Postcards from the Edge of Glory
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by Carole Crumley
I recently returned from Shalem's 2004 Pilgrimage, "A Glimpse of Glory," that took us to two of the earth's holiest islands, Iona and Lindisfarne, both places of prayer for over 1000 years. Iona was once home to Columba, patron saint of Ireland, who settled there in the late sixth century. Under his leadership, a great monastic community grew up, and Iona became the cradle of Christianity in Scotland. One of its offspring, Lindisfarne, in Northumbria, was a missionary outpost. Far from its mother community, but steeped in Celtic prayer and praise, it flourished under the inspired leadership of Aidan, its first abbot and Cuthbert, his successor. Our band of pilgrims discovered that these two islands are still infused with the holiness of their great Celtic saints and that centuries of prayer welcome the contemporary soul. As the priest at St. Mary's Church on Lindisfarne said, "These walls are practically dripping with prayers."One vivid memory is of ending a quiet day on Lindisfarne. After spending the day alone and in silence, our pilgrim group came together on the little island that Cuthbert used for his hermitage time. From the shore, the island is a distant spot both inviting and forbidding. When the tide is in, the island is completely cut off from the rest of Lindisfarne. When the tide is out, it is accessible only to those willing to venture across rocks, seaweed and debris to climb over boulders onto this lonely piece of earth. Not knowing what to expect, we discovered the island is lush and green and covered with wild flowers. After making the stony crossing, we stood on a surprisingly soft purple, yellow and green carpet.
Standing there, I understood better why the ancient Celts considered themselves to be living on the fringe of the civilized world, between civilization and wildness, sky and sea, heaven and earth. I once read that these pioneers in faith would go the very edge of the island to intone their prayers. The edge seemed to beckon them further and empower their trust in all that is unknown. As they stood on the edge where the primal elements of earth, air and water joined the fire of their passionate hearts, they claimed to discover nothing less than the glory of God.
As our quiet day came to a close, we took up this practice, each one going to an edge of Cuthbert's island. Some stood at the water's edge, others on rocky outcroppings to pour out their prayers. The wind was blowing so hard that we who were perched on the rocks had to struggle to maintain our balance, needing to be firmly rooted and yet wanting to be fully open to the life-giving force of the Spirit. The words, sighs and sounds of our prayers were carried on these wild Celtic winds.
One of the pilgrims on this journey told me that when she travels, she sends postcards to herself every day. When she returns home, the cards serve as her journal, reminding her of sites visited and experiences shared. I now carry a mental postcard of our praying on the edge and I send it to myself every day.
Back home, this image helps me remember the invitation to live both firmly rooted and fully open. I find myself looking for edges in the landscape of my neighborhood and community, my work place and home place. I notice where manicured lawns meet the untamed edge of forest and parkland, where wealthy neighborhoods meet impoverished "'hoods," where healthy friends meet the raw edge of unexpected illness, where dawn meets dark. And I am noticing the edges of my prayer, the inner landscape where my desire for God meets my resistance, where freedom meets attachments, risking meets holding back.
In all of this, I pray that the wild winds of the Spirit will blow through me releasing, softening, empowering my willingness for the more of God 's love and compassion that is just beyond the edge of my knowing, seeing and believing. And I pray for a deeper grounding and trust in the grace of this moment that centers and anchors my living.
This year at Shalem we will be focusing on our mission, seeking to discern God's vision for us for the years ahead. Once in a Shalem gathering, I remember Tilden Edwards praying that we would be given the grace to see the edge of God's dream for the world and Shalem's part in fulfilling that dream. Now I believe that only a venturing out will take us to the edge of that dream where there is an interplay between old and new, a mix of past, present and future, a joining of wildness and domesticity, stability and uncertainty. The journey to get there may seem forbidding, the way uncharted. But we go in a graced community of other God-seekers, willing to lean into the strong wind of the Spirit and believing in the glorious welcome of a new green, flowering possibility.
© 2008 The Shalem Institute.