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.