My Undoing at Iona

How a pilgrimage to a holy isle undid my life

My Undoing at Iona

by Stephen W. Smith

I set my heart on pilgrimage. 
I fixed my eyes on the journey, but truly,  the destination helped. 
I breathed in the air of Iona— the moist, salty breath of the winds filled my longing chest. 
My eyes beheld the glory of creation—of earth, sky and sea— this great cathedral called me to lower myself ; dethrone my head and enter my heart. 

Here, time was woven with eternity. 
Kairos intertwined with chronos.
I lost track of clock and calendar in the cloud of unknowing. 
It was then I was undone. Iona undid me. 

I felt a knot untie and loosen in me;
A freedom,  I so longed for,  came at Iona; came from Iona; came through Iona! 
This greening in me— my own resurrection. 
I tasted the essence of enough and felt the satisfaction in my soul. 
Nothing was missing in me; nothing was missing at Iona. 

My head was anointed with oil. 
My heart received blessing and whispers of love. 
I sang songs of thanksgiving. 
I ate the  daily bread with butter spread thick with grace and glory. 

I have walked by foot for miles and miles; 
Crossed the emerald carpets of soft grass on double decked buses navigating wee, little roads. 
On ferries filled with seekers and finders, I crossed white capped seas and gaps in my understanding. 
The oars in my soul pulled my coracle to the other side of lochs as well as reality. 

Here, it was thin, like gauze to see through and catch the Light behind all light— the Soul, which holds all souls; the Love that gives extravagantly. 

Some came alone but some came together in the oneness of everything. 
I was held. 
I was seen. 
I was listened to and I sought hard to listen. 
I found love.
Love found me. 

It’s not too much to say, some found the treasure hidden in a Scottish green field; discovered the pearl of great price; felt their head, heart and soul threaded with a Celtic knot— woven with the fine, soft  wool of leaping, lovely  lambs. 

I, myself, stood alone  in the shadow of the tall, stone,  Celtic Cross and in that shadow, I found nothing but light. 
That sole cross stood there for over a millennium giving solace to all who stood on that soil with me. 
I stood in solidarity with all who came here before me and with those are on there  way now to bask in that shadow of the cross.

I beheld your glory—I accepted my own— yours too,  on most days. 
I found clearness in a land so brutally cleared of beautiful souls. 
I sat in the grief of it all and lamented their trauma and my own. 
There, I wore tartans of beauty and the sackcloth of your people’s suffering. 
I moved in the dance of beauty and brutal. 
It is the dance of life we all must learn. 

I found deep peace for the journey ahead. 
Courage was spoken into me to be strong in the work for the healing of the world. 
How I need such courage because the world has changed again and again, since pilgrimage changed me

I picked up green stones of remembrance. 
I cast a stone into the blue bay of new beginnings where Saint Columba first stood. 
The fields of purple foxglove stood like candlesticks on the alter of soft hills and unending dales.
Beauty saved me. 
I am forever grateful for Iona. 

And now with Iona in my heart, I travel home but not the same now—not the same at all.