THE summer twilight had deepened into night as I sat upon the deck of a steamer, a few months ago, and watched the gradually darkening sky above the heaving waste of waters, through which the vessel was making her way home from Ireland. If you have ever been on board ship, you will know that when the day, with all its excitement and bustle, is over, and the quiet night comes on, one is apt to feel a little sad and lonely. It was such a feeling as this which made me say to myself upon that summer night at sea, "It is too cold and dark to stay here any longer; I will go below.”
Before leaving the deck, however, I thought I would walk round to the further side, and take one look.
“We must be near the coast of Wales now," I said, "if it were only light enough to see it.”
The prospect from the other side was dreary enough—a dim outline of what might be land was visible, but nothing more—and I was just turning away, when, in a moment, as by a lightning flash, the whole scene was lit up, and I saw, so close alongside that it seemed but a few yards away, a rugged, dangerous coast. But it was no sudden flash which showed sea, and sky, and rocky shore in that noon-day brightness. Upon a heap of rocks, piled one above the other, like some rude castle, stood the light-tower, from whence the light came. But even while I looked the ray which had beamed so far over the water was gone, and all was wrapped in gloom as before. An instant passed, and then, full and fair, it shone out once more, and I knew that upon that rocky islet some friendly hand had set a revolving light, to shine, in storm or calm, night after night—a blessed light, indeed, to the eye of many a mariner.
I would not have missed that sight; but the reason why I recall it now is because the rocky islet upon which this light-house stands reminds me of another ocean rock on the coast of Scotland, and of how long, long ago this lonely island used to be called "the Light of the Western World.”
Some time ago you may have read in FAITHFUL WORDS the story of Succat, the Scotch boy, who was stolen away from his home on the banks of the Clyde by Irish sea-robbers, who made him their slave, and sent him into their fields to keep swine. If you know the story, you will remember that God spoke to Succat's heart when he was in that far country, in loneliness and fear, and brought back to his mind the teaching of his father and mother, who were christians, and had many times spoken to their boy of the love of God to sinners, though he was at that time too fond of pleasure and of his own way to heed them much. The story goes on to tell how. Succat was rescued, and brought home, once more to look upon the faces of the dear parents whom he had thought never to see again, and how his heart yearned over Ireland, the land where in solitude and slavery he had been brought to God, so that he of his own accord returned there, no longer as a slave-boy, but as a missionary. Succat had learned the Irish language during his captivity, and now, going from place to place, he collected the pagan tribes by beating a small drum, and told them in their own tongue the history of the Son of God.
You may think that Succat lived a long time ago, when such a thing could happen in Scotland as a boy being caught by sea-robbers and sold for a slave. Yes, Succat, or St. Patrick, as he was afterward called, lived about fifteen hundred years ago, and he had been dead two hundred years when Columba, the missionary of whom I am going to tell you, made his boat of osier rods covered with skins, and sailed away with a few companions to the rocky island of Iona.
Many things had happened during those two hundred years. The Romans, who had been ruling in Britain, had gone back to their own country, and the fierce Saxon invaders had come, bringing with them a time of trouble and terror, of which you can read in your history of England.
These wild tribes hated those Christians who would not serve their gods and learn their heathen customs, and persecuted them so constantly that they believed they had almost crushed the Christian faith in Britain. But God had Himself lit up the candle of His truth in our land, even before the Romans came-no one knows how Christianity first got to Britain, but there were christians there in very early times, for one of their own writers tells us that there were "places in Britain inaccessible to the Romans which had been subdued by Christ,"—and He did not allow complete darkness to cover the people even in those dreadful times.
There were several copies of the Psalms and the Gospels scattered here and there over the country, and some of these precious manuscripts Columba took with him when he sailed away from Donegal and landed in Iona. It is true that these manuscripts were in Latin, the language of the Romans, but a good many people in Ireland and Scotland knew Latin at this time, and were able to translate for the good of those who did not. In the British Museum there is a copy of the Psalms, beautifully written in Latin, with the Anglo-Saxon translation written between the lines; I am sure you would like to see this old book, for it speaks to us of how earnestly other men long ago labored to preserve pure the word of God, which each one of us can now read for himself, without asking anyone to translate for him.
Columba was the son of an Irish king, but an earnest desire to preach to the Scotch, as Succat had once preached to the Irish, led him to go and live upon this little island, which lies close to the shores of Scotland. He and his companions made wooden houses upon the island, for the Scottish king had granted Iona to Columba, and there they dwelt, cultivating the grassy slopes on the sheltered side, feeding cattle, but, above all, studying the word of God. Columba often sailed across to the mainland and preached to the people; they heard him gladly, and many were converted to God.
We are told that he would spend whole days and nights exploring difficult passages in the precious manuscripts, and he taught others what he had himself learned, so that from their rocky island-home a little band of missionaries went out, one by one, to travel far and wide over Holland, France, Switzerland, an d Italy, bearing with them the precious seed of God's truth, while they supported themselves by the work of their own hands.
It is too true that these missionaries taught some things which are not to be found in God's word, for, during the five centuries which had rolled by since the Lord Jesus left this world to go to His Father, much error had crept into His church; still at this time the missionary colleges, such as that founded by Columba at Iona, were not subject to the church of Rome. Some of Columba's teaching has come down to us. "The Holy Ghost," he said, "makes a servant of God. The Holy Scriptures are the only rule of faith; throw aside all merit of works, and look for salvation to the grace of God alone. Beware of a religion which consists in outward observances; it is better to keep the heart pure than to abstain from meats.”
When any man offended him, we are told, he forgave him; when any offended God, he prayed for him.
The missionaries from Iona made some attempts to preach to the Saxons, and turn them to God from idols, but this fierce people believed that their gods had given them the victory, and refused to listen to men whom they counted their slaves.
But the day came when Oswald, the son of one of these persecuting heathen kings, had to fly from his home. He took refuge in Scotland, and loved to listen to the old men at Iona. They spoke to him of how the Lord Jesus Christ, now in heaven, is the head of His church, and the young prince promised that he would never acknowledge any other. He longed to go as a missionary among his own people. When he did return, however, it was as their king. He: reigned over the northern part of Britain, and he sent to ask for a missionary from Iona who should help him to teach his subjects.
“The people are so obstinate," said Corman, the missionary, who had been sent; "they are so hard and obstinate, I cannot teach them,"—and he returned to Iona.
As Aidan, one of the brethren of the island, heard his complaint, he said, half to himself, “If Thy love had been offered to this people, O my Saviour, how many hearts would have been touched? I will go and make Thee known—Thee, who breaketh not the bruised reed.
Then, turning to Corman he said gently, "Brother, was it their stubbornness or your severity? Haply you forgot God's word, to give them the milk first and then the meat.”
Aidan did go, and even his want of knowledge of the tongue then spoken north of the river Humber, was no hindrance to him in his work, for Oswald joyfully received him, and many a time a sight strange enough in those days was seen—the missionary preaching tithe people while their king stood beside him interpreting his words.
The missionaries from Iona were very dear to the English people; and they would throng around one, if by chance they met him, begging him to teach them the word of God.
One of these men of God is particularly remembered, his name was Cuthbert, and his delight was to wander on foot through the most out-of-the-way mountain districts and carry the good news of God to lonely hamlets, from which others might have turned aside. Journeys in those times were not tours of pleasure, however beautiful the country might be through which the traveler was passing, but often full of hardships and dangers.
“What shall we do?" said his companions, one day when a heavy snowstorm had rendered their only road impassable; "the snow closes our road along the shore; the storm bars our way over the sea.”
“There is still the way to heaven that lies open," said Cuthbert, with a smile, as he plodded on through the drifts.
We cannot wonder that in later times when they thought of these devoted servants of God, men called the island, which had been their home, the "Light of the Western World." C. P.