"Iona"

Dear WRC,

My recent trip to Scotland and London with the cohort of students from my Doctor of Ministry program was awesome. The Isle of Iona is drenched with both beauty and history. We ate great food, discerned the local spirits (code for: drank the Scotch), worked on our projects and shared our progress with one another, and, of course, explored Iona Abbey—founded in 563 when St. Columba landed on this little island with 12 other monks. The absolute, without a doubt, highlight of the trip, though, was the time spent together. We often stayed up late telling stories and laughing; we shared joys and burdens; we joined together for prayer and worship; and, in all of it, continued to build an uncommon bond across denominations, traditions, and geographies that don’t often mix.

There was, though, one looming disappointment of the trip. Iona is often described as a “thin place”. A place where the dividing line between Heaven and earth seems especially thin and porous. That’s what has drawn pilgrims to a little island in the Inner Hebrides since the 8th century or so. The Iona Community, which has stewarded the worshiping life of the rebuilt Iona Abbey since the 1930’s, is similarly well-known for its profound worship services, creative liturgies, and rich music. I expected the island to be dripping with a sense of God’s presence.

But I just didn’t feel it. Worship at the Abbey seemed haphazard and disconnected. Tourism seemed to be the driving force of the island’s life, with fresh herds of tourists arriving each day in matching jackets to explore the island from cruise ships moored in the sound. I was being blessed and filled and calmed by the landscape and the company, but I felt like I was missing the thing that had brought us there.

When we got to our last day and I still hadn’t “felt it”, I made a beeline after breakfast for the Abbey itself. I intended to spend our free time before Sunday worship in silence in the cloisters or the chapel, giving the Abbey another chance and doubling down on trying to find a thin place. I wondered: was it me? Did I have too high of expectations? Was I being a snob about the worship services? Had I been too concerned with not missing out on this precious time with friends that I had paid God too little notice? What had I missed? Why couldn’t I see it, feel it?

Fittingly, one of the Scripture passages assigned in the lectionary for that last day on Iona was Acts 1:6-14 where Jesus ascends into heaven.  As the disciples are standing there staring up into the clouds, suddenly two angels are there with them asking, “Why are you just standing around staring up into the sky? Jesus left, but he’ll come back. In the meantime, get out there. He sent you on a mission. Don’t just stand here staring up toward heaven trying to milk the last few ounces of glory.  GO!”

I couldn’t help but see myself standing among those disciples, wondering where Jesus had gone and what I could do to catch another glimpse. I thought of Peter on the Mount of Transfiguration offering to build tents so they could stay and keep the party going. But that’s not what Jesus had in mind. Only 10 days after the Ascension was Pentecost when the Holy Spirit was poured out on those same disciples, forming them into a new community with an uncommon bond and sending these few believers out to turn the world upside down (Acts 17:6).

In searching for a thin place on Iona, was I looking in the wrong direction, too?  Was I staring into the clouds looking for Jesus when the extravagant gift of His Body was being given in every conversation, laugh, meal, and drink we shared? Were these friendships, this uncommon bond in the Spirit, the place where the boundary lines between Heaven and earth were fading?

I needed to hear the angels’ words: “Why do you stand here looking into the sky?” The gifts of God were all around us—beauty, adventure, friendship, stillness. We don’t find God by looking outside of God’s creation or seeking some abstract notion of the sacred. Christ stands willing to give himself to us everywhere, always, if we only have eyes to see him.

My time on Iona wasn’t what I had expected, but it was a greater gift than I could have ever anticipated receiving.

In Christ,

Pastor Andy