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The church: Iona Abbey, Iona, Argyllshire, Scotland.
Denomination: None, though closest link is said to be with the Church of Scotland.
The building: The present abbey dates from around 1200 and was built by the Benedictines in the vicinity of St Columba's monastery of 563. The building fell into disrepair after the Reformation, and radical restoration began in 1902. Some of the associated monastic buildings have also been rebuilt. The chancel is now lower than the nave, and houses a huge, green Iona marble altar. The 8th Duke and Duchess of Argyll, chief benefactors, lie in white marble in the south transept, although only she is buried beneath. The floor is stunning and made of roughly hewn granite and gneiss blocks worn smooth through the ages.
The church: Less than 10 of the 250 or so members of the Iona Community live on Iona. The rest keep their rule of life in their own communities.
The neighbourhood: This is the place from where St Columba ran his mission. He is buried here, as are many other saints, Scottish kings and warlords; along with ordinary people, Ionan farmers and fishermen, unidentified World War II sailors washed ashore, and victims of shipwreck. All lie together, in the same area, all equal in the sight of God. The place exudes a compelling mixture of great sanctity and ordinariness. The abbey buildings are occupied by the Iona Community and their guests. The community uses the abbey church for its morning and evening worship. Up to 100 people stay with the community at any time and approximately 200 more visitors can be accommodated in the hotels, guesthouses and retreat houses also on the island. Indigenous Ionans show usual West Highland reticence, and do not seem entirely at ease with the community or the visitors it attracts. There were several Orthodox priests, nuns and fellow retreatants on the island at the time I visited, but none came to the Abbey services I attended.
The cast: I had forgotten to bring a pencil, and by the time we had been bombarded with instructions and had some singing practice, my mind was not doing accuracy, so I hope these are correct: the preacher was The Revd. Nancy Cocks from the Presbyterian Church in Canada; the minister who led the communion was Gordon Cowan from the United Free Church of Scotland, and was comfily clad in a kilt and cardigan.
Sunday Morning Communion.
How full was the building?
So full that people were risking proctological problems sitting on the cold granite steps at the west end. There might have been 250 people in the abbey.
Did anyone welcome you personally?
A woman smiled at us.
Was your pew comfortable?
Some sat in the choir stalls, others on chairs and still more on steps. There were no kneelers. Seating was adequate.
How would you describe the pre-service atmosphere?
Loud. People were talking, wandering about and greeting one another.
What were the exact opening words of the service?
It was too noisy to hear, but something must have quietened the hubbub. It wasn't easy to determine quite where the notices and drilling stopped and the service began.
What books did the congregation use during the service?
Iona Abbey Worship Book, a song book with pebbles on the front and songs from a xeroxed sheet, mostly Iona Community copyright.
What musical instruments were played?
Amplified piano.
Did anything distract you?
Lots and lots! The women in charge all wore flat bar-buckled shoes and Traidcraft skirts, with a fleece on top, and probably shared a set of hair clippers. The men in the "home team" were hot on beards, hiking boots and shorts. There were about 30 Swedes with Church of Sweden logos on matching anoraks and rucksacks scattered around. The incessant announcements of page number and inclusivity were rather wearing. The book was full of postural pointers and was followed fairly slavishly.
Was the worship stiff-upper-lip, happy clappy, or what?
It was all rather odd. It was trying so hard to be inclusive that even with an invitation to open communion, I began to feel excluded. Parts of the liturgy had been dumbed down to such a degree that they verged on the meaningless. The central tenets of Christianity, including the incarnation and resurrection, were barely alluded to. Repentance and contrition were dulled by self-righteousness. Perusal of other offices in the book showed that psalms had been rewritten to suit the community. My companion and I have a wide range of traditions under our belts, but neither of us was entirely at ease with much of this. Only the sanctus, benedictus and agnus dei were familiar. There wasn't one single hymn, song or even dreaded chorus that we recognised. When I looked eastward at the offertory, five people had lined up behind the altar. The man in the kilt was making rapid manual gestures over the elements and the other four were grinning manically. As we left the church we were offered an agape, a small oatcake, to share with someone we didn't know. The oatcakes were thick, crisp and delicious.
Exactly how long was the sermon?
20 minutes.
On a scale of 1-10, how good was the preacher?
7 – She was earnest of tone and easy to listen to. I couldn't see her. Pulpits may exalt their occupants in some non-PC way, but they do at least enable everyone to see the preacher.
In a nutshell, what was the sermon about?
Children, loosely based on Matthew 18. We had anecdotes about children on Iona, children living under oppressive regimes, children ill-treated by their fellow human beings. Oddly, there didn't seem to be any children in this huge congregation.
Which part of the service was like being in heaven?
The dog who knew his liturgy. Somewhere in the abbey was a dog. When the congregation stood for the Gospel, he joined in the alleluia with an almighty and joyful woof. This, with the sparrows flying around the building, and our being on an island made of the oldest rocks in Britain, emphasised our oneness with all of creation.
And which part was like being in... er... the other place?
Thinking about what bugs one could catch from this sort of communion distribution. A large home-baked loaf was broken into several chunks which were carried to the congregation by the post-altar grinning group. Each bread chunk was then passed from person to person, as presumably was the fluff which had dropped off their woolly jumpers, the Campylobacter from the hands of the person who had come to church through the fields and climbed the stile on which the cow had rubbed its flank, the Staphyllococcus from the person who had been excavating their nostrils and the E.coli from the people who hadn't washed their hands after their last visit to the lavatory. This was all very shocking for an Anglo-Catholic used to Father offering the paten for self-service when he has a cold and has been handling his handkerchief too much. The wine came round in earthenware cups and was soupy with crumbs from people who had tried to intinct their low-gluten, low wet-strength bread in an effort to avoid some of the bugs. There were no purificators. Had the management performed both risk and inclusivity assessments?
What happened when you hung around after the service looking lost?
All were invited for refreshments in the cloisters so we decanted ourselves there. Some people were very friendly, and others dived into pre-existing groups. The fact that so many of us were visitors and strangers helped. The gynaecologically-themed sculpture in the cloister garth made an excellent talking point.
How would you describe the after-service coffee?
There was a choice of tea or squash. The tea was seriously weak and came in half-filled dayglo plastic beakers. I didn't try the squash, but pink and yellow were available. There was a strong smell of boiling onions in the air.
How would you feel about making this church your regular (where 10 = ecstatic, 0 = terminal)?
2 – The building is stunning and astonishingly numinous when it is empty and at night. The Sunday service was much too busy, too noisy and too political for my taste. It was explained that the liturgy had been written to make it accessible to people who were not familiar with formal religion, so that none should feel excluded. I found myself wondering where, in those circumstances, one would go when it had become familiar and when challenge was needed. Might not the seeker be left asking whether that was it? Might not the long-term churchgoer be left feeling their spiritual discipline and study had been devalued?
Did the service make you feel glad to be a Christian?
Just about. The abbey church, the island and the almost gravitational pull on us all to St Columba's base certainly did.
What one thing will you remember about all this in seven days' time?
The contents of the chalice.
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