30th January 2026

Growing up in the Anglican Church with Sunday School tales of the Northumbrian saints Aidan and Cuthbert, I was always aware of the significance of Iona for the evangelisation of the north east of England. It was from Iona on the west coast of Scotland that Aidan travelled with his monks to Lindisfarne (Holy Island) to set up a monastery and missionary hub for the spread of Celtic Christianity, helped by the generosity and protection of King Oswald of Northumbria.

Visiting Iona for the first time in the summer of 1970 was therefore, for me, a very special moment, nothing less than an encounter with my spiritual roots and heritage. Not one given to ‘mystical experiences’, the island nevertheless seemed to glow, and I immediately felt what I took to be its heartbeat within me. I remember taking myself off, away from my companions that day, to be still before God in that rugged, beautiful and holy place.

Since then, Merry and I have been to Iona a number of times, but only as day visitors, never staying on the island overnight. However, later this summer, that omission will be rectified with a three-night stay, to which we’re both looking forward immensely. What am I expecting to happen? I’m not sure. Iona is more accessible these days and slightly more developed, but thankfully still protected from being turned into a holiday camp by its isolation, the unpredictable weather and the wise care of its residents. I don’t expect a repeat of that first visit fifty-six years ago because for one thing I’m at a very different stage of life, but I’d welcome being touched by awe again.

Ken Stewart