Every year over the May bank Holiday, for decades now, I have taken a ‘wilderness retreat’ with a group of friends and a widening network of people who love wild places. We spend time on small uninhabited islands, sometimes in silence, at other times making temporary community. The chat veers from (very) profane to the deeply spiritual, sometimes with no break in between. In fact, the rude and crude humour seems even to be a route towards the sacred, in the way it brings us to honesty and shared vulnerability. I am deepy grateful for these times spent with people who have become my closest friends. We have accompanied each other through good times and bad, as well as charting (and even inspiring) great changes in our individual life and faith.

This year, we were heading to an island called Insh, but weather diverted us as the wind direction would make for a difficult landing for 12 people and all their tents and baggage. We ended up on the island of Lunga, tucked hard up against Scarba, the other side of the Grey Dogs tidal race.

In the end, the island was kind. We met (and were welcomed by) the owner. The sun shone. We saw otters, golden and sea eagles. Wild geese graced the skies above us. The ticks feasted on us. We sat around fires and shared life. We shared communion.

As I left, I took the island with me. My friends still carry me.

Each year, I try to bring ideas and make a theme for our gathering. This year was all about original goodness.