along the way, but it was worth the extra driving. It is a very well preserved abbey nestled in the depths of a green valley. It was the home of St. Aelred , who is one of my heroes. He wrote a book called On Spiritual Friendship in which he said that friendship was the human relationship in which we see most closely refelcted our relationship with God.
On Monday, as I was leaving Holy Island, I drove south to Seahouses to take a boat tour of the Farne Islands. Just a few miles off of Lindisfarne, it was on Inner Farne that St. Cuthbert lived the last few years of his life as a hermit. There's a tiny medieval church on the island, whch is fortunate because it rained while I was there and I was able to squeeze in with the other visitors. It is also the home of thousands of Arctic Terns, Puffins, Skags and Cormorants. It's breeding season and the terns divebomb the heads of anyone who walks into their territory (i.e. the whole island). It's hard to imagine a saint being contemplative with the constant noise and the antics of the seabirds.
From Seahouses it was only 16 miles to Nether Springs, the "Mother House" of the Northumbria Community, where I was booked in for a 4 day retreat. The Northumbria Community is a dispersed community. The resident staff maintain Nether Springs a retreat center, but the 200 or so members of the community live out in the world, returning to the Mother House for rest and renewal. They follow a common rule of life, based on the Sermon on the Mount and inspired by the lives of the great saints who planted Christianity in the Northumbria.
It's a very down to earth retreat center, located in a rambling farmhouse with a walled garden. Everyone is expected to pitch in, and I did everything from harvesting blackcurrants to chopping oninons and washing pots. There is alo time for reflection and prayer. Everyone meets to pray in the morning, at noon, in the late afternoon and before bed. I had time to walk out to St. Cuthbert's Cave. Cuthbert was a 7th Century missionary bishop of Lindisfarne, known for his gentleness and the pastoral care he gave even to the poorest of his people. When the Vikings raided Lindisfarne several centuries after his death the cave was where the fleeing monks spent their first night. It is set in a ridge with a tall rock cairn on top. It is easy to imagine one of the brothers keeping eatch and looking back at the flickering flames of the manastery in the distance.
I was also able to visit Old Bewick (pronounced Buick) Church(a href="http://www.geograph.org.uk/photo/79636"). We think Lebanon Chapel is old, but old Bewick was built in the 12th Century. It is smaller than Lenanon and a real gem of a Norman Chapel. I spent an hour in the quiet, praying and reading evening prayer.
The community has a balance between contemplation and action. Two of the resident staff are a couple who came for a year to recuperate from years of active ministry with the mentally ill. They will be leaving soon to join a community which ministers to the homeless.
I will be leaving tomorrow to go to Melrose in Scotland. Melrose is where I began my walk two years ago, and I will spend my time visiting the ruins of the great border abbeys. On Saturday I head off to the island of Iona.
Posted on Jul 07, 2009
After spending so much time in major cities, Edinburgh was a relief. Everything we wanted to see was at one end or another of one street. We stayed within sight of Holyrood Palace, just next to the Scottish Parliament. It was an easy walk up to the castle and sights in between. Sam and I did some serious research at the Scottish Whiskey Experience (formerly the Scottish Whiskey Heritage Center) and we all visited the castle. THe weather was perfect and the view across the Forth was spectacular. One day is not enough, but better than nothing.
I had the adventure of picking up a rental car in the midst of town and then driving in rush hour traffic. No one was hurt and no cars were scratched. I've done quite a bit more British driving now, but a lifetime of instincts still rebels on the highway. By the time I get done I should be ok with it.
While I was picking up the car, Giles, Alex and Sam got to visit St. Giles Cathedral. If it wasn't named for her, it should have been. Though it's Church of Scotland (Presbyterian) it's still called a Cathedral from a brief stint as an Anglican Church under King James I. It's Thistle Chapel even features a carving of an angel playing the bagpipes!
We are now in Inverness, and today we went in search of Nessie. No sign of the old girl, but a good day for a drive and some time for a picnic by the loch (in between showers). Tomorrow we drive down the Great Glen to Fort William and then south to Glasgow to put Giles, Sam and Alex on the plane for home.
It's then that I'm off for Holy Island and the beginning of the work part of the sabbatical.