“Everyone who thirsts, come to the waters.”  Isaiah 55:1

“Deep communion and dear compassion is formed much more by shared pain than by shared pleasure.”  Richard Rohr

Every Tuesday the Iona Community hosts an island pilgrimage.  It is not so much a trek as a contemplative walk.  It provides participants with the opportunity to consider some of the significant places and people, both past and present, the impact they have made on this island and the effect they still have on us today.

I had decided not to take the pilgrimage as it was rainy, and I was familiar with the places they would be going due to my time spent previously living there.  But the rain stopped unexpectedly, the sun began to send its bright beams over the island, and I suddenly felt not only the desire, but the need to take at least part of the pilgrimage.  It was as if I was being compelled by this divine invitation.

Our group gathered in front of the Abbey at St. Martin’s cross.  Martin was a Roman soldier in the fourth century who gave half of his cloak to a beggar.  That night in a dream Jesus came to him and told Martin that He was the beggar.  As a result, Martin renounced violence, left the Roman Legion, and became a soldier of the cross.  We moved from there to the ruins of the nunnery, a monument to the neglect and abuse that women in the church have suffered throughout the centuries.  After a couple of other stops our morning culminated at St. Columba’s Bay where we ate our sack lunch. After leaving The Bay we backtracked to a broad, green meadow called the Machir. It is a huge piece of flat land that lies adjacent to the sea and that was once used for growing vegetables, but now is a pasture for sheep and part of the rather rugged golf course. A staff member of the Iona Community was waiting for us with tea and flapjacks, a sweet brownie-like bar that is filled with nuts and seeds.

I decided not to finish the rest of the pilgrimage, as I wanted to avoid the boggy landscape that lay in wait and instead spend time by myself at The Abbey.  So, I took leave of the group, and was joined by two others on the walk back.  I had noticed one of them previously. He had seemed distraught, as though deeply troubled in spirit.  After a bit of polite conversation John began to share his reason for being at Iona.  His addiction to alcohol had become unmanageable, to the point that he had told his boss that he was quitting his job.  His employer had graciously granted him leave time and so John chose to come to Iona for healing.  As we walked, he unburdened himself about his broken life and relationships, especially those with his family.  He filled in details about the devastating effects his drinking had on him.  I listened as he told of how, amid his darkness, he had caught a glimpse of the light of Christ.  Here was a modern-day St. John of the Cross!  He spoke in a manner that was part confession, part conversion story, and part cry for help.  Occasionally I asked him clarifying questions, and at other times assured and reassured him of God’s ferocious love for him, but mostly I just listened.  I could empathize due not only to my own brokenness that I had brought to this island, but also to the time I had spent after Iona volunteering with alcoholics and addicts at the Colorado Coalition for the Homeless. John had fallen during one of his binge blackouts and had injured his back, so the other person with us, a retired physician, brought him some salve that she had brought with her.  John desired to continue the conversation and so we walked slowly back from the Abbey toward the village. 

Two small picnic tables seemed to invite us to sit down and rest, and we did so for a time.  John spoke of how he had found some healing at Iona, not only because of being in this sacred place, but also being embraced by others.  Nonetheless he had decided that he must leave, that he needed to intentionally enter a program to get the help he most needed to get sober.  I reassured him that he was not defined by his addictions, that his true identity was as a child of God, and that we are each better than our worst life decisions. Iona could put him on a new path and give him a new beginning in life. It wasn’t merely a hope, it was a promise.  As we parted I prayed silently that he would find the help, the hope, and the healing that he desired.

It was a powerful encounter, and I left it with no doubt that God had placed John on my path that day.  Had it been the only one that week, it would’ve been a sufficient reminder of the magical way in which the Spirit of Iona arranges for meaningful, almost mystical encounters.  But there would be another one the very next day. I’ll save that one for next week.

I leave you to ponder this:  What healing are you in need of, and whom has God placed in your path?