Answering the Call: Saint Aidan of Lindisfarne

             Before he was Saint Aidan, before he was Bishop of Lindisfarne, Aidan was a monk in the ancient monastic community on the Scottish island of Iona. Anyone been there? It’s a popular pilgrimage site, although it takes forever to get there—a couple of ferries and a long drive along a very narrow one-lane road. Christianity—of the Celtic variety—thrived on Iona and still does; that’s why it’s such a popular destination for pilgrims.

            The story goes[1]—and I have no reason not to believe—that Aidan was sitting with his brothers, the monks on Iona when he listened to an angry brother talk about his failure to spread love over in Northumbria, a land of darkness refusing the light, inhabited by a stubborn, unreachable people. Aidan heard the stories of discouragement and his heart was stirred. He thought that it was not the people who were unreachable, but perhaps it was the way the message was delivered.

Aidan’s heart was stirred for the people of Northumbria while at the same time he knew he risked losing everything that was dear: the familiar Island of Iona, his friends and brothers in prayer, and the work closer to home. And yet he felt the call in his heart. He prayed: O Lord, give me springs and I will water that land. I will go.

            And, as we know, he went, traveling a great distance to the Holy Isle of Lindisfarne. Anyone been there? You can get there by car but only certain times of day when the tide is low enough to drive across a causeway. The island is full of pilgrims and tourists during the day and at night only people lucky enough to get a reservation at one of the several retreat centers there remain. Aidan lived on the island but spent much of his ministry on the mainland. The rhythm of the tides is a wonderful metaphor for our own rhythms of engagement in the world and contemplation and reflection. 

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What might it mean for our identity as a parish to be named for a particular saint, and Saint Aidan in particular?

First, a bit of history, which many of you have probably heard before, but not all of you. This parish was established because the Episcopal Diocese perceived a call to this neighborhood in the early 1960s. Bishop Carman called us “the church in the woods,” which indicates how much less developed this area was sixty years ago. Our wider Church leadership felt a sense of call to have an Episcopalian presence east of 162nd, and so this church was planted where there was nothing, just as Aidan set down his staff on the Holy Isle of Lindisfarne. Like many traditional church plants, Saint Aidan’s began without a building, meeting in school gyms and the like. The very first service was 43 people in 1961. For sixty-four years this community has been listening and responding to God’s call.

Someone, or a group of someones, felt a calling to start a church in this part of the world—I honestly am not sure if it was Portland then, or Gresham, or unincorporated. Can anyone tell me? Over the years this community has responded to other calls—the calling to start new ministries, to build new buildings or to do different things with the buildings we have, to build this labyrinth, to nourish our lovey grounds, and to serve our wider community in new ways.

Aidan perceived a need for the word of God to be offered in new ways beyond the shores of his comfortable island. The call surprised Aidan himself, and yet he ran with it. Like Aidan, we are in a season of standing on the shore of our island, ready to push off to travel to new shores and engage the world in new ways. What will our next adventure be?

We talk a lot about discernment—listening, watching for signs of our next move. We talk about praying for these things and I don’t want to underestimate the importance of that part. Aidan was able to hear that crazy call to what was for him the other side of the world, from the Irish Sea to the North Sea, because he lived a life steeped in prayer, and because he was part of a community that was used to paying attention to such callings.

I want to close with a prayer from the Northumbria Celtic Community:

Leave me alone with God,
as much as may be.
As the tide draws the waters
close in upon the shore,
make me an island, set apart,
alone with You, God, holy to You.
Then with the turning of the tide,
prepare me to carry Your presence
to the busy world beyond,
the world that rushes in on me,
till the waters come again
and fold me back to You.

[1] From Celtic Daily Prayer: Prayers and Readings from the Northumbria Community; Richard J. Foster, editor.