Posted on Jul 22, 2009
On the Feast of Pentecost in the year 563 an Irish monk named Columba and twelve companions landed on the island of Iona in the Inner Hebrides. They climbed a nearby hill to be sure that they could no longer see ireland, for which they were already homesick, and then set about building a manastery. This monastery became the center for the spread of Chrisitianity throughout Southeastern Scotland and Northeastern england. A century later, a missionary from Iona, Aidan, carried the gospel to Northumbria, and founded the monastery on Holy Island as a foundation for his missionary work.
The monastery on Iona was closed at the Reformation and soon fell into ruins. The abbey church was restored in the late 1800's and in the 1930's a Scots Presbyterian minister from the slums of Glasgow brought unemployed working men to finish the job by restoring the rest of the abbey. Thus was born the Iona Community, a community of laymen and clergy with a commtment to work, to prayer, to peace and to justice. The community now maintains three centers, the Abbey, the MacCleod Center (named for the founder George MacCleod) and Camas, a rough camp on Mull used as a camp and retreat for poor and at risk inner city youth.
The community has 200 or so members who vow to meet together regularly, to pray, to work for peace and justice and to account for how they use their time and money. Their are also associates who agreee to a lesser level of commitment. All live ordinary lives out in the world.
The Abbey and the "Mac," located on a hill above the Abbey, serve as retreat centers and a place for the community to stay when they gather yearly. There are 40 or so of us staying in the Mac this week. We come from all over the world and all backgrounds. Their are many individuals, but also groups. At least 4 of us are clergy on sabbatical (3 of us on Lilly Endowment grants!), a group of English and German folks whose parishes have a companion relationship, and individuals from the UK, Canada, Australia and Sweden.
There is worship twice a day in the Abbey Church. The Morning and Evening Prayer services are very simple, but the music is very rich. Much is sung ot familiar hymn tunes, or folk tunes from around the world, but the texts are contemporary, often calling us to service in the world.
There is a program every morning, with topics ranging from the spirituality of the Celtic Church to the history and practice of the Iona Community. There are a variety of activities in the afternoons and evenings. On Monday night there was a cailidh (kay-lee), a Scottish song and dance fest, in the village hall, with lively dancing, singefrs, fiddlers and even a piper.
On Tuesday we went on a "pilgirmage," a seven mile hike over rocky territory and though bogs to various points of interest on the island. Wesaw a quarry where they used to produce Iona marble, a beautiful white marble with green veins running through it. At 2.7 billion years old, it is much older than anything nearby. In fact, Iona is geologically closer to Newfoundland, across the Atlantic, than to the island of Mull, just across the channel. We visited St. Columba's Bay, where tradition says Columba and his companions landed.
There was a healing service Tuesday night, and many people wondered if it was a coincidence that it came right after the pilgrimage and the cailidh.
On Thursday there was a boat rip to Staffa Island, a volcanic island 5 miles from Iona. Like th eDevil's Causeway in Northern Ireland it is made of pentagonal columns of basalt, but these rise as much as a hundred feet above the sea. There are several caves, formed when the columns rose and bent towards one another. The largest, Fingal's Cave, the home of the Irish giant Fingal, is 650 feet deep, and 60 feet wide. The ocean flows in and out, but you can walk in on basalt steps on the side of the cave. An impromptu choir sang "Yakanaka vangeri," a Zulu hymn we had learned during th eweek.
Aside form any formal programming it was a wonderful week for making new friends and learning about how the church functions in other parts of the world. It is very different being a Baptist in a country as secular as Sweden, than being being an Episcopalian in America.
Posted on Jul 22, 2009
I had a loose day between Nether Springs and Iona I decided to spend it in Melrose, a town in the Scottish Borders, where I began my St. Cuthbert's Way pilgrimage two years ago. I had hoped to visit the ruins of the great Border Abbeys, but the weather was even worse than it was two years ago, with high winds and driving rain. All was not lost. I met the head of the local folk club in the pub of the hotel and spent an evening with a vriety of local musicians. THey ranged from a blind singer whose Scots accent was so thick he might as well have been singing in Hungarian, to a twelve year old piper, to a melodeon ( a type of button accordion) player who had driven 1 1/2 hours to be there. Yours truly was invited to sing and play the fiddle. There were thirty or so people htere, and anyone hwo wanted to contribute did. It was a grand and very old fashioned evening.
The next morning my misadventures began. I arose early to srive across Scotland to Oban. When I picked up the rental car in Glasgow I accidentally left my camera on the counter. I called from Holy Island and they said that they would put it away for me. It seemed like an easy thing ot stop at the airport to pick it up. But, halfway between Edinburgh and Glasgow on the M8 I stopped for gas and breakfast, and, while juggling food and drink I managed to leave my wallet on the counter. I discovered this while standing outside of the locked Hertz office in Glasgow, so I rushed back and picked it up. This should still have left me with plenty of time to catch the Noon ferry in Oban. However, the road around Loch Lomond is narrow even by Scottish standards, and hte bus at the head of the line of traffic was being driven by someone who was very nervous, or wanted to be sure everyone got to see all of the bonnie banks and all of the bonne braes.
I arrived in Oban at 12:30, which left me plenty of time to sample the local cuisine and walk around the harbor before the 4:00 ferry.
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.
Posted on Jul 05, 2009
London went by in a whirlwind, but it was very full. We saw 4 plays in 3 days, which made Alex very happy. Two were Shakesearean, one at the reconstructed Globe Theatre, and the other at the Royal National Theatre (Measure for Measure and Alls Well that Ends Well), a contemporary play (Dr. Koczack's Example) about the Warsaw Ghetto during the Holcaust, and a dance production at Sadler's Wells featuring a Flemish Moroccan choreographer and 17 Shaolin monks. We also managed to see Westminster Abbey, Windsor Castle and any number of other sites. Every day we promised we would take a break to rest, but somehow never got back to the hotel much before midnight.
Posted on Jul 01, 2009
Sam is off to Barcelona while we are spending a few days in London. We arrived on the Chunnel Train in the midafternoon but it took a while to get us all settled in. We're staying in Kensington, not far from where I stayed on my way to Canterbury a couple of years ago; very close to Paddington Station. Alex and I walked around the neighborhodd while Giles took a rest. We then went down to the Thames, had dinner in a pub and walked along the Emankment, watching people and boats and admiring the view.