It has been a joyful opportunity to share with the Sacred Journey community a bit about my pilgrimages to Iona, Scotland and further reflections on the Arrival stage of pilgrimage. It always blesses and challenges me to see not just these trips as sacred, but every day of our life. Click on the image below to read further about what you can do to create an intention around your life’s journey and preparing for the place of your heart’s arrival!
Bless to us, O God,
The earth beneath our feet,
Bless to us, O God,
The path whereon we go,
Bless to us, O God,
The people whom we meet.
Based on an old prayer from the Outer Hebrides
The pilgrimage around Iona visits places of sacred significance and historical importance on the island. There are 18 sites in all and can take nearly all day to get to each one. Our group broke the pilgrimage up in a few days-hitting the Abbey’s specific spots while we did our tour and hiking up Dun I on a quiet afternoon-so that we could enjoy the heft of the hiking down to the south end of the island to really spend some meaningful time at St. Columba’s Bay and enjoy the reflections at holy sites along the way.
I watched our band of pilgrims prayerfully hike the path that Columba, his followers and 1450 years of seekers have sojourned. While not adorned in the medieval garb of the traditional pilgrim (full length tunics, broad rimmed hats, staffs and satchels), their water proof pants and jackets, knit caps and thick ankled hiking boots carried the seeker-spirit of modern day pilgrims on this Sacred Isle. While not barefoot, our blistered, bone-tired and boot-sore feet carried us over sacred pebbled beaches and peaty bogs. We jumped and leapt from rock to rock, attempting to keep out of the muck, as we made our way to the 17th century remains of the Iona Marble Company’s marble quarry, a site that demands acknowledgment of humanity’s exploitive behaviors and pleads for a change in global values and lifestyles.
Scripture verses that speak of Christ as our rock became more than just metaphor as we discovered that we very much needed the consistent presence of the rocks to keep our feet out of the mire. This island journey was clearly emphasizing and highlighting Celtic and pilgrim-ways of seeing. Without the physicality of the outside world to underscore these Biblical truths, these Christian metaphors would be weak words and flimsy fables.
The early Celtic church had a fundamental belief in the revelatory nature of the created world. Every tree, blade of grass, and wild gooses cry was imbued with the Spirit of God and spoke to the character of the Creator. These “theophanies” –God showings—were expected and sought after as a way to understand the sacred mysteries. The ninth century Irish teacher, John Scotus Eriugena believed that God was the ‘Life Force” within all things, “…therefore every visible and invisible creature can be called a theophany” (John Scotus Eriugena, Periphyseon-The Division of Nature, 749D). All of the created world upholds something of the essence of the Creator. Eriugena also taught that there are two primary ways in which the sacred is revealed–the Bible and creation: “Through the letters of Scripture and the species of creature…” mysteries of God are revealed.
The historical significance of Iona was underscored as we hiked this island pilgrimage; sacred sites emphasized how very near the works of God are all around us. We were also reminded that we walk the pilgrim path together; we are not alone as we seek God’s guidance in our lives. The road is filled with pilgrims who are seeking after inspiration and transformation, seekers who long for and are called by the saints who have gone before us. And, as a mutual company, we are challenged to live forward in ways that bring about restoration to others and our earth.
It is in the spirit of Quest that we walk towards an answer, a hope, an ache, towards healing, while on a pilgrimage. It is the desire to seek and find. While we are walking, while we are looking for the answer, creates a constant state of expectancy, which raises our spirits and lessens much of the “normal” stress or fatigue of everyday life.
The Pilgrim’s Path requires you to look at all exchanges, all events, all emotional reactions with fresh eyes; always looking for the divine to show up, expecting a synchronicity, expecting an answer. We must stay aware. The stranger is often such a deliverer of the divine response. We see this pilgrimage possibility as early as the book of Genesis, in which Abraham and Sarah greet three strangers in the desert, who actually turn out to be angels. But Abraham and Sarah are unaware of this sacred presence; they are simply practicing an ancient law of the desert, honored among the nomadic peoples of the Near East, which required that if a stranger appeared at your tent, you were to welcome them, and share your food, drink and shelter. In the searing heat of the desert, the law of hospitality was a matter of human survival. It is still practiced among the Bedouins today and seen along the Pilgrim’s Path, even here on Iona. It is a way of extending yourself to Other, acknowledging the ever-present possibility of the Divine showing up and the sacramental sharing of a meal or a moment of time.
As a way of attuning our eyes and ears to the possibility of angels and answers, our group is using the following “mirror of questions” to center in on the God-given value of each day. This is in line with the Jesuit tradition’s of The Examen, which was believed to be a method to seek and find God in all things and to gain the freedom to let God’s will be done on earth. Honing in on the daily experience is a way of discerning the movement of the Spirit in our lives; in this critical accounting, there is revealed answers for authentic expressions and guidance to personal quests and conflicts.
At the End of the Day: A Mirror of Questions
What dreams did I create last night?
Where did my eyes linger today?
Where was I blind?
Where was I hurt without anyone noticing? What did I learn today?
What did I read?
What new thoughts visited me?
What differences did I notice in those closest to me? Whom did I neglect?
Where did I neglect myself?
What did I begin today that might endure?
How were my conversations?
What did I begin today that might endure?
How were my conversations?
What did I do today for the poor and the excluded?
Did I remember the dead today?
Where could I have exposed myself to the risk of something different?
Where did I allow myself to receive love?
With whom today did I feel the most myself?
What reached me today? How deep did it imprint?
Who saw me today?
What visitations had I from the past and from the future?
What did I avoid today?
From the evidence, why was I given this day?
-From John O’Donohue’s Benedictus, A Book of Blessings
Here on Iona, where it is often stated in promotional material that sheep outnumber people and cars, everyone walks. There is but a single road and upon that one walks to get to the ferry, get to the Abbey, get a cup a tea. It is both a means to a destination and a value in and of itself. By walking, I get in tune with my body. I am aware of what feels good, and what is creaking more than it used to. I become attuned to my overall health and well being: am I out of breath? Do I feel strong? Do I need to stop, slow down or speed up? Taking such stock of myself, I’m also more aware of others. Incredibly different than when driving within cars, when I pass someone on this solitary street, I am significantly aware of their presence, even when they are yet yards and yards beyond me. I sense them really; because I am removed from my insular vehicle, my soul feels the life of what is around me. So not only am I aware of others walking the road, but I hear the kerrx-kerrx of the Corn Crake nesting in the farmers’ fields. I hear the bleating cries of young sheep trying to find the warmth and milk of their momma’s. I feel the wind whipping about me and the moist mist accumulating on my face.
Because I can trust the undulation of my walking, I can also look about me without worrying about crashing (hopefully!). I watch the ferry crossing the Sound of Iona. I note the craggy height of Dun I. I look for the turquoise hues in the sea. And if I do happen to bump into another person during my perusals, it mandates human contact, and always elicits laughter and communication, despite language barriers.
That’s really it, I think. Walking removes barriers. Issues of class and status don’t exist on a road of pilgrim pedestrians. There are no BMWs or Mercedes Benz. There are no pimped out wheels or self-defining bumper stickers. There is no road rage as we all are relying on the same bi-ambular locomotion. We are just simply, ourselves, on our two feet, walking the way we were designed. And we appreciate our fellow roaming creatures as well. A leveling effect takes place even between us and the sheep, us and the cows. I see these creatures a bit differently when we are on the same plain, looking at one another with only a fence between us. As I look into these creatures eyes, as we both stand on our feet, and I witness the lamb bumping up into his momma’s udder to drink her milk, and I think, “We are not all so very different, you and I. What can I learn from you today?” Walking teaches us about things that matter and things that don’t.
As my feet walk this road, I find that my life is slowly set back in order. Priorities fall back into place. I cannot rush to get somewhere and pack more into my day. For I simply can only do what my body is capable of and where my feet can physically take me. I cannot squeeze in one last Target errand, while rushing to get children to baseball practice and swim lessons. In walking’s simplicity, a gift of simplicity is given back to me and how I choose to live my life.
Augustine was onto a great truth when suggesting that we have the answer to our problems in our own two feet as he said, “it is solved by walking.”
The warm invitation that this island, and its people, extend to new comers is quite profound. There is a very real sense that there are no strangers in our midst. In the context of the single road, the hostel or the beaches, there are ready smiles to lift yours, gregarious laughter rushing out to include you, and generous invitations to share tea, a meal or a bit of chocolate. One Swedish pilgrim noted to me today how, even though he just arrived yesterday, he has felt like he is with family. There is a sense of general community and conviviality that spans generations and gender.
In my short time on the island, I have been lovingly embraced by a group of British women staying at the hostel. I had opened the door of the hostel’s common area to review some receipts and in a manner of seconds was instead drawn in to their circle with stories of shared faith, red wine and chocolate. There is a very special feeling when surrounded by a group of wizened women who claim themselves with a mesmerizing confidence. Since the late hour last night when we first all met, we have continued to enjoy countless conversations about our different countries and mutual faith.
Once again, I’ve been reminded how these journeys challenge the best of us to put our agendas away and embrace the gift of humanity right in front of us. This type of soul journey is inevitably tied to how we connect and commune with others. Their very presence reminds us of the absolute value of the most precious gift: life!
The vibrancy of this island is seen all over, from the colors of the sea, to the crashing waves, to the delightful hand-made signage. Walking the streets and trails on Iona, while the wind bustles you about, truly brings one back to a fullness of life!