September 27, 2024                   Friday, 5:50 AM Scottish Time

Departure Time—

Our time here on Iona and at the Abbey have come to an end. We will say good-bye to the first group to leave the island at breakfast. We will have a longer farewell with those who join us on the second ferry which leaves a tad later.

Each day getting here and being here has been a journey in itself. The pilgrimage effect—immersion in a community experience, the silent times, the shared moments both in silence and with storytelling, the walking about—has touched my heart and soul.

The Abbey Community extended the invitation and we, the pilgrims, made our choices in the moment, in the way that best suited our style and means of being with our God.

While inside the Abbey, there was always a flurry of activity, one could also find niches that afforded privacy and quiet. It was in one such place that I bonded with Kris.

The work we were assigned each day engaged us in the family life of the Abbey. Through the chopping of vegetables in the Abbey kitchen, I grew quite fond of Norman from Oban and Thea and Ary from the Netherlands. My only regret was that I could not speak their language. The onus was always on them to speak English.

There were others with whom the conversation was more casual, though not less significant in a spiritual way. All our encounters, whether it be with other human creatures or the animals, the plant life or the stones on the ground, the sea or the elements of the sky, make us who we are. The invitation is there to receive and we choose to embrace the moment or simply move on.

I came here with no identifiable expectations. There was probably more tentativeness and cynicism than openness at first. I am aware of those times when I trodded cautiously, protectively, though I asked God’s blessing to purify my intent and to keep me on a right course. I am certain God answered my prayer. I am not leaving the place untouched or unchanged. God is here and God’s ability to fashion us in her image permeates the air. It only, God only, requires our assent, whether it be begrudgedly or not.      

When we say, “Yes,” the heavens on earth open to us. That is perhaps the magic and mystery of the thin space. And it is more obvious here on Iona. In this place, this tiny little island, the sea and land embrace, night and day cycle in and out, the clouds and the blue open skies dance and play and deliver hope and joy as well as hardship and sadness. One can be in community as much or as little as one chooses. One can be in communion or not. There is always a choice. God is always by your side waiting for us to choose.

There was no fog or much of a mist—that which I did expect to see. In spite of that, I did learn to see with intentionality—to look beyond the obvious and appreciate who and what God has made. God is not finished with any of us. God is not done with me.

This land that was formed millions of years ago continues to exist. People have come and people have gone. It has been made sacred both by God and those whose lives have graced these grounds. People have come as pilgrims from at least the time of Columba. There would have been druids before him. All came to the land with intention—to seek and learn and become one with earth and sea and sky, with the natural world created by God.

This is the time before sunrise in which darkness and light exist as one. They embrace briefly and then part to allow the cycle to advance. It is nature’s way of saying their yes to their Creator.

As dark as the sky appears in this moment, peace abounds. God is in the stillness of this night becoming day. Thanks be to God! 

Amen and Good-bye to Iona!