Except that, for me, there has always been an island.
Well, almost always. From the time I was six my family spent
the summer on an island in the Delaware River. It was there that I learned to “walk
in a sacred manner”, as Black Elk wrote. In later years I was drawn to
Christian sacramentalism because the Eucharist reminded me of the Island. It still does.
In a little more than a week Nancy and I will make another
attempt to begin the pilgrimage to Britain that was precluded last summer by the need for Nancy to have gall bladder surgery.
As before, our principle destination will be
the Holy Island of Lindesfarne, on the northeast coast of England near the
Scottish border. We will also visit our extended family in Duns, Scotland, and
the Anglican Shrine of Our Lady of Walsingham in Norfolk. There are parish
churches and cathedrals I wish to visit, but this journey is basically a pilgrimage to an
island, a Return to a Place I Have Never Been.
If you have a history with such islands, or would like to have one, you are welcome to read the chronicle I plan to keep on my blog, www.theramblingrector.blogspot.com
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