Connecting with Cuthbert

I am sitting in a pew in the Church of Mary the Virgin on Holy Island waiting for the 10.45 am Holy Communion service to begin and i realise that my cheeks are damp with tears - not torrents of saltwater - just a gentle seeping and I am washed in peace and joy.

I am here! I am on Holy Island where Aidan and Cuthbert lived , prayed,worked and died. With your help my gracious God I have made it. I take my furry Cuthbert out of my backpack and hug him. ":We have made it Cuddy (cuthbert's name to his fellow monks) - we are here!"

The lovely familiarity of the Anglican liturgy and the inclusion expressed wrapped me in Love.

There is one thing necessary - now I must cross the sands revealed by the ebbing tide and climb over the rocks to Cuthbert's cell on Hobthrush Island where he retreated to silence and tidal solitude. The dunes are carpeted with wildflowers and the rocks are not easy to negotiate but I make it to the cross that marks Cuthbert's tiny chapel. The walls are picked out with a low stone wall - about 2 meters by 4 metres.

I placed the stone I had carried from Iona on the small shrine honouring the links between Iona and Holy Island created by Aidan's courage in hearing the call of the Northumbrians.

As I sat there and reflected on Cuthbert's life and journey and it's intersection with mine. In this place i really felt like a "proper pilgrim". See my next post for a deepening understanding of pilgrimage.