I’ve never been enamored of organized religion. The ceremony and ritual, rather than being a source of comfort, is repetitious and tedious. I’m appalled by the senseless and barbarous acts of violence committed throughout history by religious institutions in the name of God. And who isn’t repulsed by the actions of pedophile priests in what seems to be a recurring scandal exposed to light every few years?

On the other hand, I’m a true believer in the mystical. How can one deny the spiritual power of the natural world, the miracle of birth, the enormity of the universe? Examples abound of many people who led lives that reflected spiritual values like mercy, tolerance, and selflessness. Certainly, God is not a bearded and bethroned older Caucasian gentleman floating Monty Python-like amidst billowing clouds. But there does seem to be a higher power, a great spirit, or a force at work which our puny human minds will never fully understand.

So, it was with this mindset that in 2018 I found myself on the Isle of Iona, the tiny island adjacent to Mull, off the west coast of Scotland. Widely believed to be the birthplace of Benedictine Christianity, Iona is home to St. Columba’s monastery, established with his arrival in AD 563. Though frequently raided by Vikings, Columba’s monastery survived until the end of the 12th century when the sons of Somerled, the “King of the Isles,” founded a Benedictine Abbey in its place. Though monastic life on Iona ended with the Protestant Reformation of 1560, pilgrims seeking solace and redemption have continued flocking to St Columba’s Shrine through the centuries. Despite my religious skepticism, I suppose I’m now one of those pilgrims. Certainly, I found solace and peace there…redemption, though? That remains to be seen.

Reaching Iona, although not a lengthy trek, can be a trying one. After a pleasant 3-hour car ride from Stronachlachar on the western shore of Loch Katrine in Trossachs National Park along Highway A85, Joscelyn, mother-in-law Diane and husband Verne, and I arrived in Oban on Scotland’s western coast. From there the 1-hour ferry crossing took us to Craignure on the Isle of Mull. To reach Iona though, we had to cross Mull to reach our next ferry. Waiting for us (along with several other ferry passengers) was a fully appointed, modern tour bus to transport us to Fionnport on the island’s southwest coast. However, the fare was cash only and wouldn’t you know it, we only could scrape together 30 of the required 32 pounds. But thanks to the generosity of David, a cook also bound for Iona, who “lent” us the difference, we all set off on our pilgrimage to experience peaceful days of meditation and fellowship, surrounded by ghosts of a past that still lingers.

But I’m left to ponder. Who, or what, led a Good Samaritan to that bus with us? Perhaps there is a higher power after all.

More later…