Iona
Susan Salot
Gaumer
©
Copyright 2022 by Susan Salot Gaumer
|
Photo of Columba's bay courtesy of
Pixabay. |
In 1984 my husband and I
spent time in Scotland where he presented a scientific paper at a
meeting in Glasgow. Expecting a tired industrial city, by surprise we
discovered Glasgow to be lively and delightful. The Lord Mayor,
hoping to attract more such events, hosted a grand dinner for the
gathered scientists in their splendid art gallery. While Dick was in
meetings I explored lovely gardens, Whistler’s childhood home,
and meandered into several churches. Long interested in Celtic
spirituality and the life of St. Columba, I had been hoping we could
visit the island of Iona, accessible from Glasgow via a train ride to
Oban, a bus ride across to Mull and then a ferry to the island, but
it was not to be. Plans had already been made to connect with people
in York, England, and then to head back home.
Yorkminster, the ancient,
grand, gothic cathedral, suffered a devastating fire just weeks
before we got there. Full of soot, the church smelled awful and there
were pieces of architecture strewn around the floor, marked with the
locations from which they had fallen. It was a terrible sight to take
in as I remembered how overwhelmingly beautiful that cathedral had
been the first time I visited. Restoration efforts had already begun,
but a daunting amount of cleaning and rebuilding lay ahead. Where
Glasgow had proved to be a delightful surprise, visiting York was
heartbreaking. As we headed to the train station to begin the journey
home, I reflected on how easily expectations can be thrown to the
winds by surprises—some pleasing, some very disappointing.
While waiting for the
train in York, Dick went back into the station to buy a newspaper. I
was waiting on the platform with our bags when an older woman
suddenly came up to me and said “I see you are wearing a cross
so you must be a Christian. Have you ever been to Iona?” I told
her I was a follower of Jesus, but that I had never been to the
island. She then told me this story: “My husband’s death
a few weeks ago has completely undone me. Last Saturday my sister,
worried about me, wanted me to go with her and her husband to Iona
for a day. I’ve never been a believer and didn’t want to
leave home, but she insisted, so I gave in. It took a long time to
get there and it rained most of the way. Finally on the island, we
took a narrow path up a long hill where we planned to picnic. They
went on ahead while I paused to look at the sea. Suddenly I was
overcome by a feeling of peace like nothing I’ve ever
experienced before and I knew in some mysterious way that my husband
was all right. I guess it was God letting me know.” As the
train approached, smiling, I turned to the woman and said simply,
“Yes, I’ve been to Iona.”
“Thin
places”
in the Celtic tradition are locations where the distance between
heaven and earth is felt to be diminished, the presence of God is
experienced as very near. Iona has long been described as such a
“thin place” where life-giving spiritual encounters are
known to have happened. Many people make pilgrimages to Iona seeking
spiritual refreshment and closer encounters with holiness. The woman
from York had had no such spiritual expectations; that God touched
her there was surely God’s doing, not hers. I understood and
identified deeply with her experience of the holy on that island,
although my actual visit to Iona wouldn’t happen for more than
twenty years.
Expectations were high as
my husband and I flew to Scotland as part of my sabbatical pilgrimage
in 2007. We were to join the Iona Community for a weeklong ecumenical
experience, something we had looked forward to for years. Upon our
arrival in Edinburgh we learned that our luggage had gone to
Amsterdam and could not be delivered out to Iona. Joining the
pilgrimage two days late wasn’t easy because a community of the
faithful had already largely formed, but we made our way in slowly as
delayed pilgrims. Worship in the ancient abbey was meaningful;
kitchen duties assigned to our group helped us get to know a few
folks. A few days later we elected to take the “long hike”
that would cover much of the island. It was a beautiful day, but hard
going up steep inclines; skirting swampy bogs proved to be
challenging in the low areas. Needing to jump over a boggy place,
hands reached out to help me
as I slipped, but
not quite in time. I ended up knee-deep in mud, feeling very foolish.
Was this turning out to be a spiritual experience in a holy place?
Not really!
But
then, at the top of a
hill, we looked out over the water toward Ireland. Our guide told us
that this was the place where Columba probably landed with twelve of
his companions. I recalled that Columba, a learned Christian monk,
had gotten into a dispute about a translation of the psalms that
became a political nightmare for him and then got him banished from
his Irish monastic community. Did they really make him and his
companions set out by sea in wicker and animal skin boats, currachs,
with only an oar to steer, utterly dependent on the wind and tides to
deposit them on land somewhere or be driven out into the ocean to
perish? Surely falling into a bog was not as bad as all that! As I
sat there in the sunshine the trials and tribulations of the past few
days slipped away. I relaxed, feeling a deep kinship with Columba,
whose own pilgrimage to Iona had been far from easy. Credited with
bringing Christianity to Scotland, Columba encountered hardships I
could not even imagine, yet here I was in that same place, inspired
by his sense of Godly purpose, surrounded by the fruits of his holy
intent. God was with Columba, a true pilgrim, and he surely knew it.
In that place I, too, sensed the near presence of Christ. There on
that beach I could say again with a smile, “yes, I’ve
been to Iona,” knowing the place for what it is—a “thin
place” where God’s surprising nearness brings hope that
exceeds expectations and turns dreams into reality.
Susan
is an Episcopal priest (retired) who divides her time between New
Orleans and Whidbey Island in Washington State. She lives and
travels with a golden doodle named Penny.
(Unless
you
type
the
author's name
in
the subject
line
of the message
we
won't know where to send it.)
Book
Case
Home
Page
The
Preservation Foundation, Inc., A Nonprofit Book Publisher