Street Art & Sacred Spaces

Saturday, August 25th  &       Sunday, August 26th

With the Fringe Festival in full swing, the city proves to be quite a shift from our sleepy little island. The streets are full of performers of all kinds: barely clad jugglers on giant unicycles, musicians with exotic outfits and instruments, ensembles offering sneak previews of their original shows. With 2500 of them to choose from, we head to the half-price queue and begin to map out our entertainment for the weekend. While some of us head out for bus, whiskey, and castle tours in this remarkable city, others of us fill our plate with a smorgasboard of theatrical and comedic offerings.

We head up to the Royal Mile to savor the sites and sounds – this is a city bursting with life and creativity – some of it bizarre, much of it fascinating and amusing. After wandering through a few shops and stopping to watch several street performers, we eventually make it to our first show, a fairly amateur production by a prep school in southern England. We had met the cast in the queue as they described their show to us and so we are invested in them doing well and they put on a good effort. The real treat of the day turns out to be Unmythable, a fast-paced, thoroughly entertaining romp through all of Greek mythology in just an hour. It is clever, the acting is strong, and we are amazed at both the versatility of this three man troupe and our ability to remember most of the stories. In both cases we are there because of the outreach efforts of the ensembles – it is the way of the Fringe – and I find myself longing for some of their evangelistic fervor to rub off on us reserved Bethesdans who, too, have an amazing story to invite others into.

We reconvene for dinner and after trudging along the packed George Street for half an hour, we discover that we are not the only of the thousands of tourists who are hungry and every pub and restaurant has a substantial wait. So we split ourselves into smaller groups to forage for food. The group I am with lands at a restaurant that serves chicken shwarma and kebobs and for a reasonable price, we are out the door refueled for the evening.

We do not get so lucky with our comedy choices for the evening. The Scottish Comedian of 2011 turns out to be fairly humorous but his bits are so regionally-based, that we feel like outsiders who don’t quite get all the contextual references or the jokes (the way I imagine some people experiencing preaching, my own or others, when it devolves into insider theological-speak). The midnight Best of the Best comedy revue starts out promisingly enough; there is an packed house and energized crowd and big name hosting. But it quickly devolves into pretty raw and coarse humor and while there are funny moments – a discourse on all the stuff we buy that we don’t need through Groupon, for example – I am ready to leave at the end without much material that I could ever use in a sermon or even readily admit that I was present for. Still, all in all, a really fun first full day in Edinburgh.

We reconvene the next morning for worship at St. Giles Cathedral, a breathtakingly beautiful space that dates back to the 15th entury (the simpler parish church that pre-dates the present structure was established by 854 AD). The cathedral, with its side chapels, carvings, and beautiful contemporary liturgical banners and paraments is a photographer’s dream and I had spent about an hour there on Saturday, taking it all in. But how different it is to experience the space not as a museum but as a place of worship. Of course, after a week in the 12th century Abbey on Iona, we are old hands at this by now, but it doesn’t grow old. The text is taken from John 6 ("Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life.") and the sermon celebrates the staying power of words (a twitter reference in the message seems at once out of place and wonderfully real in this ancient church). The choir sings Herbert Howell’s Gloria in Excelsis as the communion elements are brought forward and we celebrate the Eucharist together, ringing the altar in two groups and drinking from a common (real wine-filled) cup.

 

The rest of the afternoon is filled with more touring, shows, and exploring. Our bus tour includes a stop at the International Book Festival (the third of three festivals that are running concurrently) and I buy the Sunday paper for two pounds twenty pence because it comes encased in a wonderful bag bearing this quote: Reading is a conversation. All books talk. But a good book listens as well. In the late afternoon, my fellow UM pastor on the journey, Nicole, and I circle back to St. Paul’s Scottish Episcopal Church where we linger meditatively with our cameras and hearts for nearly a good forty five minutes. Now if you promise not to make to much fun of me, I will share with you that a group of us go to see David Hasselhoff Live (yes, THE Hoff) which turns out to be quite enjoyable. He both alternately pokes fun at himself and basks in the limelight, with iconic video montages of his days with Knight Rider, Baywatch, and singing at the fall of the Berlin Wall. We learn that the slow motion sequences on Baywatch were originally intended to fill space (they lacked production money), that his real dream was always to perform on Broadway (he finally got there at age 48 with a role in Jekyll and Hyde) and that he can actually sing pretty well. A very surprisingly enjoyable night spent somewhere I never imagined myself to be!

 

We regather for one final meal at an Italian restaurant and are quite happy when Anna, our Dutch friend from Iona who had traveled with us to Edinburgh (our new twelfth disciple following the defection of Mary :) ) finally shows up. It has been quite a pilgrimage and there is much laughter and reminiscing around our table. Morning will come quite early for all of us who are catching buses and trains and planes to begin the trek homeward. But for a few more hours and one last game of Flip at Deacon Brodie’s Pub, we hang on to the holy and rich time that we have shared together.


Leaving Iona

August 24, 2012
Friday is a bittersweet day on Iona. It begins with the waking bell (which up to now had been ringing at the more civil not-very-monklike hour of 7:45 a.m.), rousing us all at 7:00 a.m. so we can be down for breakfast with luggage packed in the lobby by "half seven." We make one last nostalgic trek over to the Abbey for The Leaving Service. Like the rest of the liturgy here, the language is direct and poignant, reminding us in no uncertain terms that the Christian life is lived not behind cloistered walls, no matter how ancient and comforting they may be, but in the midst of the world that God loves desperately and unconditionally:

O Christ, you are within each of us.
It is not just the interior of these walls:
It is our own inner being you have renewed...
If every wall should crumble, every church decay,
We are your habitation...
Take us outside, O Christ, outside holiness,
Out to where soldiers curse and nations clash
at the crossroads of the world.
So shall this building continue to be justified.
We ask it for your own name’s sake. Amen.

We then move together as a community out of the Abbey and onto the road that leads to the ferry, picking up our luggage at the dock. We are escorted down by the staff and volunteers who see us on to the boat and then take one great bow together toward us as we push out from the shore. The mood on the boat is a bit reflective, as we get to enjoy one last glimpse of the Abbey up the hill surrounded no longer by strangers (as was the case just a week ago) but by companions on this pilgrim road. The buses are waiting in Fionnophort to carry us across Mull and then we catch the ferry back to Oban where we have time for a lunch at the harbor. Even Oban feels familiar by now as we feast on prawn salad and fish and chips in this seafood mecca.

We use this picnic opportunity to say good bye to Mary who will be leaving us in Glasgow and and to pray together one last time round the table. We offer God thanks for the laughter, the new friendships, the grace-filled surprises and the holy moments that we found in and with each other, thanking each member of the group for their particular gifts that have been shared so generously throughout the week. We then board the train for Glasgow, soaking in some lovely new scenery en route. Mary takes her leave and we change trains for the one headed another hour east to Edinburgh, our new home for the weekend.

Walking on Holy Sand

Wednesday was a much needed down day at Iona, after three that had been packed pretty solid. Most of the group opted out of the formal morning program for rest and more personal exploration of the island – hiking, wandering a beach, doing yoga, or simply taking a nap. By late morning, about half of us made our way back to the McLeod Centre for an art project that grew out of the morning Bible study. We were invited to create some large multitextured/colored murals with paint, fabric, newspapers, yarn, and various other materials that told the stories of Coming of the Magi, the Good Samaritan and the Road to Emmaus. The three teams came up with very imaginative renderings that helped to bring the stories to life and provide large canvases that became part of the evening worship. As part of the liturgy, each of us was asked to locate ourselves at a particular place on the storyboards that spoke most powerfully to us, marking it with a shell on the artwork spread over the Abbey floor.

The laughable highlight of the afternoon was all of us making our way down to the village for an elegant Cream Tea at the Argyle Hotel (though Nicole had an interesting interpretation of exactly what cream to put where). We caught them just before they finished serving and sat outside on benches in the gardens near the water – and then came the only real sustained rain of the day. It didn’t last long (perhaps fifteen minutes) but just long enough to have us

huddled together eating our scones and brownies under cover of our shared umbrellas. We garnered a lot of smiling stares from passersby and had a good laugh about the whole thing. On Wednesday night, six of us got to exchange meals and dine at the Abbey Refectory which allowed us to interact a bit more fully with the other group of pilgrims we had been worshiping, but not living in community with, all week. We ate at long wooden tables on benches in this ancient dining hall and one could almost picture the monks eating beside us. We all agreed that we preferred our "home" dining arrangements better (the oval tables at the Mac) which seemed to allow for easier and closer conversation. Still, quite a unique experience. Both groups joined together for a wide-ranging Guest Concert (talent/variety show) which showcased a very British humored Olympic Toilet Cleaning sketch, several songs, poetry, and participation by both children and adults. Little Aiden, a seven year-old Brit with an adorable accent, stole the show with his rendition of "The Noble Duke of York" and we closed with a rousing American Sacred Harp piece led by a very passionate and talented Dutch woman – go figure!

Thursday morning, Mary led a session of yoga out on the Abbey grounds and that afternoon we assembled on the beach to create our own prayer labyrinth out of shells, rocks, and seaweed. A labyrinth, while it looks like a maze, is really a path – there is no way to get lost. The goal is to meander slowly to the center in quiet meditation, making way for fellow travelers on the path so it is both a communal and very personal experience. The mist eventually drove us into the Martyr’s Bay Pub to dry off and warm up, but as we huddled together for a closing prayer, we all confirmed that it was well worth taking on a little moisture.

In Columba's Footsteps

Tuesday is Pilgrimage Day at Iona, a prayerful journey around the island. Almost all of us opted for the seven mile off-road route which takes you through heather and bog, up steep rocky hills and down to bays and beaches, with gorgeous vistas at nearly every turn. The pilgrimage begins in front of the Abbey by the oldest standing cross on the Iona, St. Martin’s Cross. This cross dates to around 750 AD and its intricate stone carvings tell the story of salvation. It also speaks to the important Celtic Christian practice of worshiping outdoors and at one time there were probably 20 standing crosses on

the island (there are still four today). Unlike some places where Christianity attempted squelch the indigenous “pagan” religious practices of the people, Celtic missionaries sought to integrate them which resulted in a more earthy, native expression of faith.We next made our way to the Nunnery, which exists a little closer to town, and unlike the Abbey, has not been restored. The ruins here are a testament to a group of women, no less faithful than the monks, who sought to leave their mark for Christ in the world. It is a beautiful open aired space of ancient stones and tranquil gardens and we prayed both to honor the witness of these women and to work toward gender equality.

After about a fifteen minute walk on a stony path, we came to the crossroads of the island – not anything at all like Wisconsin & East-West Highway – and a spent a few moments thinking and praying about the crossroads moments of our own lives. This was also the decision point: the road would get much rockier, muckier, and steeper from here forward, so if anyone needed to turn around and head back to town, this was it. We all soldiered on. We trekked up a rather steep hill and eventually made it to the only “industrial” site on the whole island: a marble quarry that once produced the highly regarded Iona stone, especially in demand for church furnishings

(altar tables and fonts) as well as wash stands and larders, since the marble kept the cheeses and butters cooler. We stopped for lunch at St. Columba’s Bay, where in 563, Columba landed with his twelve followers from Ireland and established the first Christian monastery on the island. This community flourished for several centuries and over time, became one of the richest resource centers for Celtic Christianity, sending missionaries all throughout the British Isles and into other parts of Europe. This

community also produced the famous Book of Kells, one of the earliest English versions of richly illuminated Gospels. Some time before the Vikings drove the monks off of Iona in the early 10th century, the Book of Kells migrated to safety in Ireland (to the town of Kells, hence the name). At St. Columba’s Bay we participated in a ritual of hurling one of the beautiful stones into the water to symbolize letting go of some broken place from our past – a painful memory or a personal misdeed – and then taking up a different stone to mark this new beginning as we journeyed onward.

Making our way back down through the bogs and heather, passing Loch Staonaig (the only lake and one- time water source for the whole island) we came to the Machair or the public grazing land (also the golf course), where we were treated to a welcome bit of hospitality in the form of flapjacks (a chewy cross between an oatmeal cookie and Rice Krispy Treat) and tea. Sue Wells met up with us here and we enjoyed a short break overlooking the beautiful white sands of the beaches below us. We tromped through more fields and up several more hills, eventually made it to the Hermit’s Cell, a ring of rocks that may have been the foundation for a place of refuge for the monks. Even monks needed to get away from it

all and the challenge of living in such intense community all the time – Jesus and Columba both used the practice to great effect. We gathered on the green sod inside for a time of silent prayer and were reluctant to leave, both because of the stillness of the moment and the accumulated fatigue that was by now setting in. Soon the Abbey was back in sight and happily we made it down to St. Oren’s Chapel (which sits in the cemetery by the Abbey) for our concluding prayers. Weary and refreshed, we returned richer and fuller from our pilgrimage together. Dinner would be well-earned this night!

Soli Deo Gloria

Sun bathed the island in the early morning, but it gave way to our first real rain by the time we were headed out of morning worship. So clad in our raingear we headed back to the Abbey for a reflective tour and a window into the communal living patterns of the Benedictines and the Iona Community. In both communities, there is a real integration and balancing of work and worship, of tasks and leisure and we were all asked to assess the ways that we balance our own lives.

One of the things that happens at Iona is that there is no Benediction at the morning worship, but rather we pilgrims are to move to our tasks out of the service of prayer and only say our "Amens" after we have completed them – a symbolic linking of work and prayer. So whether working or praying, all is done Soli Deo Gloria, as we sang this morning – all to the glory of God alone.

After lunch we went on our excursion to Staffa, a nearby island that is striking because of its geological formations of gray, black, and beige basalt hexagonal columns. It is also home to Fingal’s Cave, the inspiration for Mendelssohn’s “Hebrides Overture.” About 50 of us boarded the small boat and made our way past the rugged coastline of Mull being treated to seals sunning themselves on rocks en route and a lone basking shark swimming near the boat on the way back. The time spent on the top of the island itself was simply stunning – a soft green, treeless landscape that offers spectacular views of the caves and coves below as well as several nearby islands. You feel like you are literally walking on top of the world.

Following evening worship, we concluded the night with a Ceilidh (pronounced Kay-lee) at the Village Hall which featured traditional Scotch folk music and dancing (think American Square Dance with a decidedly Celtic twist). We wandered back home under a blanket of stars – including a rare and spectacular view of the Milky Way – after another full day of soaking in the goodness of this corner of the world. Soli Deo Gloria!

Table Fellowship

Sunday on Iona felt like a real Sabbath Day, saturated with worship, singing, laughter, and walking. We woke to the sun beaming through our window and started our day with a light and typical McLeod Centre breakfast of tea, toast, jams, and porridge (I confess I skipped the latter). The highlight of the morning was a communion service in the Abbey which included not only week-long pilgrims like us, but island residents and day visitors. I found myself wondering how many times and in how many ways has this ancient ritual of bread and cup been shared in this space? The generous Invitation to the Table that was read spoke powerfully and generously to me about the meaning of the Eucharist: The table of bread and wine is now to be made ready. It is the table of company with Jesus, And all who love him. It is the table of sharing with the poor of the world, with whom Jesus identified himself. It is the table of communion with the earth, in which Christ became incarnate. So come to this table, you who

have much faith and you would like to have more; you who have been here often and you who have been away for a long time; you who have tried to follow Jesus, and you who have failed; Come. It is Christ who invites us to meet him here. Our big meal moved to Sunday mid-day andwe feasted on beefstew, vegetables, “crunchy and toasties” (potatoes) and puffed pastry which got crumbled in to create a pot pie effect. The afternoon found many of us wandering the island for more exploration, and while most of our group headed to the Great Sing in the late afternoon (a participatory introduction to the music of the Iona Community), I landed on the top of a nearby hill that gave me a vantage point to see the entire island. A pleasant and stiff wind was blowing as I sang my heart out to the iPod song playing in my ears, “10,000 Reasons.”

Our night concluded with Tea (supper),a short talk on the history of the Iona Community, and two back to back worship experiences. The first is called The Quiet Service, a counterbalance to the full liturgy of the morning, and the silence was so thick and delicious in the candlelit Abbey you felt enveloped in it. There was an option that many of us took advantage of to stay for a time of singing and prayer in the Taize style and it proved to be a gentle

and ethereal ending to a full and rich day. Well almost, as we weren’t quite done yet. Most of us stayed up for an international card game of Flip (the 2 Dutch taking on us American horde – unsuccessfully, I might add) and the laughter, trash-talking, and Chips Ahoy cookies (thanks to Phuong and the Bethesda Giant!) sent us to bed with smiles on our faces and the glow of community in our hearts.

Decompressing to Iona

We boarded the ferry this morning and a light rain threatened to keep us indoors for the 45 minute crossing to Craignure, but luckily the sky cleared and we were able to head to the top of the boat to take in the scenery. By the time we reached Mull it was downright sunny and the day just got progressively better from there. The bus ride across the one lane road that traverses the island (the one closest to the turn off has to do the backing up) showcased the raw multi-hues-of-green beauty of Mull. In Fionnophort, we got our first glimpse of Iona and a short ten minute ferry was the final link to our longed for destination. We were greeted by staff and volunteers who loaded

up our luggage and then, like ancient pilgrims, we walked the last half mile up the hill to the Abbey and McLeod Centre. It was every bit as beautiful as I had remembered it from my stay two years ago, only this time around I had other friends to share the journey with. Tea and shortbread awaited us at the Mac, and after a short orientation, a group of us headed off down the lane past fencerows, sheep, cows, gardens and rocky outcroppings on our way to the North Beach. Not quite as brave as our Dutch companions who took a chilly dip in the frigid waters, we nonetheless enjoyed a little sand between our toes, waves crashing into the

rocks and the colorful stones that lined the water’s edge. So many in our group have commented how each stage in our journey has opened us up a little more fully to the holy and removed us even further from the frenetic pace that we live in and accept as “normal” most of the time. Roger commented that the experience has been like “decompression stops” on a scuba dive, an apt metaphor for what we have experienced. One of the real gifts of Iona is time and sacred space; unsurprisingly, living in God’s present and presence was the theme of our evening worship.Having only been here

for a matter of hours, I am reminded again of why so many people have long considered Iona a thin place – a place where heaven and earth meet and the line is wonderfully blurred. It is difficult to capture fully in words, but there is a holy hush, an ancient grounding and an enveloping presence on this island. What a deep simmering joy has been welling up in me all day as I have watched Iona begin to cast its sacred spell on my fellow BUMC travelers.

Strangely Lighter on this Pilgrim Road

After nearly 18 hours of travel – which included an hour delay on the tarmac in Newark and a broken down bus just minutes outside of Glasgow – we finally arrived in the picturesque western seaport town of Oban at 2:00 p.m. this afternoon. Rain eventually gave way to sunshine and we toured our new temporary home, taking in the beautiful gardens, quaint

streets, an eclectic Anglican Church, the local whisky (Scottish spelling) distillery and the glowing harbor area. We topped off our marathon day with an outdoor feast of langostines (mini-lobsters) and scallops on the waterfront. Though we are weary pilgrims this first night, already we are beginning to feel strangely lighter on this pilgrim road. Tomorrow morning we head to Iona and a week of retreat with Christians from many places and traditions. Much needed sleep and sweet dreams of this sacred island await us.