Walking Lessons
July 20, 2014 | Patrick Preheim

Listening to the news this week with passenger airlines being destroyed in Ukraine and bombs raining down in Israel / Palestine, I had a sense that the direction of this sermon would seem trivial. But maybe in the midst of these larger traumatic events, I thought, we need lessons which help us reclaim the holy stillness within us which is often lost in the tumult. With that in mind I have decided to proceed with the reflections I put together mid week and been editing.

Earlier this year I had the privilege of taking a week of my holidays to walk St. Cuthbert’s Way. On your bulletin cover you will see its route. St. Cuthbert’s Way is not nearly as famous as the Camino de Santiago in Spain, but neither is it as busy, long, or steep. Compared to the many Scottish and English treks, it is not as technical or subject to rain. For a walking novice like me these things are important. A brief story might best describe my motivations at the root of this great adventure.

At Heathrow Airport in London the customs official asked about our time on the British Isle. I said that for a vacation we would be hiking five days in the Scottish Borders. He asked how far I would be walking a day. I said around 20 miles on average. He narrowed his eyes at me and said that hardly sounded like a holiday. I didn’t reply because I wanted to catch a train. The rebuttal I might have given, had time permitted, would have been the following:

• Look, I spend a lot of time with people; more hours in a pasture with sheep might just restore my hope for humanity.
• Secondly, I work with language most of my day—in conversation, in composition, in email exchange. When not on the job, meandering over a moor or through a glen basking in the Word of creation makes for a perfect holiday.
• Finally, mister border control officer, do you know how much time I spend sitting? It will take at least five days of walking to get the kinks out. Humans, simply put, were not meant to sit at a desk pecking at a keyboard.

With a disposition like this you can clearly see that I was no pilgrim. In spite of my punchy attitude at the custom’s booth, though, God graced me with spiritual insights along the Way. This morning I will share a few lessons I learned on my walk.

While on the Holy Island of Lindisfarne I attended a lecture by Reverend Canon Kate Tristram who is a leading authority on the Saints of north England. She spoke about the saintly figures who contributed to the re-evangelization of Briton in the 5th and 6th centuries. You see, in the 3rd and 4th centuries the British Isles went through their own post-modern shift where they shed the Christianity of the Empire as the legions of the Emperor retreated from Britain to defend Rome. I took great interest in this lecture because it feels as if the churches of North America are living through a time in which people are shedding the faith. Christianity has been the norm, and now people are opting out. The monks of Iona and Lindisfarne were critical players in the revitalization of Christianity among a people skeptical of Christianity. I will intersperse my personal reflections with a few nuggets offered by Canon Kate and the questions they sparked.

The monks who King Oswald invited to Northumbria from Iona carried no weapons. Carrying weapons was, they believed, antithetical to preaching a gospel of peace. People took notice. Those of the Scottish Borders lived in fear. Bandits ruled the forest, and vengeance from lingering clan disputes was always a potential. The monks were not afraid. They lived by 1st John 4.18: perfect love casts out fear. We too, I think, live in an age of fear. How do we allow love to cast out the fear caused by circumstances of our time and place? In other words, how does our relationship with God and Christ enable us to live with love rather than fear?

A reflection from my journal: It is hard to start out on a way if one has never hiked. We often talk about the power of prayer, but how does a person learn to pray if they have never prayed before? We revel in the musical beauty of our hymns, but what if a person can’t read music or carry a tune in a bucket? We speak of a connection with God, but if you have never been connected to God how do you get started? Sometimes we just need to simply start in trust that we will learn the lessons of faith on the Way. We will get lost, but we will also be found.

[Put up slide of Aiden] Aiden was the monk sent from Iona to establish a monastery in Northumbria. Kate noted several reasons Aiden succeeded in his ministry among the Britains. Like 95% of the population, Aiden walked. He wanted to be one of the people and greet them eye to eye. Sure, King Oswald presented Aiden with a stallion from his stables—a Porsche of the horse world—but Aiden didn’t keep it. Outside the king’s gate a beggar asked Aiden for alms, and Aiden gave him the horse. While walking he made a point of engaging everyone he met. No one was too rough looking, lowly or wealthy to put him off. And in conversation with them he always asked if they had heard the story of Christ. Questions I wrote down that evening after the lecture: does my lifestyle (how I dress, where I travel, how I travel) communicate solidarity with people or aloofness from them? Do I engage the people I meet while walking or biking or standing in line at the store? In an increasingly secular age, but one where Christianity has baggage, how do I ask people about their familiarity with the story of Christ?

A reflection in Jedburgh after day 1 of the walk: Neither the guidebook or the route markers on the trail were sufficient to keep me on the right path. Sometimes my head was in the guidebook and I missed the marker, sometimes I followed the wrong marker because I wasn’t looking at the guidebook, sometimes I was too tired to pay proper attention to any of the signs. Sometimes our heads are so deeply buried in the Bible that we miss markers on the way. Sometimes we follow the wrong markers because we fail to periodically check in with the book. Sometimes we are just too tired to make sense of any of help God offers us.

[Put up slides of monasteries] Monasteries were the centre of monastic life. St. Cuthbert’s Way connected four major monasteries: (Melrose, Dreydon (which was outside St. Boswells), Jedburgh, and Lidisfarne). It linked these monasteries with smaller churches along the way. A unique feature of Irish monastic tradition was that the monasteries were open to all. The monasteries were designed, in part, for the education of local students and children without requiring them to become monks. These students were then allowed to leave and live in their towns, and they were permitted to retire to the monastery if they so chose. This style of monasticism allowed for the monastery to connect with, and become a part of, the community at large. The availability of the monks to the people was instrumental in converting Ireland to Christianity and re-converting Britain to Christianity. And the monasteries, for their part, often took on elements of the local tradition. In this way the monks imparted their faith and encouraged the faith to take local roots. Of all our church programming the Venture Club, the spring garage sale, and opening our doors to community groups for their meetings come closest to this model of outreach. Churches and monasteries are meant to be permeable.

Another journal reflection: There are worse things in this world than getting lost. Getting lost happens. If you are lost, simply retrace your steps to the last point of orientation. Worse than getting lost is rushing head long in a direction you suspect is correct based on the fact that you want it to be correct. This naive form of problem solving can lead to real trouble.

[next series of slides] Canon Kate also spoke of the education offered at the monastery. The Northumbrians were not a literate people, so the monks taught them to read and write using the Bible as their source material. By the end of grade 1 all students would have copied out and memorized the complete Psalter. To graduate from grade 2 entailed memorizing all four gospels. The books of Moses, the Prophets, stories from the Writings—all these were learned in successive years. It is a powerful teaching which roots young people and future church leaders in the story of God. When in the green pastures they no doubt were reminded of Psalm 23. When slogging rocks up the hill for their fences they were reminded that God is the rock and foundation of faith. When relegated to prison they no doubt thought of Joseph, Daniel, Paul or Silas. The story of God gave them images and language for all circumstances they would face. This attention to biblical literacy got me thinking about our approach to religious education in 21st century Canada. Even if this congregation was as diligent as the Irish and Northumbrian monks, I am not sure this kind of education is a priority for parent, grandparent or student. Most of us would rather be entertained than study, read the paper than the bible, memorize music than the Beatitudes. Congregational leadership will continue looking for creative ways of keeping the story of God before the world. It is God, however, who will need to create in us a renewed hunger and openness to the teachings that are sweeter than honey (Ps 19.10). This renewal will happen in God’s time and in God’s way.

Thoughts from Wooler: When the peat bog has left you with soaked feet one can’t just sit down, cry or quit. We must trouble shoot and take action. A consequence to wallowing in self pity is finding oneself in the wild as darkness descends. A Northumbrian moor is no place to spend the night. Let me be clear, this is not a good option. So put on a dry pair of socks, stand up, put your pack on, and get going.

Finally, the monks of Lindisfarne were successful because they just kept sending people out to start new communities. Steeped in the bible, trained in compassion, fearlessly peaceful they were a compelling witness wherever they went. And they were always going. Lindisfarne was the epicenter, the mother ship, from which these waves of missionaries were sent out. As Kate talked about this I found myself thinking about Nutana Park Mennonite hoping that we are, or could be, this kind of sending community. Good things are being taught here! We need to be sending people out into other Mennonite churches of Saskatchewan, Mennonite churches of Canada, places there is no Mennonite presence. Perhaps we need to be commissioning groups of 12 to begin new communities of worship and service here in Saskatoon. I am not sure what needs to happen. All I know is that if the monks at Lindisfarne had stayed holed up on their Holy Island, for the sake of the British God would have found other workers. And if those others had come from Europe rather than Ireland they would have been more hierarchical than egalitarian and more judgmental than compassionate. Steeped in Jesus, trained in compassion, fearlessly peaceful—this is what our world needs. And if we are not willing to send people out sharing this good news God will find someone. Perhaps one day we will be viewed as a type of Lindisfarne community who helped shape MC Sask, MC Canada, Saskatoon. May it be so.

I will conclude my time by showing the complete slide show we put together. It will take about 10 minutes, so if you need a morning nap this would be a great time for it. [ask for the lights to be turned off]

Patrick Preheim, co-pastor Nutana Park Mennonite Church

Children’s Time:
The early Irish church produced a host of great missionaries, monks who combined ascetic zeal with a penchant for the wandering life. Their travels were...a reminder that as Christians they were exiled from their true home, and so should pass as strangers and sojourners in this world. St. Columba was one of these missionaries. In his case, however, the sojourn was not entirely voluntary.

Columba was born to a royal family on Donegal. He entered the monastic life as a boy and rose to become the abbot and founder of several important monasteries, including Derry and Kells. Tall and commanding, with a voice ‘so loud and melodious it could be heard a mile off,’ Columba combined natural charisma with monastic gifts of prayer and scholarship. He was also, it seems, endowed with a quick and violent temper. This was to play a role in his ultimate destiny.

Columba’s troubles stemmed from his of books. When his former master, St. Finnian, returned from a trip to Rome with a rare copy of Jerome’s Psalter, Columba sought access to the precious book and took advantage of the opportunity to make a copy in his own hand. When Finnian learned of this he claimed that the copy by rights should also belong to him. The dispute was brought to King Diarmaid, overlord of Ireland, who ruled in favor of Finnian. “To every cow her calf,” said the king, “and to every book its son-book.”

Columba did not accept the judgment with grace. His anger was increased when a fellow clansman, sought by Diarmaid for killing one of his men during a hurling match, fled to Columba for asylum. Violating the monk’s protective sanctuary, Diarmaid’s soldiers seized the unfortunate renegade and slew him on the spot. There followed a bloody war between Columba’s clan and the followers of Diamaid, culminating in a battle in which three thousand lives were lost. Columba’s role in encouraging this bloodshed is not clear, but the church held him to blame, and he certainly accepted moral responsibility: “Ill have I served the heavenly kingdom, and ill have I served Ireland in that I have caused the men of Ireland to shed one another’s blood. Men lie dead through the pride of a man of peace.” As restitution Columba uttered a public oath: “I will not rest till I have won for God the souls of as many men as have fallen in this battle.”

And so in the spring of 593 Columba and a band of twelve monks set to sea in an open boat...Their destination was unknown—some place out of sight of their beloved country. Columba was moved to tears as he bade farewell to the friends and followers who gathered on the shore: “It is like the parting of soul and body for me to leave my kinsmen and my fatherland, and go from them into strange and distant places in everlasting exile”

Their boat finally landed on Iona, a remote and barren island off the coast of Scotland. There Columba established a monastery that would, in time, achieve wide fame throughout Europe as one of the vital fonts of Celtic spirituality. It also played an important role in the evangelization of Scotland and northern England...

Columba lived in Iona for over thirty years. It seems that time and the austerity of his life had a soothing influence on his temper. Among his monks he was revered as a wise and holy father, a man of powerful prayer, and a scholar avidly devoted to the copying of manuscripts. In the wider church he was known as a tireless apostle and miracle worker. (Robert Ellsberg, All Saints: Daily Reflections on Saints, Prophets, and Witnesses For Our Time, pp. 251-252)