Dispatch from South Bend: Thursday, June 8

We’re back home after a long journey in distance and emotion. Thursday morning, June 1, I checked our email at a little hotel that has the only working public computer on the island of Iona, and there were emails from both Jeanne’s mother’s (Virginia Logan) social worker and her Episcopal priest that she had taken a turn for the worse, and that if we wanted to see alive ands talk to her, we needed to return immediately. We knew what we had to do. Within two hours we were on the last ferry off the island to catch the last bus across Mull (the next island0 to catch the last ferry to the Scottish mainland, to catch the last train to Glasgow.
We arrived in Glasgow at 10 p.m. Thursday and crashed at (of all places) the Holiday Inn). The next day we were faced with getting a ticket for our return home (our one way ticket for June 24 could not be exchanged or refunded). A trip to the travel agent convinced us that they are dinosaurs in the age of computers, getting us a $2500 one way ticket each and charging $120 a person to do it. I guess the travel agent business is tough these days.
So we found an Internet café and went to work ourselves on the net, looking up some UK based online travel sites. Our work paid off because we found reasonably priced tickets for returning home Sunday morning, June 4. We already had tickets to London on Saturday to connect for Spain, our next destination, so we got to London Saturday, and had one last hurrah by seeing “The Producers” at London’s west end.
Our flight home Sunday and connection to Grand Rapids (where we had left our car) went very smooth. It was great to see the kids and grandkids again. Monday morning we headed for South Bend with understandably mixed feelings about seeing Jeanne’s parents. Jeanne’s mother has deteriorated quite a bit, having lost lots of weight, experienceing some pain, and being on oxygen. Her dad (Richard Logan) is wheelchair bound after some mini-strokes, and cries a lot, understandably. Thankfully, they are in almost adjoining rooms at Healthwin where they’ve both been since their release from the hospital in late April.
More of that later. On Saturday we had spoken by phone to Andy and Mae about our emergency return home, and said we had a place to stay while they made preparations to leave. At the time it seemed my return to work was the only alternative since Andy and Mae were staying at our house and we couldn’t see how they could continue their interim work without housing. They very graciously emailed that they would be out of the house Sunday night making it available for us (and we know this too a lot of work at short notice). I intended to jump back into work. Monday, however, I met with some of the elders and Paula, and it turned out in God’s grace that there was another alternative with housing provided by the Teeters. We talking it over and decided that it was in the best interests of everyone involved that the Rienstras continue their interim ministry as planned, and which they wanted to do, while I had the time to support Jeanne and do some planning for sermons and worship on my return to work July 5. We see God’s care in all this, and are very grateful for discerning minds and hearts that helped us recognize it.
We hope to keep our plan for the last week of the Sabbatical, which was a week at a cottage up north )June 28- July 3) with all the kids and grandkids. (That’s, of course, dependant on circumstances with Jeanne’s mother at the time.) We also hope to be able to continue the unused three weeks of the sabbatical sometime next year.
Jeanne’s parents were so relieved to have her home, though they would have never asked for it themselves, and felt badly that we had to break off our trip. I should mention that Jeanne’s mother knew she had cancer (though not how serious it was) before we left, but chose not to tell us, not wanting to disrupt what she called our “trip of a lifetime.” This was a wonderful and gracious gift on her part.
Coming home was difficult, but also very good. There has been time for honest conversation and necessary grief. So we feel we’re in God’s care, and he has provided and will provide all that is needed. Virginia is now under hospice care at Healthwin as of yesterday. At first we were told they would have to move from their lovely rooms overlooking the garden, but just yesterday the social worker said they could stay where they are to the end, which was a great relief for all. Jeanne is busy arranging the support her mother needs, working with hospice, planning for her father’s future needs (he will not be physically able to return home alone), and pulling together their financial affairs.
I’m taking the time to help Jeanne is whatever way I can, from keeping house to making necessary phone calls. I am also doing some planning for the next months of preaching and worship. I also plan to continue the “monastery thing” by spending a few days at St Gregory’s Abbey near Three Rivers next week.
We will not be back in church till I return for work on July 5 (that’s best when an interim is present), but be assured we have lots of support both spiritually and emotionally.
When circumstances like this arise Jeanne always tells me, pacing the room, “Well, we just have to dump it in God’s lap and say ‘You take care of it, I can’t.’” And we do. It’s not always easy to surrender like that, but over and over we’ve seen God take our problems into his almighty and merciful hands and make good come out of it. This is another one of those occasions when our faith has been strengthened by God providential care. On the plane home we had Morning Prayer from our prayer book, huddled together in our seats. The reading for the day was that wonderful verse from Proverbs 3: “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not rely on your own insight. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths.” We knew we were on the right path.
See you all in early July. Despite the interruption, the sabbatical has been more than we could ever expect, and we’re eager to share it with you.

Jeanne and Jane Torrance in front of the Torrance's house

SC St A Jane and Jeanne at Janes low,
originally uploaded by Len and Jeanne.

Jeanne and Len in "pastoral" roles on Iona

Jeanne and Len in "pastoral" roles on Iona,
originally uploaded by Len and Jeanne.

Dispatch from Iona: Wednesday, June 1

We arrived on Iona in a driving rain and howling wind, and the wind and rain are beating against the windows of the Abbey Library again today. (It was so good to put our clothes into drawers again for a longer stay after a week and a half of “one night stands”.) But the three days since have been absolutely gorgeous. Sunday morning was brisk and windy, but the sky gradually cleared to reveal the green hills, jagged rocks, and white sandy beaches of Iona, an awesomely beautiful place. No wonder it’s been experienced by so many over the centuries as one of the world’s sacred places where the earth itself seems to sing God’s praise and the rugged, treeless terrain opens the heart to God.
The Iona experience is quite different from our previous experiences of Christian community. The Iona community is centered here on the island, but it’s mostly a scattered community, its member literally all over the world. The Abbey (and another center on the island) is staffed by members of the community who are here for from one to three years, along with a large number of shorter-term volunteers (one to three months), many of them young people. Each week a new group of guests comes to share in the Iona experience, and therefore each week the community remakes itself by living together, guests and staff, and sharing in the work and worship of the Abbey.
We’re saying in the rebuilt Abbey-- in fact, our room is part of what was originally the monastic dormitory. Just down from our room is the “night stairs” the monks used to go directly to the night offices, as we do to go to evening prayer.
The Iona Community began through the efforts of George MacLeod, a Church of Scotland minister, and his friends, who picked up on the dream others before him had of rebuilding the 12th century Abbey as a place of pilgrimage and worship. The work was begun in the 30’s and is still going on. Gradually the Iona Community was formed, its members devoting some time to work here, and then continue their community life in groups wherever they lived. MacLeod’s dream came to reality as pilgrims came to the Abbey in increasing numbers (today you have to sigh up for week at least a year ahead of time).
In front of the Abbey stands a Celtic Cross about 12 feet high, arms mostly broken off, and carving largely smoothed by the wind and weather. This cross dates from around 800, and marks the goal of the pilgrimage route followed by many people to the humble site of St. Columba’s little community of monks. St. Columba came to Iona from Ireland around AD 500 with a group of 12 monks, and though not much is really known about him, his community grew and brought the gospel to Scotland and northern England. The community grew and flourished over the years, as Iona was always regarded as a special and sacred place. A number of great princely councils were held here and it’s said that dozens of kings of Scotland, Ireland, and even Norway, were buried in the churchyard.
A great abbey was established here around 1300, becoming the center of Christianity in Scotland and beyond, and that’s what was found largely in ruins by Macleod and rebuilt according to its original pattern, using original materials from the ruins and the surrounding countryside. It’s a great accomplishment, and one gets a deep sense of the depth of faith and history worshipping and praying in the abbey whose stones echoed with the chants of monks as they have for centuries. I felt carried back into history at a healing service last night at nine o’clock in the Abbey church. It was lit with candles (though it’s still light till 11 or so way up here), and the chants of “Kyrie eleison” echoed through the nave.
The guests that literally “make up” the community this week come mainly from all over the UK, but there are a few Americans too—one RC priest from Indianapolis (who had just come from Taize, one of our next stops) and a woman (and her young daughter) who is a Methodist pastor in North Carolina (both of them on the same Lilly grant as I have). We form community largely through our common worship each morning and evening and by working together on chores like cooking and cleaning and washing dishes. There are a couple of groups that have come from churches together, as well as folks, like Jeanne and I, who have just come on our own. It’s been enjoyable to get to know these people in little conversations, or deep discussions here and there through the day. There’s not much organized group activity, though various talks and workshops are offered throughout the week which we’re free to take part in or not. (Some weeks have much more of a focus than this one, which is largely unplanned).
One of our best experiences came yesterday with the weekly Iona pilgrimage. It was an unusually glorious day for Iona with a light breath of a breeze and warm sunny skies (now warm here means you can take your windbreaker off). A rather large group (probably 75 or so from kids to an intrepid British woman who must have been 80, an obviously experienced trekker who often strode ahead, passing others by) set out on a seven-mile, mostly off-road, hike around the island which is about 3 1/2 miles long and a mile and a half wide. Some of it was on roads, but most was through boggy fields and climbing over rocks.
The pilgrimage is a meditative hike, and we stop along the way at various sites; some historical, like the ruins of the nunnery down the road, and the foundations of a hermitage; others more parabolic, like the marble quarry and the highest point on the island. At each stopping point the warden (director) gave a brief talk explaining the significance of the historical site or a parable (for example a crossroads, the only one on the island), a time of prayer, and a simple song. In between, as we walked, we had a chance to talk with various fellow pilgrims. For one stretch we walked in silence from the promontory (from which we had an almost 360 degree view of the mountainous islands of Scotland’s west coast), down to the ruins of a hermit cell, and then continued to sit in silence for some time (even the kids felt the meaningfulness of the moment and didn’t utter a sound. We ended the pilgrimage at St. Oren’s chapel, a 12th century chapel largely intact in the Abbey graveyard (St. Oren was the first of St. Columba’s original cenacle to die). At first this dark cold chapel seemed a strange place to end, but became a wonderfully appropriate place to complete the pilgrimage on which many of us had meditated on our own life journey. Just as Jesus our Savior ended in the cold of the tomb so will we. But the door was open, and after a song and a reading we walked into the glorious light again, like a little Easter to the words and rhythm of a delightful South African “Alleluia”.
Worship at the Abbey church is very much a focal point, with morning and evening prayers and other special services. I must say we’ve been a bit disappointed in some aspects of the worship here after what has been for us a very rich experience of monastic life and worship. At times it seems a bit too contrived in its effort to be meaningful for today in its self-conscious “inclusiveness,” and sometimes lacks theological depth, but we both especially like morning prayers that flow with simplicity and quietness.
Today the fog, rain, and even sleet, along with a fierce western isle wind have whipped up again. At morning prayer we were reminded that like the fog and rain that hides the hills and islands, so God somtimes seems hidden from us. But like the beauty we see on a sunny day, God's glory, power, and love, are always present, though they remain hidden for a time.
One more thing. It's always a question how we make the transition from worship in a church to our worship in everyday life. The musician here has a unique way of helping that transition. This morning her "postlude" was "I Got Rythmn" Gershwin. So we all went swinging to our morning chores.

Dispatch from Iona: Monday, May 30

I’m sitting in the library of the Iona Abbey. It’s a quiet lovely room, lined with books and paneled in wood with that musty old-book smell, sun streaming through the little squares of a small Abbey window facing the rocky hills of the nearby isle of Mull. As I have probably said of every place we’ve stopped along the way--this is a stunningly beautiful place. We’ve learned that there’s no use comparing places for beauty for each place has its own quality, and each one is brushed with the kiss of God’s creating love. But Iona, well Iona has for over a millennium a place of pilgrimage and prayer, and has this special quality of being a holy place, a place where one draws near to God. More of that in my next dispatch.
As I think back over the last half week, it could be characterized with the title of that old John Candy movie, “Planes, Trains, and Automobiles”. It was a blur or travel and old friends. We arrived in London after an all-night flight from Cape Town, flew right on to Glasgow, caught a bus almost immediately for downtown, arrived just in time to hop on another bound for Edinburgh (a surprisingly short 45 minute ride), and finally caught a van within 15 minutes to our backpackers hostel at the outskirts of the city. It’s now about noon, and we’ve barely caught our breath, but with only one afternoon and evening for Edinburgh, we ate a quick lunch, and hopped back on the van to Edinburgh’s center city.
Edinburgh is a great gray old city that deserves much more time than we had to give. There’s a walk called the historic “Royal Mile” leading from the Holyrood Palace (a royal palace still in use) on one end to the Edinburgh castle on the other, with some winding side streets to wander down in between. Unfortunately both the palace and the castle were closed for the day for reasons unknown to us and which no one was about to explain, but we had a great time just soaking up the atmosphere of old medieval buildings and churches along the walk. We spent some time in St. Giles, the main church of the city, belonging to the Kirk (church) of Scotland. John Knox, the Scottish reformer, was preacher here for a time right after he came back from Geneva. The guidebook, hopefully not written by the historically Calvinist Church of Scotland, describes Knox coming back from Geneva full of “dour” Calvinism, and bringing the reformation to Scotland. Granted, Knox was not what you’d exactly call a “nice” man, but Calvinism certainly had no monopoly on dour religion in that day. Anyway, he must have been turning over in his grave for all the votive candles and side chapels in St. Giles church. It is a beautiful church, especially its uniquely ornate open steeple.
Edinburgh is also Scotland’s art center, especially with its annual summer festival. We were too early for that, but found lots of posters for various concerts and other events, none of which seemed to be occurring that one evening. But then we visited another old church, The Greyfrair’s church with its huge churchyard. It was closed, a notice on the door informed us, for a rehearsal for a concert that very evening of the Estonian National Philharmonic Choir performing a piece by Arvo Pärt, one of our favorite composers. We decided to have a quick supper at what turned out to be a really greasy Indian restaurant nearby, and rushed back just in time for the concert at 7:45. The church was packed with about 500 people for the performance of a choral text for evening prayer from the Russian Orthodox Church. The composition and the choir were outstanding, and we found ourselves caught up in a powerful performance of a deeply penitential text some six pages long in the English translation and taking 75 minutes. It was done in the choral style of the Orthodox liturgy with lots of droning bass but beautifully modernized by Part to include some dissonant notes and choral counterpoint.
The next morning we set off for St. Andrews (about an hour away by train) and were met by a smiling Jane Torrance at the station. It was so good to see her beaming with health and moving with vigor, sporting short curly hair that was recovering from the last round of chemo. Not having communicated with the Torrances about more than arrival dates and times, though making sure to note that we were aware of Jane’s possibly not feeling well, we were especially grateful to see her looking so well. By the way, as one of Alan’s colleagues remarked, we were part of a crowd of South Bend visitors, the Plantingas and Marsdens having left a few days before.
Jane drove us right to their home, a beautifully proportioned 18th century country house of which they occupy the still very roomy center section. From the windows on the east side you can see all the way to the water of the Firth of Forth. After some tea and catching up, Jane drove us into town (about 4 miles away) and dropped us off to roam for a few hours while she ran some errands. St. Andrews, like Edinburgh, is an historic city with lots of great old university buildings, the ruins of a 12th century Abbey, and some16th century and older churches, but it’s much smaller, and easy to walk in an afternoon. And, as any golfer knows, St. Andrews is the “sacred” home of the Royal and Ancient Golf Club with its “old course” links, the sight of many a British Open (the viewing stands are already partially erected). It all looked so familiar from seeing the view of the 18th fairway and green on TV many times, but no less a thrill for that, though Jeanne couldn’t quite understand my awe and excitement at walking on the grass of the old course. (Yes, any visitor can walk right on the course, or even drive across the first and eighteenth fairways.) I did manage to keep myself from kissing the sod, and Jeanne understood enough to let me watch several groups tee off. I especially enjoyed the obvious fact that some of them were once a week duffers like myself. Unfortunately I didn’t get to play, maybe some other time.
Jane came back to pick us up along with David and Peter from school, and Alan from his office. I wouldn’t have recognized the boys, it was six years since I saw them last, but Allan, bounding to the car, all smiles and breathless with talk, was unmistakably familiar. The man’s a virtual dynamo of intellect, energy and good humor.
We spent an evening of welcome and gracious warmth in their home with a fine dinner, a fine single malt, fine wine (our gift from South Africa) and the finest conversation. We got all caught up on our families and mutual friends, explored memories of their visit, and discussed the state of the church in our various countries. Their guest bedroom ranks with the finest bed and breakfast you could find in Scotland—a spacious room with a warm comforter, and a broad view of the land banking down to the Firth of Forth (or Fifth, or whatever Firth it was—a Firth, we learned, is the estuary of a river as it enters the sea).
After a lazy morning and lunch in town, Jeanne and I were back on the train back to Edinburgh where we caught another bus to Glasgow where we spent the night before heading up to Iona.