We crossed to from Bunessan to Iona early and rather quickly. Ted wanted us to be there before the first ferries showed up, sometimes disgorging entire bus loads of tourists.
Given my background, I was already pretty familiar with Iona and the Iona Community. For those of you who have spent your life studying more normal and useful things, here is an almost brief synposis.
In 563, the Irish monk Columba, apparently expelled from Ireland, though the reason is not particularly clear, landed here at Iona and proceeded to establish a monastic community. Columba was clearly a charismatic personality, and Iona rather quickly became a center of Celtic monasticism. Like many of the Irish monasteries, copying and illustrating manuscripts was a central activity, and The Book of Kells, perhaps the greatest artistic achievement of the era, was created here on Iona. Unfortunately, all this attracted the attention of the Vikings and after successive raids the monastery was ultimately abandoned. Almost nothing remains of Columba’s monastery.
Around 1200, a group of Benedictines reestablished monastic life on the Island. Both monasteries for men and women were founded, and these thrived for about the next three hundred years. Scottish monasteries were not directly affected by Henry VIII’s suppression of the monasteries as Scotland was an independent kingdom at the time, but none of them survived the radical Scottish Reformation led by John Knox. The monasteries were left in ruins, and Iona became only another fishing village.
About 1900, the Duke of Argyle, whose lands included the village of Iona, decided that the “cathedral” there needed to be restored. Rebuilding ruined castles and churches was an obsession of the Victorian period, so it is somewhat surprising that it took so long to turn attention to Iona. The Duke established and endowed a foundation to restore the building.
During the Great Depression, George McLeod, a liberal Church of Scotland minister in Glasgow, wanted to establish a retreat and study center for his fellow Presbyterians, particularly those who shared his commitment to a kind of socialism. He was allowed to establish this on Iona, using the partially restored abbey building.
The Iona Community has been tremendously successful, and the Community finished the restoration of the abbey church and building a retreat center adjacent to it. Although I find worship resources the community produces to be almost unbearably vapid, they are extremely popular among mainline Protestants in the United States.
As you approach Iona, the abbey building immediately catches your eye.
Ted took us in the boat to the town pier. One of the smaller CalMac ferries does dock here, so the pier was a somewhat more solid structure than many places where we have disembarked. The town is almost unbearably cute, rows of whitewashed house with ample gardens facing the sea.
The abbey church is always visible from just about anywhere you look.
I was a little underwhelmed the church, however, we we arrived. The visitor’s center does a terrific job providing a variety of interpretive and historical materials. I learned a fair amount I did not already know about both early and later monasticism here. I was particularly fascinated by many of the crosses on the site, and some of them, like this one, are quite ancient.
But the abbey church itself was disappointing. The interior of the church itself is quite stark. There is no sense of the richness and sensuality of medieval Catholicism. Instead, the feeling is far more Calvinist.
On our way back, we passed George McLeod’s house.
Perhaps I am cynical, but this seems a little grander than living in the slums of Glasgow. I wanted to update Viking Cruises’ motto to “Saving the world … in comfort.”
In the afternoon, we finally did make it to Staffa and Fingal’s Cave. Ted, waving hello here,
split us into two groups. One group would come with him in the tender into the cave itself, while the other group would go up to the top of Staffa and enjoy the view. John and I were in the first group. As we came close to the cave, John noticed how similar it is to the Giant’s Causeway in Ulster. Ted regaled us story of formation of Giant’s Causeway was formed by a big, but stupid Irish giant, who was tricked by a smaller, but much more clever Scottish giant. I wondered if they reversed the story in Ireland.
The exterior of the cave is dark and almost sinister.
But the inside is remarkably colorful. The water is an astonishing shade of blue green.
John definitely thought this was a high point of the trip.
When we returned to the dock to change groups, Ted suggested that John stay in the boat as he knew John could not climb the 100 steps or so to the top. The four who had walked to the top of the island could only talk about how horrible the “midgies” were. Midgies, very tiny flies the seem to swarm in clouds, are the bane of summer life in Scotland. I decided not to walk up to the top. Instead, I followed the path around the side to the cave hoping to get there when the boat did. And it worked. In fact, I was at the mouth of the cave as they entered.
And I snapped a couple photos of them as they made their way into the cave.
We left Staff and continue on, mooring for the night by Ulva, the “wolf island.” Tomorrow, Ted says that it may be stormy and we will be making tracks for Tobermory.
