Iona

PuraVida Post Nine

Life, of course, is a journey. Though we may not realize until much later, it is filled with tiny, yet hugely significant moments, where if we pay attention, we learn, grow, and maybe, just maybe become a little more enlightened. As J. R. R. Tolkien (through the wizard Gandalf) reminds us, “All we have to do is decide what to do with the time that is given to us.” Sometimes that means relying on the good in others, the kindness of a stranger.

I’ve never been enamored of organized religion. The ceremony and ritual, rather than a source of comfort, I find repetitious and tedious. I’m appalled by the senseless and barbarous acts of violence committed throughout history by religious institutions in the name of God. And who isn’t repulsed by the actions of pedophile priests in what seems to be a recurring scandal exposed to light every few years?

On the other hand, I’m a true believer in the mystical. How can one deny the spiritual power of the natural world, the miracle of birth, the enormity of the universe? Stories abound of many people whose lives have changed because of their faith. Certainly, God is not a bearded and bethroned older Caucasian gentleman floating Monty Python-like amidst billowing clouds, but who am I to deny that there may be a higher power, a great spirit, or a force at work which our puny human minds will never fully understand.

So, with this mindset I found myself on the Isle of Iona in 2018, a small island adjacent to Mull, off the west coast of Scotland. Widely believed to be the birthplace of Benedictine Christianity, Iona is home to St. Columba’s monastery, established with his arrival (accompanied by twelve companions) from Ireland in AD 563. The abbey’s primary purpose was to create “a perfect monastery as an image of the heavenly city of Jerusalem.” Rather than undertake explicitly missionary activity, St. Columba was meant to “represent the pinnacle of Christian virtues, as an example for others to emulate.”

Frequently raided by Danish Vikings, seized by the King of Norway, and subsequently retaken by the Irish, Columba’s monastery survived until the end of the 12th century when the sons of Somerled founded a Benedictine Abbey in its place. The church was expanded during the 1400s, but following the Scottish Reformation in the 16th century, Iona, along with numerous other abbeys throughout the British Isles, was dismantled and abandoned. In 1899, the Duke of Argyll transferred ownership of the ruined remains of the Abbey to the Iona Cathedral Trust.

Restoration of the Abbey Church began in 1902 with the nave completed in 1910. In 1938, the Reverend George MacLeod founded the Iona Community, an ecumenical (non-denominational) Christian religious order, that began the task of restoring other monastic buildings on the site. With reconstruction completed in 1965, Iona Abbey is one of the oldest religious centers in Western Europe and a popular site of Christian pilgrimage today.

Though monastic life on Iona ended with the Protestant Reformation of 1560, pilgrims seeking solace and redemption have continued flocking to St Columba’s Shrine through the centuries. Despite my religious skepticism, I suppose I’m now one of those pilgrims. Certainly, I found solace and peace there…redemption, though? That still remains to be seen.

Iona Abbey is a tranquil place, surrounded by verdant hills and fields dotted with sheep and Highland cattle, but subject to powerful North Sea storms. The nave’s soaring architecture feels intimate and protective, yet somehow vast and open. Maidenhair spleenwort (Asplenium trichomanes) ferns adorn the interior walls of Iona Abbey’s church. Before the Abbey’s 20^th century restoration, the nave, open and exposed to the weather, had become home to these rare ferns, surviving for decades inside the building apparently drawing moisture from the mortar itself. Many feel that the ferns’ presence indicates that the building’s interior, though now shielded from the elements, still breathes the surrounding sea air.

In addition to the main Sanctuary, various structures remain at the site. Saint Columba’s Shrine, a small stone building beside the door to the Abbey church constructed in the 9th century, was built as a miniature chapel housing two graves thought to contain St. Columba and a companion. Though the remains have never been definitively identified and, unlike other grave sites, never fully incorporated into the church or chapel the tomb nonetheless remains attractive to treasure hunters. In 2015, would-be grave robbers attempted to raid and loot the shrine and although there was significant damage to the site, no artifacts or looting of the cists (burial chambers) occurred.

In the heart of Iona Abbey, monastic life revolved around the cloister and linked the church with the rest of the buildings. Its covered walkways provided shelter and quiet place for contemplation. The sculpture in the heart of the cloisters is “Descent of the Spirit” by Jacques Lipchitz. It portrays the Virgin supported in a starry cloud descending to earth, represented by animals, birds and humans, and carried by the Holy Spirit, symbolized by a Dove. The sculpture was given to the Abbey by Jacques himself and carries the following wording in French on the reverse: “Jacob Lipchitz, juif fidéle a la fonde ses ancêtres, a fait cette vierge pour la bonne entente des hommes sur la terre afin que l'esprit régne” [“Jacob Lipchitz, Jew, faithful to the religion of his ancestors, has made this Virgin for the better understanding of human beings on this earth so that the Spirit may prevail”].

St. Martin's Cross stands at the front (west) entrance to the Abbey, remaining undisturbed since the 8th century. Sculpted from a single slab of stone imported from the Argyll in western Scotland sometime between AD 750 and 800, it is one of four massive medieval Irish high crosses found at Iona. High crosses stood as markers to lead pilgrims along the route to Iona, likely serving as places to stop and pray. The ring cross is typical of the Celtic form, the circular form providing both structural strength and symbolic significance, implying eternity and equality, and suggesting a halo’s presence.

My visit to Iona had actually begun a week before as a family reunion in Stronachlachar on the western shore of Loch Katrine in Trossachs National Park to celebrate my mother in law’s 80th birthday. The stately house we rented was surrounded by the stunning Trossachs countryside, and although the frenetic nature of family reunions made achieving serenity a challenge at times, Scotland’s spirituality and mysticism had nonetheless seeped into my soul as I hillwalked, biked, and boated around the Loch Katrine countryside.

The journey to Iona, although not a lengthy trek, can be a trying one. After a pleasant 3-hour car ride from Stronachlachar on the western shore of Loch Katrine in Trossachs National Park along Highway A85, mother-in-law Diane and husband Verne, my wife Joscelyn and I arrived in Oban on Scotland’s western coast. From there, the one-hour ferry crossing took us to Craignure on the Isle of Mull. To reach Iona though, we had to cross Mull to reach our next ferry. Waiting for us (along with several other ferry passengers) was a fully appointed, modern tour bus to transport us to Fionnport on the island’s southwest coast. However, the fare was cash only and wouldn’t you know it, we only could scrape together 30 of the required 32 pounds. But thanks to the generosity of a stranger, David, a cook also bound for Iona, who “lent” us the difference, we all set off on our pilgrimage to experience peaceful days of meditation and fellowship, surrounded by ghosts of a past that still lingers.

Today, the Iona Community is committed to “rebuilding the common life” through working for social, economic, and political justice. Emphasizing an ecumenical approach, the IONA community seeks to bring people of all faiths together through spirituality and action, focusing on youth, justice, peace and the environment; poverty and social exclusion; overcoming racism and promoting healthy human sexuality.

But I’m left to ponder how after all those centuries, the prayer and the pillaging, the downpours and peaceful days, who, or what, placed David on that bus, travelling to Iona with us? Parables are meant to teach, and the lesson of the Good Samaritan was meant for me that day. I’m still learning. And maybe, just maybe, there is a higher power after all.

More later…