The Rev. Dr. Pamela Dolan
Episcopal Church of St. Martin
October 1, 2023
Walking on Holy Ground
Many of you will remember that the primary focus of my summer sabbatical was spending time in Scotland, soaking in the soul medicine of Celtic spirituality while revisiting some places where I had last been more than thirty years ago: the utterly magical island of Iona, the bustling little port town of Oban, the magnificent campus of the University of St. Andrews. The high point of the trip was a seven-day pilgrimage walk with my family, following in the footsteps of St. Cuthbert, a seventh-century monk and bishop known for his love of the local flora and fauna, his healing miracles, and his ability to bring peace and unity to places of conflict and division.
The pilgrimage took us through about 70 miles of the beautiful countryside of the Scottish borders, ending on the island of Lindisfarne. Lindisfarne is a tidal island, connected to the mainland by a causeway that is covered by the sea during high tide and left bare, and therefore passable, when the tide is out. This little tidal island, less than a mile across, is known far and wide as Holy Island, home of an important monastery and more than a couple of saints, most notably Aiden and Cuthbert. It has been a pilgrimage site since Cuthbert’s time.
There are two ways to cross from the mainland to Holy Island. There is a paved road on the causeway, accessible to cars and buses as well as pedestrians, that is raised a bit above the sandy isthmus but still gets covered by the high tide. The other way to cross is on foot via the pilgrims’ path, which is a wet and sandy stretch that is passable only when the tide is at its lowest. Traditionally, one walks the pilgrims’ path barefoot, for both spiritual and practical reasons.
During our trip we encountered many, many warnings about not taking risks with the tide, and only crossing when it is at its lowest point, whether you’re going by foot or by car. A typical advisory reads: “The pilgrims’ path brings you closer to the village but is covered by water for at least one hour longer than the causeway, so only use it if you are absolutely sure you have enough time. […] The crossing takes longer than you may think and you can sink up to your knees in places. Both routes have a refuge box for emergencies but that does not make it worth the risk. The sea may look shallow, but the currents are dangerous and the refuge boxes are cold and uncomfortable.” In other words: traveler beware!
The morning that we crossed over from the mainland to Holy Island will remain etched in my memory for a long time. The way I read the tide table, it looked like we were getting started just a bit too late to walk safely across the pilgrim’s path. I was disappointed but, in the interest of all of us arriving in one piece, I encouraged us all to take the safer route and walk on the paved causeway. Some of my walking companions thought I was being overly cautious and were sure we had enough time to walk across the sand.
In the end, we split up; Annabel and I took the high road and John and Kathleen the pilgrims’ path. After we’d been walking along the causeway for a couple of miles, dodging traffic and keeping our eyes on the other two to make sure they weren’t in danger of being swept away, Annabel and I decided to take off our shoes and join them.
There was something indescribable about that final leg of the journey, the cold water of the North Sea coming up through the wet sand and baptizing our bare feet. There was no doubt in my mind that we were walking on holy ground. We’d been following in the footsteps of saints and pilgrims for six days and more than 60 miles, but that was the first time we’d taken off our shoes and truly let each step feel like a prayer.
The next day, I walked even further out into the sea, this time alone, as I stepped across slippery rocks to get to a tiny island just off the tip of Lindisfarne, known simply as Cuthbert’s Isle. This was the place where Cuthbert went to be alone with God and the sea when the stress of leadership, decision-making, and community life got to be too much for him. Walking barefoot again, I experienced that rocky stretch from one tiny, remote island off the coast of Northumberland to an even tinier and more remote island off its coast as a kind of pilgrimage in miniature. It was a chance to pray and to ponder. I was in solitude but not in solitude, because there were seals frolicking in the waves and birds flying overhead. I was in silence but not in silence, because the waves and the birds were singing out their own songs of praise. And there on the farthest rock on that farthest jut of land I found a plaque with this quote from Psalm 93: “Mightier than the thunders of many waters, mightier than the waves of the sea, the Lord on high is mighty.”
Cuthbert, like any learned monk at that time, would have known the Psalms by heart. He would have prayed that bit of Psalm 93 on a regular basis, as well as the Psalm portion we have today, linking both the power of God and the compassion of God to the presence of water. “He split open the sea and let them pass through; he made the waters stand up like walls. He split the hard rocks in the wilderness and gave them drink as from the great deep. He brought streams out of the cliff, and the waters gushed out like rivers.”
In some ways, crossing to Holy Island along the pilgrim’s path is reminiscent of the Israelites crossing the Red Sea. The water is being held back for you, not by the staff of Moses but by the ordinary miracle of ocean tides. The power of those strong currents, like the power of God, is never far from you, and yet you can walk through these treacherous pathways in safety. You’ll notice that the way these stories are framed in the Psalm it is not Moses but God who is the one splitting open the sea as well as splitting open the rock. Ultimately Moses can only do what he does because he is listening to God’s word. Both these deeds, these almost violent actions of cleaving, of rupture, attest to the saving power of Yahweh, who is both the rock of our salvation and the water of life.
Especially in times of questioning, of doubt, and of suffering, we need to rely on one another’s stories, including the stories of Scripture, and the stories that all of Creation so willingly shares with us. Going out into the world, we see how both rock and water can speak to us of God’s presence, God’s active care for all of life. Rocks can be places of shelter, and the firmest ground beneath our feet. The rocks of a mountaintop can lead us to see in new ways, giving us a fresh perspective. And water! Without it no life is possible, and while it holds within it the power to create and to destroy. And yet is there anything more relaxing than a warm bath, more supportive than the feeling of being held by water as you float in a pool on a summer’s day? All water is a miracle, and all land is holy ground, if only we have eyes to see it. Amen.
