back in action - a week later!!

Einstein had a theory of relativity - not being a physic fan I don't understand it, however I do know the experience of time being relative. It feels a very long time since Iona although I have only been back just over a week. But then it is September, busy meeting and paperwork season for the Methodist Church.

It was wonderful to be so fully away as I was that week - not even a mobile signal so what was left behind really was left behind. The real give away was when one of the group commented on the Friday how much better I was looking than when we had first arrived. We don't necessarily notice how drained we are until we actually stop.

Though having stopped I found it took a good few days to get back into 'mainland time'. The sea air and Scottish winds did blow out the cobwebs though and when I did wake up to mainland time I was able to think beyond the last problem into looking ahead. Not always a comfortable view but important to be able to see.

Our small rural churches have a challenging year ahead as we review our mission and viability - please think of us, and I ask that all my emotional fragility will not be a burden but a help in the path ahead.

Iona 2 (Wednesday)

Yesterday I went on a long walk, I followed the pilgrimage route around part of the island but not with the organised group – I wanted to travel at my own pace, not in the crowd and to reflect and pray in my own way not as set by others. Stroppy independent miss me, or maybe just in need of my own space. I thought about the early monks travelling from Ireland in tiny boats, mere coracles in a powerful sea, a sea that casts great mounds of pebbles and stones much further inland than you might imagine on a calm day. The story is that on arriving on Iona St Columba looked back to be sure he could no longer see his homeland.  There is a lot to be said for that, if we are to move on then it needs to be in a way that running back to what used to be is no longer an option – only then will we really stick out the struggles of the new place and commit ourselves to that task.

September is when Methodist ministers who have moved to new appointments always start their new roles, this year I know several who have let go of what came before and travel to the new – though not in coracles.  The cycle of preparing for moves next September also begins and I have been part of the discussions about the information going out for a vacancy in our circuit.  It has all set me thinking about a couple of years ahead when I will have to consider whether to move then or later.

When I first took up the role of minister here I described it as suddenly being parent to a range of very different children. Not in the sense of having the parental wisdom – more like the new parents home from hospital, babe in arms suddenly feeling all the responsibility whilst unsure if they know what they are doing!  Well I have grown into the role and have made deep emotional connections with these churches and these communities – but lately so much has reminded me that I am but a foster carer. I am trusted to be the minister, a leader and guide, but only for a time. However deeply attached I feel  I need to be ready to sail on to new places when the time is right. It also means that I must remember the limits of my responsibility – and not weigh myself down with burdens that are not mine to carry.

Ever since ordination this summer I have begun to think wider than the churches I travel with now, and that has freed me to recognise that my studies about faith and depression are a valid expression of my calling and not a tag along hobby.  It feels unloyal at times to my current churches, but seeing a lifetime ministry not just these few years, and acknowledging that it is not for me to try and solve all the challenges of my congregations singlehanded.... well I can’t do that and it isn’t my place to.

So although not boarding a coracle yet, I am learning to hold loosely ready to let go when the call comes and trusting to God to provide for me and for those who stay.

Iona 1 (Monday)

Iona 1 (Monday)

Saturday was a long day, a very long day mostly in a small coach from Herefordshire up to the wee island of Iona.  Actually the journey went well, reading my college books passed the time well enough and I would look up whenever we stopped at services surprised by how far up we had got.

Up past Loch Lomond, and across the countryside beyond the reading was set aside in favour of the views (and reading on windy roads is not as easy as on the motorway!) The ferry to Mull and a drive across it in pouring rain uncertain if the Iona ferry would be running (we had been warned it might not)followed by a rocky crossing and then we were here. Iona. The Thin Place. The place of pilgrimage and prayer.

So here I am, I worshipped at the Abbey on Sunday morning, wandered around a couple of shops in the midst of day visitors pouring on and off the ferry and after lunch sat out on the secluded shore behind the house with a novel before retreating in from the cold wind. Today I have been back to the Abbey for the historical tour.

I am enjoying the space, the retreat from normal life, and the beautiful rugged scenery – but I don’t get the wonder or awe that people claim for this place.  Maybe it is the pressure of the expectations people put on this place, too much talk of sacredness attached to one particular part of God’s creation.

Come for the island beauty, come for the history – but we must look for the thin places where we are, and find the stillness in ourselves.  Maybe the point of a pilgrimage is to travel far and wide to discover that God was there at home, and to return with that knowledge.