Looking Back on Our Trips… (Zion Kim)

An end to the semester is coming, whether we like it or not. One might say it went by like a blink of an eye, and another might say that she has had enough. Personally, I’m dreading having to say goodbye to York. But let’s ignore that for a moment. I’m writing this blog post on my train ride back to York from the Lake District, and I have started to reflect back on all those trips that we took together, reminiscing on the places and their stories. Of all the excursions we took throughout the mad month of February, I wanted to write about one place that holds a special place in my heart: Lindisfarne.

When I first heard the name Lindisfarne, I did not expect much of the place, to be honest. I did not know anything about its history and simply expected it to be a small island where tourists visited. But one windy day, Lindisfarne proved me wrong in so many ways.Known as the Holy Island, this island holds colossal historic and religious significance. Called the “cradle of British Christianity,”[1] Lindisfarne is the island from which the early missionaries spread Christianity throughout the whole northern Britain under the lead of St. Aidan and St. Cuthbert. Like a wild bush on fire, Christianity started to ignite the core of the Northumbrian kingdom and soon started to branch out into other kingdoms. As the home of these evangelists, Lindisfarne established itself as “one of the greatest Christian centers of Anglo Saxon England.”[2]

While St. Aidan best embodies the spiritual significance of the island, St. Cuthbert, like St. Aidan, was a “Northumbrian priest who traveled constantly, preaching and baptizing vast numbers of men and women”[3] He eventually became the prior of Lindisfarne in 664 and led a life of a hermit until he was consecrated as bishop. After he died, he was “made a saint in 698 and pilgrims flocked to Lindisfarne to visit his grave.”[4]

Because I had seen St. Cuthbert’s grave in Durham Cathedral, it was momentous to see how history and places are so tightly intertwined, witnessing the places in which history is not just another story but is alive and beating like my heart. If not for the Priory Museum, I would not have been able to fully grasp the depth of history that the monks went through during their time and their effort to stay true to God amidst continuous adversities, like the Vikings. The raid of the Vikings in “AD 793 devastated God’s church in Lindisfarne” and forced the monks to “flee the island by 873, taking with them the relics of St. Cuthbert.”[5] Reading about the monks’ relentless effort to reestablish a center for Christian worship in Durham filled my heart with respect and awe, for I have seen with my own eyes what the monks have accomplished in Durham. Even after their trial, they didn’t just lie in bitterness and loss, waiting for God to somehow restore their glory. The monastery thrived for a few more centuries, and eventually succumbed to a different kind of attack. In 1537, the priory in Lindisfarne faced dissolution as King Henry VIII closed all monasteries in England during his dispute with the Catholic Church.

On that windy day, in that rare February sunshine that lit up the massive field and the coastline, I could sense that this island was a place of prayer. I could feel that people had spent time in God’s presence here, lifting their hearts up to God through prayer and worship while devoting their lives to Him in this remote island. I could imagine the pitch black, starry nights and the silence that may have allowed the monks to hear Him better. It made me listen to the waves, the wind, and the sounds that all of His creation made in unison, proving to me that after all this time, God’s spirit within this land has remained the same. It made me think about how God transcends time. Even though it feels like a long time ago when the monks and the saints were alive, in God’s time, it could be a blink of an eye. Moreover, I could see why God placed these people on this holy island. I do believe that God sometimes hides you in places to teach you through silence and solitude, and I believe that the monks were able to hear things better through silence than any other noise could offer.

This modern world is a noisy one; I am constantly surrounded by noises that are not always pleasant to my ears. They divert me from hearing my own thoughts, let alone hearing God’s voice. I started to think about what kind of noises fill up my life, and it didn’t take long to find the answer. I admitted to myself that the noise from social media, Netflix, Youtube, and the like deafen my ears enough to sway me away from God in my everyday life. Even though I know, love, and follow a personal and intimate God, I admitted that I let myself be distracted without feeling too guilty about it. The silence from Lindisfarne revealed my negligence, and God let me hear my own noises so that I could decide to let silence speak louder than they.

The holy island of Lindisfarne blew me away that afternoon in so many different ways, and I am indebted to people who have kept the history alive. If it were not for them, history would be a lost cause. When I look back at my semester in England later, I will remember how it has shown me things that must not be forgotten, and I will always remember the silence in Lindisfarne that taught me how much God can speak to me through the absence of words.

Sources:

[1] “Life on Lindisfarne.” Explanatory panel in Lindisfarne Priory Museum. Accessed 16

February, 2019.

[2] Ibid.

[3] Ibid.

[4] Ibid.

[5] Ibid.