FBC family, I’m grateful for your generosity in allowing me time away for soul refreshment. This Saturday evening I begin my journey to Scotland and the Isle of Iona. I made my first pilgrimage to Iona two years ago with the Shalem Institute. This time I’m returning as a co-leader. Going back feels like its own kind of grace.
There is no quick way to Iona. A train from Glasgow to Oban—the Gateway to the Isles. A ferry to the Isle of Mull. A bus across Mull's narrow roads to the fishing village of Fionnphort. And then a final, small ferry across the Sound of Iona, and you're there. With each leg of the journey, layer by layer, the world you left behind falls away. By the time you arrive, your heart has already begun to expand toward what's waiting.
Iona
Just the word—and already something in me becomes still.
This tiny island, off the western coast of Scotland, sits where the light is always changing—sea and sky in unending conversation. The Celts have long called it a "thin place," where the veil between the human and the holy grows almost transparent.
When the Irish monk Columba and twelve companions landed on Iona's rocky shore in 563, they weren't merely seeking refuge, but planting seeds of faith that would take root across Scotland and beyond. Widely known today as the birthplace of Christianity in Scotland, Iona has drawn pilgrims for fourteen centuries—people still arriving at the edge of the world to listen.
My intention while on Iona is not complicated. Stillness. More silence than I sometimes allow myself. The kind of listening that requires me to stop producing and just receive. I want to hear what Love sounds like when I finally get out of the way.
To Be a Pilgrim
Pilgrimage can sound like something that happens to other people — more spiritually adventurous people, perhaps, with better hiking boots.
But here's what I've come to believe: pilgrimage isn't primarily about where you go. It's about how you go.
Savoring a cup of mint tea in your tiny, urban garden.
Planting your face in puppy fur and inhaling.
Listening—really listening—to the bird songs on an unhurried walk along the National Mall.
All of these can be doorways to a deeper presence. As you walk, do you feel the ground beneath your feet? The warmth on your face? The breath moving through you right now?
There is holiness in the ordinary. A blade of grass pushing through a crack in the sidewalk. Light moving across a wall. The simple miracle of true human connection.
Pilgrimage is not an escape. It's a way of seeing—sacred presence woven into the fabric of the everyday. To be a pilgrim is to slow down, pay attention, and open oneself to divine presence in this moment.
So, friends—where will your pilgrimage take you today? Maybe on a run past some monuments. Maybe to a bookstore. Maybe to your couch for a nap. Maybe just three breaths before you walk into the next hard thing.
Wherever you are, I hope you find yourself a pilgrim on this sacred journey.
Pastor Eric will be preaching and offering pastoral care while I'm away May 16–29. I'm grateful for him and for you.
In the Great Love,
PS: In the spirit of Iona, I leave you with this timeless Gaelic blessing:
Deep peace of the running wave to you.
Deep peace of the flowing air to you.
Deep peace of the quiet earth to you.
Deep peace of the shining stars to you.
Deep peace of the gentle night to you.
Moon and stars pour their healing light on you.
Deep peace of Christ,
of Christ the light of the world to you.
Deep peace of Christ to you.