Pilgrimage Poems

Of Thin Places and Puffins

Puffins.

How can you not chuckle?

Floating calmly on frigid swells, then

Spiraling flight reaching to the heights,

Leading to crash landings, bumping along

          With tiny fish held tightly

                   In bright orange beaks.

 

The wonder of thin places comes alive

          With the improbability of it all –

Witnessed in the ancient rhythm of their lives.

Sailing far off in arctic chill,

The bleak gray skies meeting cold sea below,

But returning always to their ancient cliffs,

         Lifted high on beating wings,

                As sure as winter turns to spring.

 Jim Melnyk, 5/29/2025

 

 

High on Sliabh Liag*

High on Sliabh Liag's edge

Ewe and lamb stand grazing,

Buffeted by winds and

Pelted by early summer's rain.

 

Whispering cliffs keep them safe,

Guiding footfalls from loose stone

And lifting spirits

For those who pause to listen.

 

Jim Melnyk 7/8/2025

*pronounced "Sleeve League"

 

The Pilgrimage Before The Pilgrimage

 The Pilgrimage Before The Pilgrimage

Back in 2024 Lorraine and I completed a faith-inspiring pilgrimage to Iona, Scotland with Little Coracles, a pilgrimage program created by my niece and a colleague of hers. That 2024 Iona experience led me to jump at their 2025 Pilgrimage opportunity in Ireland (which I've mentioned in a previous entry). But an unexpected thing happened to me on the way to Ireland. To set the stage I have to go back five years to my retirement as a full time Episcopal Priest after 31+ years of active duty (bear with me - there is a good story here).

Retirement, which was supposed to be a gateway to world travel, happened in the midst of the COVID 19 lock-down. Farewells were shared as parishioners slowly drove by the church where Lorraine and I sat in lawn chairs set up across the sidewalk from their parade. There was a basket where farewell gifts could be deposited (and later disinfected with Clorox wipes). One present was a gift certificate to a local independent bookstore. Thankfully, reading was something that could be done during lock-down!

So, in September 2020, I was introduced to DCI Daley in the Scottish detective series written by Denzil Meyrick. Meyrick's series (now numbering 12 books) were set mostly in a small town on the east coast of the Kintyre Peninsula of Scotland's west coast. The town of Kinloch was inspired by Campbeltown, where Meyrick lived and worked for many years. By the end of the first book I was in love with Kinloch and the people who populated Meyrick's mysteries. I began dreaming of a chance to visit Campbeltown and walk the streets of Meyrick's fictional village. I even began corresponding with him about the possibility of visiting the town (something good coming out of Facebook!). I even floated the possibility of perhaps meeting him for a wee dram in Glasgow on the way there - to which he responded he would be honored.

Denzil reminded me a couple of times that Campbeltown is "a small, provincial place, with its own charm." He suggested I consider staying at the Argyll Arm Hotel, the place and staff that inspired the County Hotel in his books. He and I exchanged a few messages through early November 2024. In March 2025 I wrote to fill him in on my final plans for time in both Glasgow and Campbeltown, and the hope that we might meet over drinks. Uncharacteristically for Denzil, a week or more went by without a reply, so I tried again, without success. After a short search, I learned that Denzil Meyrick, age 59, had died rather unexpectedly in early February of 2025. I felt as though I had lost a friend - even though we never conversed beyond Facebook Messenger. I found myself heart-broken in a way that didn't seem rational, but it was every bit as real as if we had known each other for years.

 My plans were already in place - airline tickets and hotel reservations (I couldn't get into the Argyll, but stayed at the Ardshiel). Denzil had told me it was a "nice little hotel with a really good whisky bar" (and he was right). Taking Denzil's advice, I flew into Campbeltown on a Logan Air de Havilland Twin Otter Turboprop (seven rows of seats), only a 45 minute flight rather than the six - eight hour arduous bus trip down the spine of Kintyre.

 

The first person I met in town was a cab driver who took me from the airport (basically a one-room building) to my hotel. I told him my tale which had morphed from possibly meeting my "pen pal" to hoisting a wee dram in honor of his memory. The driver had known Denzil, and had actually worked with him at one time - possibly it was at Springbank Distillery. "Denzil loved this town," the cabbie told me. The person who checked me in at The Ardshiel told me the same thing. Later that day I dropped in at The Argyll Arms, and explained that though I wasn't staying there, I had a purpose for visiting. The

woman who welcomed me warmly said, "Oh, Denzil! We're all in his books, you know. Every one of us here. I bet you can tell who I am!" I'm pretty sure I could (why didn't I suggest she might be Annie, who managed the bar at The County through most of the books?). She pointed me to their small bar where Denzil, the hotel staff, and various townsfolk, would hold forth over drinks. Later that night (after a couple of great whisky tours and tastings) I came back to hoist a glass in honor of my friend.

 That evening I found myself sitting across the barroom from an elderly couple as I quietly toasted my friend with a Glen Scotia 10 Year Old Single Malt in a small glass (Denzil's first book is titled, Whisky in Small Glasses). As I stood up to leave the older couple called me over. "Did you enjoy your whisky?" they asked. "You must be an American," he said. "I can tell by your hat!" Did he think I was a cowboy? That brief exchange became the beginning of a delightfully unexpected conversation which turned to the topic of my lost friend. "Oh, Denzil," the woman said. "He was our next door neighbor for some time." Her husband added, "Denzil was quite a character!" He mentioned that more than once, so it must have been true! They told me how he had bought a failing bar to save it. I'd later meet the part owner of the local launderette who had bought the building after Denzil moved away. He and I spent the entire wash cycle talking about his love for the town. "There are two reasons for moving to a new place," he said. "A new job or a woman. For me it was both." His wife had grown up in Campbeltown. 

I was walking back to the hotel, talking with Lorraine on the phone, when Lorraine commented that this was a pilgrimage of its own - a pilgrimage on the way to my planned pilgrimage. It didn't start out that way, but as I continued to meet the wonderful and welcoming folks of Campbeltown, I realized the truth behind Lorraine's comment. In 2020, and across the ensuing years, I had fallen in love with Kinloch. In mid-June 2025, I fell in love with Campbeltown - the Campbeltown that Denzil Meyrick had known and loved.

One Step Further - Jim Melnyk

One Step Further

There were times I knew I couldn't take one step further - one more step up the hill to a clifftop - one step further down the hill to a beach. My damn knee hurt too much. Or my legs were too tired. The rocks were too slick. There were times I knew I couldn't take one step beyond the last step, which was one more step beyond what I swore was my last.

But there was always someone taking those steps ahead of me to inspire me, or by my side to encourage my lagging spirit. Morris and Alice struck out immediately for Hell Hole at Malin Head. I wanted to follow, even though I knew all the initial downhill portion of the trail meant an uphill trek coming back to the bus. Jennifer, Jenny, and Matt quickly caught up to me and passed by - but Jenny and Jennifer each spent some time walking alongside me. I joked about them driving me forward, but actually, they were accompanying me in a way that seemed to share their strength and energy. And there were so many others - who took time to check in on me time and again. Pilgrims who walked with me along the Derry Wall and Derry's Bogside (thanks Corrine and Allison), or sat with me to rest climbing up from Maghera Beach, or shared a room in Dunfanaghy (thanks, Don!).

On All Saints' Day we talk a lot about being surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses - but that most often refers to those saints who went before us in ages past. Now, I'm certain Brigid, Brenden, and Columba walked with us to Malin Head that day. I could feel their presence enfolding me. But even more important was my pilgrim community walking with me along the furthest northern reaches of Ireland - a communion of living saints. Thanks be to God.

Without my fellow pilgrims from Little Coracles I wouldn't have stood on the cliffs' edges of Slieve Liag, watching a ewe and her lamb grazing at dizzying heights, or tossed my three rocks to the Wishing Stone on Tory Island (though I only landed two of my three tosses). Without my living

communion of saints I wouldn't have found myself stretched out over the edge of the island cliff to photograph the Puffins - wondrous creatures who make my heart sing and my soul laugh. I wouldn't have stood at Malin Head that day and experienced the roaring, buffeting winds, the captivating view of the icy blue ocean waters crashing of the jagged rocks far, far, below, or stretched out on the grassy mountain's edge in the bright sunshine, on what felt like the very top of the world.

Life Finds a Way: Sermon for June 16, 2024

 

Proper 6B; Ezekiel 17:22-24, Ps 92:11-14, Mark 4:26-34 St. Luke’s, Durham 6/16/24

Jim Melnyk: “Life Finds a Way”

Now, I’m not a farmer – and I didn’t stay at a Holiday Inn Express last night. I’m not a Master Gardener – though I’ve know many over the course of my ministry at several parishes. I am a fair-to-middling gardener. I’ve had differing degrees of success with plants from basil to tomatoes; from Lenten Rose to Solomon’s Seal; from Japanese Maples to Lilacs and Peonies. But in spite of having at least a dangerous amount of knowledge about things like seeds, soil, and pollination, it’s still a mystery to me – how it all works, that is. Often times the success is in spite of my machinations. All I know is that the less intentional work I do, the more haphazard the results. Paying attention matters most of the time.

 But there is also mystery – things that on the surface defy logic. My wife Lorraine and I just returned from nearly three weeks in Scotland. A week of that time was spent as pilgrims on the Isle of Iona – one of those “thin places” in this world – one of those places where the here and now is so tangibly close to the ethereal that one can almost touch the Holy One. An abbey sits on an ancient site on the isle. It’s where St. Columba first built his abbey in the sixth century. One can almost hear the chants of Columba and his fellow monks echoing through the ages. It is deeply moving to stand in prayer in a place where prayers have ascended in one setting or another for 15 centuries!

 And yet the abbey yields an even greater mystery. The building is made of stone, and the only natural light in the space comes through stained glass windows. The air is cool and dry. And yet, in what should be a somewhat sterile place, ferns can be seen growing out of the walls in the chancel and along the window sills. Life taking root where it has no business taking root. Rare Sea Spleenwort Ferns growing on the interior walls of the Abbey. And although they may have taken hold in the mortar when the church was in ruins and open to the elements a long time ago – they still thrive in this darkened, stone-walled, space. Consider these rather simple ferns – warmed by the prayers of pilgrims and tourists over the years. They take in the exhalation of so many prayers every day, and in turn, they return oxygen to nurture those who pray. These living ferns breathe life into the space - meaning the building itself breathes!

 The unexpected abbey ferns underscore the same mystery of a dried out seed falling to the ground and being buried in the soil. LIFE FINDS A WAY! Life finds a way. And though these ferns find themselves on the abbey walls through the mystery of how creation works, they thrive through a connection with their human partners. Life finds a way – but sometimes it needs a little help.

 Author Megan McKenna tells another story that starts with seeds: There was a woman who wanted peace in the world and peace in her heart and all sorts of good things, but she was frustrated. The world seemed to be falling apart.

One day she decides to go shopping. She walks into a store and is surprised to see Jesus behind the counter. Finally she gets up her nerve and asks, “Excuse me, are you Jesus?” 

“I am.” 

“Do you work here?”

 “No,” Jesus says, “I own the store.” 

“Oh, what do you sell in here?” 

“Oh, just about anything!” 

“Anything?” 

“Yes, anything you want. What do you want?” 

She replies, “I don’t know.” 

“Well,” Jesus says, “feel free, walk up and down the aisles, make a list, see what it is you want, and then come back and we’ll see what we can do for you.”

 She does just that – walks up and down the aisles. There she sees hope-filled things like peace on earth, no more war, no hunger or poverty, peace in families, no more drugs, clean air, and careful use of resources. By the time she gets back to the counter, she has a long list. Jesus takes it, skims through the list, looks up at her, and smiles. “No problem.” And then he bends down behind the counter and picks out all sorts of things, stands up, and lays out a bunch of packets. 

“What are these?” the woman asks. Jesus replies, “They are seed packets. This is a catalog store.” 

The woman is perplexed. “You mean I don’t get the finished product?” “No, this is a place of dreams. You come and see what it looks like. I give you the seeds. You plant them. You go home and nurture them and help them grow, and someone else reaps the benefit.”

  “Oh,” she replies with a shake of her head. Rather forlorn, she leaves the store without buying anything.[1]

 Isn’t that just like Jesus? We want a finished product. Or, barring that, at least something plain and simple – a diagram – a blueprint – step-by-step instructions – something concrete and tangible. And what does Jesus give us? Parables. Riddles. Mysterious seeds. And then we remember: life finds a way. But sometimes it needs our help.

 We have to plant those seeds – perhaps not really sure what the plants might look like at first – sort of like having a bunch of seed packets that have lost their labels. Once they sprout, we have to find a way to nurture the seedlings to maturity. And that can be challenging – late frosts, heavy rains, droughts, hail storms, and vandals can wreak havoc on our gardens. Politics and religious conflict destroy our spiritual gardens. But again, life finds a way – especially when we, partnering with the God of Creation, are willing to lend a hand.

 It turns out that our prayers are the seeds we plant and nurture. But not only our prayers, but ourselves – our souls and bodies as well. We are also the seeds we plant and nurture. And God is a part of the whole process. Ezekiel speaks of God taking a tender shoot and planting it on the heights so that it might produce boughs and grow fruit – flourishing so that God’s creatures can find places to nest.[2] Ever wonder where Jesus found his imagery in today’s parable?[3]

The Psalmist tells us that the righteous shall flourish like a palm tree and spread like a great cedar.[4] Even Isaiah joins in the metaphor – telling us the “vineyard of the Lord of hosts is the house of Israel, and the people of Judah are God’s pleasant planting.”[5]

 The kingdom of God – the communion of God – the kindom of God – “is as if someone would scatter seed on the ground, and would sleep and rise night and day, and the seed would sprout and grow, they do not know how.”[6] In the mystery that is a parable, it turns out that we are the ones who scatter the seed – and at the same incredible moment, are also the seed being scattered. And whether it’s through our prayers or our actions – hopefully an indistinguishable mix of both – God’s kingdom comes – on earth, as it is in heaven. Life finds a way. God, in us and through us, finds a way.

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[1] Isabel Anders, Synthesis Commentary

[2] Ezekiel 17:22-23

[3] Mark 4:32

[4] Psalm 92:11

[5] Isaiah 5:7

[6] Mark 4:26-27