Iona pilgrimage: faith is renewed where Christianity began in Scotland.

The high-standing stone Celtic cross has overlooked the harbour for more than a thousand years. It has seen countless generations of worshippers come and go. It has witnessed the nearby abbey rise from nothing, flourish as a community, decline, fall into decay and disrepair, then be rebuilt and restored. It is an enduring symbol of faith.

This cross is the oldest structure on the Isle of Iona off the West Coast of Scotland. It is made of some of the oldest material on earth and stands on ground that is, perhaps, the earliest evidence of Creation existing on our planet.

On this bright midsummer morning, we join hands in a circle around the high cross. We sing a hymn in praise of the Creator, much as our Celtic ancestors would have done long ago. Then we set out upon the road, a long line of Christian pilgrims from many distant places: a schoolteacher from New Zealand and a nurse from Germany, a lawyer from Canada talking with a mother from Alaska. Father Sarducci, leaning on his cane and bringing up the rear, converses earnestly with a young woman from Greece.

We pause at the ruins of the nunnery to remember our sisters who served in this place so long ago, in difficult, sometimes brutal circumstances. It is peaceful now. A carefully tended garden among the gaping stone walls provides a quiet sanctuary for passers-by. The outline of what once was the chapel is apparent. It is easy to imagine the worship services conducted here and to hear again the Gregorian chant.

We move on, leaving the village behind to cross the machair. A corncrake croaks from somewhere in the long grass of an adjacent field. The pace is leisurely and there is time for talk, time to take in the beauty and grandeur of the sweep of land as it gently descends to the ocean, time to reflect, time to make new friends. There is no reason to hurry. We take our cue from the grazing sheep that scarcely notice our passage among them.

We climb farther over rocky outcrops and through what the actress from London calls the "boggy bits," then descend to the very place where, according to legend, St. Columba and a dozen companions arrived from Ireland in their little coracle nearly 1,500 years ago. The "beach" that now bears his name is covered by innumerable, polished round stones. It is difficult to imagine anyone landing there in a small boat amid the pounding Atlantic rollers. Yet, St. Columba did come. He founded a monastery and worked to spread Christianity in this land. We do not doubt that seemingly impossible things have happened here over the course of history.

We continue on, past the hermit's cell, over the high crags of the Dun I, and descend once more to the lower level. We end the day near where we began, in the ancient chapel of St. Oran in the churchyard by the abbey. All the early kings of Scotland are said to be buried here, together with ordinary villagers, a staff sergeant of the RCMP and unknown victims of world wars. Each was created in the image of God, lived, worked, played and, eventually, came to rest in this "thin place" that is the Isle of Iona. Here, the temporal and spiritual come close to merging.

We return to the centre to prepare for the evening meal and the worship service to follow. We all will share and take comfort in this service dedicated to healing. These evening and morning services in the abbey are unhurried, with time to ponder the significance of each element of the liturgy before moving to the next. Lay worshippers plan and lead worship, speaking in turn from their places. This enhances the sense of community worship. The liturgy and the forms of services are varied and imaginative, as is the use of music. When it is time to recite together our Lord's prayer, we are often invited to do so in our own languages. The resulting murmur of voices is somehow supremely reassuring. Amid the pressures of daily life back home, not many of us are used to the discipline of opening and closing each day with an act of dedication so much in the Celtic tradition. Here, however, it is natural and right.

Tomorrow, we will resume our studies of Celtic spirituality in a more conventional way. We have already been introduced to the writings of Pelagius and John Scotus Eriugena. We will now better understand their urging to listen to the Book of Creation as well as to the words of Holy Scripture. We are ready now to listen for the heartbeat of God.

None of us claims any special station or rank. In the end, we are only a group of people drawn together by common interest, perhaps by chance, perhaps not. In the language of St. Paul, we recognize neither Jew nor Greek, male nor female, free nor slave. We have discovered that we are simply human beings, Christians, whose individual faith and life journeys have merged for a brief time. What some insist on making complicated has become much less so.

When we stand on the ferry taking us back to our own worlds, we feel privileged to have participated in this experience with some special people. One day, we shall return to this place -- even if only in our dreams.