Land of Mystical Faith

There is a Gaelic prediction that whoever goes to Iona will go not once but three times. It is a tiny island, barely 1 1/2 by 3 miles, set across a narrow sound from the large island of Mull in the Hebrides, off the west coast of Scotland. But the richness of its landscapes and its ancient history, and something mysterious and ineffable in its spirit, call the traveler to return.

When you approach Iona by ferry from the small port of Fionnphort on Mull, or by excursion boat from Oban on the mainland, you will see a small village, its front row of stone houses neatly lined along a street facing the water, and behind them, gentle hills painted umber and green.

The island is the property of the National Trust of Scotland, and only 130 people live here year- round. But hundreds descend on Iona every day in summer, drawn by its prominent place in Scottish history, folklore and religion. It is the cradle of Christianity in Scotland and the resting place of numerous kings--clan chieftains--from throughout the Celtic world.

It’s best to plan on at least one night on the island, to get a feel for its spirit and appreciate its beauty. Because the day-trippers tend to stay close to the village, where the museum and ruins are clustered, I’d advise checking in with your hotel or B&B; when you disembark; then get a map at one of the two shops near the ferry landing and head out on foot. You will find paths to follow, but you may prefer to let the island take you.

People lived on Iona at least as far back as 4000 BC, but the island probably was empty when an Irish monk named Columba landed in 563. He established an evangelical community to bring the Gospel to whomever he and his monks might find. They spread the Christian faith throughout the Hebrides and the Western Highlands and as far as Iceland. The monks who stayed behind on Iona kept historical records, wrote and transcribed poems, prayers and scriptures, illuminated them in Celtic designs and made carvings in stone. Three of their stone crosses, featuring the pagan circle of Earth and sun surrounding the Christian cross of redemption, are sheltered today in Iona’s small abbey museum.

The world treasure known as the Book of Kells, an illuminated manuscript of the four Gospels, very likely was created on Iona in the 8th century, not long before marauding Vikings destroyed the monastery and killed 68 monks. The book was saved--it can be seen in Dublin today--but the religious community went into a long eclipse.

In the 13th century the Benedictines built a large stone monastery, which was joined by an Augustinian convent, renewing the religious presence on the island. But by the end of the 16th century, the dissolution of Roman Catholic communities in the Reformation spelled the end. By the following century the island had become the property of the Duke of Argyll. (His descendant presented the cathedral to the Church of Scotland in 1899.)

Over the years, nature and people needing building materials seriously damaged the monastery, but such was its size, beauty and solidity that the complex was a prime candidate for rescue. Much of it has been restored, an impressive group of buildings with the early 16th century church, now called the abbey, at its heart.

All of these sites are within walking distance of the jetty. After disembarking from the ferry, walk straight ahead to the nunnery ruins and go right, along the island’s main road. There will be little traffic, as only year-round residents may bring a car onto the island. The road will take you past tall sycamores, the island’s only trees, to the Heritage Center, where you can learn about Iona’s history and geology and purchase knitwear made by island women. Continue along the road to the historic St. Columba Hotel and the tiny and wonderful Iona Book Shop, to the Street of the Dead, which leads to the abbey. You will want to visit the abbey, of course, but also try to attend a service there.

A bit farther along the road is the MacLeod Center, which is used for conferences and retreats and is owned by the Iona Community. This is a group of spiritual seekers that has done admirable work restoring and maintaining the abbey and its grounds.

Just past the wee brook is the Iona Pottery, and if you venture out to the north end of the island, past farms and sheep and Traigh Bahn, a retreat house, you will be where the sands are the whitest and the winds most alive.

If you take the only crossroad from the village to the west side, you will find the Machair, a broad expanse of undulating sand and grass, looking for all the world like a natural golf course. In fact, there are 18 holes among the grazing sheep, and no charge for playing.

From there, you can explore the marble quarry and St. Columba’s Bay on the southwest end of the island, or find the Hill of the Fort to the north, site of the earliest recorded habitation, in the Iron Age.

It is said that Iona’s geology is evidence of how the planet began. The rocks on the island’s west side are among the oldest on Earth, forged deep inside the planet many hundreds of millions of years ago. Over the eons they rose to the surface in volcanic eruptions and then were overlaid by boulders, then by pebbles, sands and mud eroded from Himalaya-high mountains in northwest Scotland.

For a long time the soil itself was considered holy. Some of the earliest rulers of the Scots and powerful Highland chieftains were buried on Iona, in St. Oran’s Cemetery, and there is evidence suggesting that French, Irish, Pictish and Norse royalty were laid to rest there too. Burial on Iona is still an honor; with very few exceptions, outsiders are not eligible.

Next to the abbey is St. Oran’s Chapel, the oldest of Iona’s buildings. Oran, so the legend goes, was a Pictish convert and friend of Columba. He was buried alive to sanctify the first monastery’s ground--an inventive mix of pagan and Christian practices--and when he leaped from the grave, still alive, shouting to Columba, “Heaven is not as you think!” Columba had him reburied, silencing him for good.

Whatever the truth of this story, St. Oran’s Chapel is a wonderful place to sit quietly and an even better place to sing, for the acoustics are remarkable.

So many places on Iona drew me into thoughts of the past--the far past of pagans and saints and warriors, and the recent past of my own life, and the days I spent here before.

In 1950, in the aftermath of World War II, my young, adventuresome parents left Austin, Texas, to study in Scotland. They had four children along; I was the eldest. My father was a Presbyterian minister. He sought out centers of lay theological education all over Europe, looking for places where everyday life and the life of the spirit were joined.

The Rev. George MacLeod, also a Presbyterian, had founded the Iona Community in 1938 on just those principles. He believed that the search for spiritual awakening could be based in the work of physical renewal, and he brought together young ministers and stonemasons from Glasgow to restore the cloisters and monastic buildings of the abbey.

I remember joining my father here for an overnight stay in a converted chicken coop near the village jetty. I remember hearing the cry of a gull and knowing that somehow it was a part of me. Over the years, Iona came to represent that feeling of connection with all of life, and in 1997 I returned.

On this, my second visit to Iona, I attended the interfaith service in the abbey. Great stone arches set in red and gray granite walls surrounded candles lighted in every crevice, at every wooden pew. A woman tolled the steeple bell. Women conducted the service; one spoke on Celtic spirituality, about how everything is divine and accessible to all of us. We had tea together in the cloisters.

In April 1999 I fulfill the ancient Gaelic prediction and return to Iona for the third time. It feels like coming home. I am here as part of a small seminar at the St. Columba Hotel. Some of us go walking every afternoon, no matter what the weather.

We go to the Machair in gale- force winds, wearing many waterproof layers. We lean into the wind, forward and backward. It holds us.

We press across the smooth, rolling grass of the Machair, on white sand made of shells, on stone pebbles of green, orange and white. We face the Atlantic. It churns and froths, dances and folds. We stagger into the wind, laughing, tears flying, to the white shell beach.

One day I go alone to the nunnery ruins and sit facing the sun on a stone bench covered with lichen pancakes. Nearby, two women with strong Scots accents discuss their arthritis. For 300 years, from the 13th century to the 16th, women lived a contemplative life in this place, praying for the world. The pre-Christian goddess Sheila Na Gig, her carved, spraddle-legged stone body barely visible in the ancient south wall, opens herself, and this place, to the world.

Another day, I set out to find the Hermit’s Cell on the west of Dun I, the highest point on the island. Wind and rain rise on the ocean far to the south, but I press on until I find the circle of stones. This was a chamber once, with walls, a roof, a smoky fire. It was never quiet here; it isn’t now. One is never alone in this elemental place of saints and spirits. The wind brings sounds of footsteps pounding on the giant coast rocks, the stones sing, the eyes open to the undivided world.

I am drawn, on a sunnier day, to the 332-foot crest of Dun I. It is a steep but easy climb, with a 360-degree view from the top. Below, sheep and cattle graze bright fields. To the east is Martyrs’ Bay, where the massacre of the monks began. In the fields on the north end of the island, ghosts of buildings and stone enclosures push like erupting teeth through grassy soil. The sea on the northwest side breaks into tall sprays and plumes against the island’s edge. To the south, hills rise in rust, umber and green from the turquoise sea, split by crevasses into steep-sided fiords. Beyond, unseen Ireland lies beneath a dusting of clouds.

I find a rock out of the wind and lie down. Immediately I am whirling, spiraling into the earth; wind fills my throat, my head, my closed eyes. I feel cleansed, and then I sleep. When I awake I have dreamed the words “I am always here,” and I know it is the truth.

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GUIDEBOOK

Eye on Iona

Getting there: Flights from Los Angeles to Glasgow involve one plane change on American, Air Canada, Continental and British Airways. Summer fares begin at $986, round trip.

The train to Oban leaves Glasgow from Queen Street Station. Be sure to take the Oban ferry that has connecting bus service on Mull to Fionnphort.

For train information: Scotrail, telephone 011-44-345-484-950. Ferry: Caledonian MacBrayne, tel. 011- 44-990-650-000.

Where to stay: Iona has two small, well-run hotels, the St. Columba, tel. 011-44-1681-700-304, and the Argyll, tel. 011-44-1681-700-334. They both charge about $95 per person for a double room with breakfast and dinner.

Among the B&Bs;, which charge $52 per person, including breakfast and dinner: Mrs. McDonald’s, tel. 011-44-1681-700-325; Mrs. Black’s, tel. 011-44-1681-700-323.

For more information: British Tourist Authority (New York), 551 Fifth Ave., Suite 701, N.Y., NY 10176; tel. (800) 462-2748, Internet https://www.btausa.com.