After a long night flight and a lay over in Amsterdam, we arrived in Glasgow, Scotland in the late morning. Those of us who had been planning this pilgrimage for more than a year, looked at one another in awed triumph. “We are really here!” Thirty-one people who did not know one another several months ago are now traveling, eating, laughing, praying and becoming community. It is a joyous thing, a holy thing.

After meeting our Scottish guide, Bill, at the airport we headed into the rolling country side to have lunch at Peebles……a sweet little town on the river Tweed. The walk along the river helped liven us up after the long plane journey. The group is beginning to gel and the small groups of travelers who knew one another from other circles are now spending time getting to know new people. A good trait for any pilgrimage, I think. At our first stop we headed out in twos and threes to discover places for lunch and shopping. A pilgrim must ask the locals for advice on where to find food. I received good advice on the cheeses of the local area. I relied on the kindness of strangers as we all did.

As we continued on toward Melrose Abbey, we saw the heather,now reddish brown on the hills, turned from its lavender blue of its August flowering. Fly fishermen lined the river searching for salmon and trout. Pheasants scattered themselves about in the harvested barley fields, their ringed-necks looking like a woman adorned in fine jewelry. The countless fluffy sheep lazed on the hillsides making polka dotted patterns in the rich, green grass. The scene gave new meaning to the word pastoral.

We arrived at Melrose Abbey, a medieval Cistercian stronghold situated in a town of cobblestoned winding streets. As we entered the abbey grounds, the sounds of bagpipes began to wash out of the stone ruins. Really? Really. We had come upon a wedding in this ancient place. I was struck with the power of a new beginning in a place that had known the prayer and work of so many of the faithful over hundreds of years. The wedding party marched out of what remains of the abbey walls. The men in kilts of different family tartans. The bride, resplendent in an ivory gown that shown against the deep green of the grass, the strength of the stone. The women guests wore extravagant hats as only the British can do.

We pilgrims spent time walking the abbey grounds, standing in the places where walls once stood, where both clergy and lay people worked side by side to tell of God’s movement in their lives, in their time. Slowly I observed our little group walk off singly, looking with interest and a sense of presence at the ancient, sacred place to which we had come. Just hours ago, we had been flying high over the Earth, something those who had made their mark in the stone and the soil of this place could never have imagined.

And yet somehow, if we allowed ourselves the presence of mind, the fullness of Spirit, we were connected to the breath, their breath that moves through this holy place. It had become a truly thin place.