Passage: a path made for somebody through an obstruction; a section of a piece of writing, speech, or music; change of place or condition; process of time passing; a journey, especially one made by sea or air; the fact of traveling to a place or of being allowed to enter or pass through it.
These definitions all have had vital importance for me in the past month of May.
The last retreat with the other volunteers to Iona off the coast of Scotland, encapsulates many of the definitions given above. For those who have not heard, Europe had been inundated with ash clouds from Iceland that forced the airlines to cancel a week of flights and left many stranded with very few options. Instead of flying to Glasgow and making our way from there, we borrowed the minibus from my roommate's church and drove most of the way. Now wait, you say, "I know my geography and you can't just drive to Iona!" Well, you are correct. We took a ferry which escorted us to Scotland with the minibus included. Then we drove for quite a bit until we reached the picturesque Loch Lomond. There is a quite famous song about that particular loch, ask me about it if you are interested. After lunch with the famous view, we continued our drive (catching signs along the way saying HASTE YE BACK) to Oban, where we took our second ferry and left the minibus. We then took a bus and the last ferry. After 13 hours we had made it to Iona.
There were no miraculous healing fountains, no gimmicks or tracts. It was there just as it has been for hundreds of years. We went to the morning and evening worship. That was also a small walk from where we were staying and gave us some time to appreciate walking some more. The second day we were there we made a seven mile pilgrimage around the island. It was extremely enjoyable even if my neck and chest were sunburnt because of it. We stayed at a hostel on the island which had an acre of green grass that was extremely soft and led to an incredible beach with stunning views all around. I was able to run around in the grass, throw a frisbee around and sit with a cup of tea one morning on the grass taking in the beauty that surrounded me.
Now as a history major knowing that several Scottish and Norwegian kings were buried on Iona was pretty interesting. The monks of Iona were most famously known for the Book of Kells (800 AD) which is on display at Trinity College in Dublin. They fled because of the Viking attacks. They fled to an area not too far from Dublin called Slane, which I got to visit when my mom and aunt were here in late March/early April.
Newgrange, is another mecca for those who love Iona, anthropology, or archaeology. I have to be honest, I wasn't excited about going there at first. My mom was definitely the one to push that one. It turned out to be one of the more spiritually moving places for me. We were the last tour of that day and it had snowed that morning and was mizzly. We were pretty tired at that point. The guide explained the history and some of the theories surrounding what Newgrange was for. We were told no cameras or video devices were allowed. We had to snuggle into the passage way and were careful not touch the sides of entrance which was quite narrow. This was quite ironic to the whole group of us because as you can see in photos, Newgrange is big on the outside. I like though that they don't allow pictures, not just for the conservation of this 4,500 year old structure but also because it made the experience much more moving for me. The guide showed us what the winter solstice would be like for those who would come to sit in the dark and wait for the light to come into the tomb like structure. It was humbling to hear that the light wouldn't come every year because of cloud cover or the like. That these people would leave their own shelter and wait in the cold dark place for a light that might not even come showed a dedication that certainly wowed me and many others. I felt very privileged being able to see something that they held so dearly even though there are only theories behind what Newgrange meant to them.
Like the monks, I am also on a journey or passage. No, I am not being chased by vikings, nor have I written anything like the Book of Kells and I certainly don't have the same routine as they would have. What I see is that my passage continues even when I leave Belfast, though the passage might look different.
Apologies: Pictures don't seem to want to load right now, hopefully I will be able to get more up later!
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