PPB asked me in the previous set of comments whether I’ve been to Iona.

The short answer is, No.

I’m not sure how to characterize the other answer, which is, Yes. So I've been told.

Skeptics are really not going to like this one. It sits uncomfortably with me too. But I’m OK with the discomfort. If you aren’t OK, it’s really all right. Do yourself a favor and move on.

Two years ago I returned to my seminary for a week of study leave in spiritual formation. During the closing worship, each of us renewed our baptismal vows, and the group laid hands on each person in turn and then prayed for each person.

We laid hands on the director of the program, J, a woman with a lovely, large presence and a hug that is so big and gracious, you could always just tell she was saying a little prayer for you as she embraced you. The assistant director, L, prayed the out-loud part, and the rest of us rested our hands on her shoulders and head. I think the director wept. It is powerful, the laying on of hands. It feels very weighty, with a powerful sort of heat to it.

Later L told me about their recent trip to Iona with a group of pilgrims. One day L & J were walking around the old nunnery, which is nothing but a shell of a brick building anymore. If you know Iona, you know it is described as a thin space. L shared that the two of them felt the presence of all those women who had walked and lived and prayed in that space before.

At this point L looked me in the eye and said, “You were there.

“You were there. I felt it then, and so did J. And I felt it just now when we were huddled over J in prayer. You were one of those old women at Iona.”


I’ve realized over time, some things it’s best not to parse; better just to let them be. I admit that I try to figure out such illogical revelations, to try to impose something systematic around them. This woman is no flake; she is solid as stone. All I know is, it’s not about reincarnation or anything so, well, structured as that. Best I can figure, it’s about a sense of eternity in each person, eternity that is nonetheless rooted in particular places on this earth. I believe everyone has a place—maybe multiple places, who knows. I don’t know whether Iona is my place, but I know that when I see pictures of that wild barren landscape, or those long cloister hallways, something inside crackles.

So no, I haven't been, but apparently I have.