“Peace to the land and all that grows on it.
Peace to the sea and all that swims in it.
Peace to the air and all that flies through it.
Peace to the night and all who sleep in it.”
~ Ray Simpson, Communities of Aidan and Hilda

In May, for my birthday, a friend gave me a book of devotional writings from the Celtic Christian tradition. I have quite a collection of books like this but this particular one was new to me. Each day there are three short pieces of scripture and then a poem, a short paragraph or a prayer. Each day I have tried to spend time with this quite thick book whose pages are filled with images of places I love, places where the heart of my spirit is. Because the theme of pilgrimage is so central to the Celtic tradition, each section has something to say, both through scripture and other texts, about this journey of life of which we are all a part, this life of being a pilgrim.

June’s writings carried a theme of the desert fathers and mothers, those faithful who lived by traveling, always looking for the face of God. July carried the theme of ‘pilgrimage’ and wove the many ways we find ourselves on paths, known and unknown, with those in biblical stories whose lives reflected this traveling life. August used all writings about the Isle of Iona off the coast of Scotland. The writings made my heart sing as I remembered the precious, holy days I spent there three years ago.

Coming into September, I was anxious to see where this little meditation time might take me. I was not disappointed. August’s scripture and readings all deal with the lives of Aidan and Hilda, two saints of the early church who spent some of their days on the amazing land known as Lindisfarne.

This small village in the north of England just near the Scottish Borders is a remarkable place. Pilgrims have traveled there for centuries making their way over land and water depending on the rise and fall of the tides, the pull of the moon. Three years ago as we traveled to this green, lush landscape, we knew we had a certain window of time to make it across the road that would at some point of the day be covered completely with the sea, creating an island for a few hours. There was something magical and mysterious about this phenomenon. And to experience it only made it more so.

As I have been reading the words about Lindisfarne and Aidan, I have been transported back to the day spent there. It was a rainy day, a gray day. And yet as I remember it I am aware only of the warmth. Though my shoes were soaked and even my rain jacket felt heavy with the weight of the atmosphere, my spirit was calm and peaceful. Those we met who lived in this small village spent their days telling the ancient story of the Christian community that grew and flourished there. I remember wondering what it might be like to have this ‘sometimes an island, sometimes not an island’ existence.

Perhaps I remember this time so fondly because I remember how time shifted once the tide came in. No one was going any place. The sheep in the fields about us looked on already knowing this. We who walked upright took longer to realize the gift in this shift in landscape.

Sometimes we all need the tide to come in and create an island where we can dwell for a wee bit of time. Knowing the roads are closed to our going anywhere allows for a deep breath, a sitting still, a watching the world out the window. That particular day I sat with two friends, one I’d known for a long time and the other new to me. We drank tea, we allowed our shoes to dry off, and we talked about things that mattered. Warmth abounded. We could do this because the sea was surrounding us and we had become island dwellers.

Aidan must have known the gift of this place and how it could work on a person. Seems like a perfect place to build a community of pilgrims willing to tell the good news to anyone who might get stranded for a few hours waiting for the road to reappear.