Incident on Iona

A long and circuitous single-track drive from Ulva Ferry to Fionnphort, a pedestrian ferry ride across to Iona. All of this done early enough to get the first ferry, ahead of the weekend tourists and pilgrims on Iona. Iona is a tiny island off the southwest coast of Mull in the Inner Hebrides.  It is only 1.5 miles wide by 3 miles long, with a population of around 120 permanent residents. The island is an official Historic Scotland site.

According to Historic Scotland: The Isle of Iona, 563 AD, enter Columba:  A prince from an Irish noble family, in his youth Columba became a priest and a missionary monk, founding a number of monastic houses in Ireland before a tribal feud forced him into exile. In 563, he and twelve companions arrived by coracle on Iona, at that time part of a colony on mainland Britain occupied by fellow Scots from his part of Ireland.

For the next 34 years, Columba and his monks, from their base on Iona, pursued an active missionary outreach, of what has come to be known as Celtic Christianity, throughout the Western Isle and up into the north eastern parts of what is now Scotland. Their wooden and wattle settlement on Iona, large parts of whose boundary vallum, or earth wall and ditch, can still be seen today, came to be known through the area as a centre of learning, healing, and hospitality. Their missionary method was to go out in small groups, set up their huts in the midst of their pagan neighbors (Columba called them “colonies of heaven”), and seek to attract people to the Gospel by their way of life, their care for all, and the preaching and practice of their faith.

The word on St Columba from a different but solid, maybe a more pagan source, straight off the back label of a bottle of the Red Monk of Iona, an amber ale, by the local brewery, Isle of Mull Brewing Company: St Columba (Colum Cille in Gaelic), born of royal blood in 521 AD in Ireland, was the grandson of the Irish King Niall. He left Ireland for Scotland not as missionary but as an act of self-imposed penance for a bloody mess he had caused at home. He had upset the king of Ireland which led to a pitched battle in which Columba’s warrior family prevailed. Full of remorse for his actions and the deaths he had ultimately caused he fled, finally setting on Iona as the first place he found where he couldn’t see his native Ireland.

In the Homilies of Cambra three levels of martyrdom were held forth for Irish monks. The final level is red martyrdom, in which the monk becomes a missionary going into the world, ready to suffer persecution and death.

Either way, back to present day Iona, the Historic Scotland site: As the few of us on this early AM first-of-the-day ferry arrive and disembark at the ferry slip we notice a kiosk and group of folks being addressed by a tall gent in a brownish uniform type outfit. My immediate frame of reference is the National Parks in the States. Historic Scotland sites as National Parks. Makes sense, made sense to me. Being interested in learning in general and history in particular we insert ourselves into this group to hear this gentleman’s presentation. He is interesting, presents well and knows his Iona and St Columba history.

This is great. How serendipitous. A young lady in a blueish uniform type outfit then taps me on the shoulder and beckons. She states that this is a private party. Rather taken aback, both dumbfounded and sheepish, my only reply is a question. “So we are not welcome?” She drops her eyes but nods her head yes. I am looking around and realizing that everyone in the group has some sort of Noble Caledonia ID, be it a hat, bag or the like. My wife and I step to the side to confer and share thoughts. We decide to continue through the gated stone wall into the ancient site. There is really no other way to proceed. The Noble Caledonia group has proceeded this way as well. They are in, we are out. In order to be on our ‘separate’ way we must walk through or around the group which has stopped and is being addressed again by the ranger-type gentleman. I find my way forward blocked by a large gentleman, a member of the Noble Caledonia travelers’ group. He is standing in the gateway at the stone wall. I ask to be excused and pass through. He denies my request at which point I am flabbergasted to realize that he is purposely and pointedly blocking my way and access. I promise not to listen in an almost astounded and half jesting manner. His reply as he steps aside is, “Ah … but you are.”

We proceed through and around the Noble Caledonia group doing our best ‘not to listen’. On the fringes of the group is the young woman who spoke to me initially. I motioned to the recent scene at the gate, telling her that this was not aimed at her but that this was the first time we had been treated rudely, poorly since we had been in Scotland. She allowed me to vent saying nothing but dropping her eyes, maybe in acknowledgement, certainly in discomfort.

I am wondering how a public place, an Historic Scotland site, can so easily be privatized and the public secluded, excluded?

At this site of early Scottish Christianity, a hallowed place that attracts pilgrims; I found myself being treated in an unChristian-like manner and to make matters worse having unChristian-like thoughts and feelings towards another.

Much after the fact, too much, I realize that there is a humorous story here somewhere.

I also realize that I have work to do as well. Apparently forgiveness does not come easily or quickly any more.