John Doan: Music
Way of My Fathers
"In the Holy Scriptures this day is called the Sabbath, which is to be interpreted as the day of rest. A true Sabbath is it for me, for it is the last day of my present laborious life, and upon it I rest from my labors: and this night, at midnight, when begins the solemn day of the Lord, according to the Scripture, I shall go the way of my fathers." St. Columba, Iona, Scotland, June 8, 597 A.D.This was a "secret" Columba confides in his fellow brother the day before his passing. Diormit refuses to believe it. Soon after a white horse, used to carry milk-pails from the byre to the monastery, comes to the saint whinnying plaintively and shedding tears. Diormit tries to drive it away but Columba instructs him "Let our friend alone, let him pour out his bitter grief into my bosom. Behold thou, as thou art a man and hast a rational soul, canst know nothing of my departure beyond what I myself have just told thee; but to this brute beast, devoid of reason, the Creator Himself has in some way manifestly made it known that its master is about to leave it." After resting for a while, Columba climbs a little hill overlooking the monastery and says his goodbyes to this world. He returns to his cell and transcribes from the thirty-fourth psalm "They that seek the Lord shall not want any good thing." As even ing approached he lay on his stone bed to later be awakened by the ringing of the bell for midnight service. He rises in haste and runs to the church in great excitement where on bent knees falls down in prayer beside the altar. Diormit followed and saw at the same moment as the saints passing that the whole church is filled within with angelic light. Centuries later, on the fourteen hundredth anniversary of Columba's death, I entered into the darkened cathedral just as the midnight bell rang lonely over the hush of the surf and whisper of the sea breeze rushing past the outer stone walls. I did not plan to be here at such a symbolic moment. It was the only time the sanctuary was at rest from the business of ceremony. It was as if a comforting fog of sleep flowed in from off shore in a tide of dreams. I ventured toward the flickering light of candles resting before the altar. In all the mystery and dr ama of this cavernous "thin" place, there was a distant echo of chanting and imaginary bells clanging. I could see dimly the saint's last hours, where a lifetime passed before him giving way to eternity and to his desired rest in the presence of his maker. His faith and courage gave way to a moment of doubt and then surrender. As I sat there and played for hours, I realized that something of Columba was still present. Perhaps I was feeling a sense of his temporal humanity contrasted with his enduring faith that encourages us to invite the miraculous into our lives.