There is a line from a song by John Bell of the Iona Community that has taken on new meaning for the pilgrims: “At night, as I dreamt, God summoned the day; for God never sleeps, but patterns the morning with slithers of gold or glory in grey.”
The day of our journey to Iona began with glory in grey. Clouds wreathed the hills as our coach passed down the one-lane road on the Isle of Mull to the ferry dock. Beyond the stretch of water, Iona’s abbey was just visible through the mist.
Wrapped tightly in layers of wool and rain gear, we held Iona’s morning service near the Cross of St. Martin. The cross, which was probably erected to help direct pilgrims, dates from the eighth century and has stood in the same place for more than a thousand years.
As the day wore on, the clouds began to drift apart, and by the afternoon the “slithers of gold” had turned into sunshine.
