Ancient Stones and Tomorrow's Promise

We would be building; temples still undone O'er crumbling walls their crosses scarcely lift, Waiting till love can raise the broken stone, And hearts creative bridge the human rift. We would be building; Master, let thy plan Reveal the life that God would give to man.

Iona is a place of mystery, intrigue and grounded in the life of countless monks and pilgrims who have passed through these ancient walls. As I stand on the shore of the Iona Sound between this ancient island and the mainland of the United Kingdom, my meditation and my presence in Iona is part of the great memory and history of the Christian faith. Like millions of pilgrims before me, I come to Iona to touch the ancient stones of a religion and a faith that ebbs and flows through time and history, reminding us again and again of the ancient voices that have shaped our faith today.

On more than one occasion the words from the hymn, "We would be Building" have passed through my meditation as I view the ocean from the Island and look across to Fionnphort, the melody and the tune lifts my spirit and reminds me of the ancient traditions upon which our faith is built. I am moved to silence and stand in awe of the beauty around me. The earliest recorded history of the Island of Iona shows up in the mid fifth century when a monk by the name of Columba came to the island on pilgrimage.

In 563, a monk by the name of Columba came to Iona from Ireland with twelve companions and founded a monastery which later became known as the Abbey on the Island of Iona. This monastery grew and became an influential center for the spread of Christianity among the Picts and Scots. Kings were crowned and later buried on this island and monks were consecrated and pilgrims by thousands have come to this place of mystery and intrigue.

Pilgrimage as we think of pilgrimage is not what pilgrimage was to Celtic monks, specifically to Columba. The concept peregrinatiao (the Latin word as used by Columba) reflects a pilgrimage of penitential overtones. The object of pilgrimage for Celtic monks such as Columba is the act of purging the individual peregrinus of worldly attachments and affections. So as one of thousands, perhaps millions of pilgrims, I come to Iona in search of the cleansing and renewal in such a place as Iona, void of the conveniences of home and an opportunity to reflect upon my relationship to my Creator -- the one whose name has been invoked for centuries in this place, each one seeking to find God's revelation in the ancient stones of Iona and the intrigue and mystery of this place.

As I follow the ancient trails from place to place on this Island, I am reminded that I am but one of many pilgrims who have found peace, solace, and inspiration on the Isle of Iona. As I worship several times a day in the sanctuary of the abbey, the ancient stones that surround my worship space have heard the prayers of million who come with their burdens and their sins and leave them at the stone altar of this magnificent sanctuary. The strong, simply ornate pillars that rise up to the ceiling remind us of the millions of petitions for peace and justice that have passed through our lips on their way to God, the world and we know that we must keep building, building temples still undone until the heavenly kingdom comes on earth.

O keep us building, Master; may our hands Ne'er falter when the dream is in our hearts, When in our ears there come divine commands And all the pride of sinful will departs. We build with thee, O grant enduring worth Until the heavenly kingdom comes one earth.

And so I babble on. I babble on about an experience as old as St. Columba and as fresh and new as my own personal experience with the oneness and the nearness one feels to the ancient prophets, priests and saints who have made this pilgrimage. I come, not so much to touch the ancient stones of Iona, but to touch the generations of the faithful who remind us that we're still building, building the realm of God which comes as a misty, quiet night falls over the ancient stones. As a day of work comes to the end and we hear the sweet sound of the sheep on a nearby hill, we are reminded that our work is not yet done, but even the ancient stones must rest for tomorrow.