A Pilgrim’s Blessing & the Seal of Authority on the Whithorn Way

On this Burns' Night, as we celebrate Scottish heritage and the power of the "honest man," I’m reflecting on a truly symbolic encounter I had at Paisley Abbey at the start of my journey on the Whithorn Way. A journey that passes the cottage in Alloway where Burns was born.

I had walked from my flat in Pollokshaws that morning, passing the archaeological digs at the Abbey, when I was introduced to the late Rev. Alan Birss. We stood in that magnificent 12th-century nave—the "Cradle of the Stewarts"—and spoke of the road ahead.

Alan wasn’t just a Minister; he was a fellow pilgrim who had walked the Whithorn Way himself. He listened with genuine enthusiasm as I told him of my plans for the Camino de Santiago. Before I set off, he did something that connected me to centuries of Scottish history: he blessed my journey and stamped my pilgrim papers.

The Chair of Gaelic at Edinburgh University (now Professor Emeritus) later noted the profound symbolism of this moment. In stamping those directions, Rev. Birss wasn't just being kind—it was as if he was providing the "Seal of Approval" from the Church Authority, placing me in a lineage of pilgrims like Robert the Bruce and James IV, who sought the Abbey’s blessing before their own historic travels.

To mark Burns' Night, I’ve penned a few verses in Scots to honor the man who gave me my "start" and the ancient path that connects us all.

The Pilgrim’s Seal

(In memory of Rev. Alan Birss)

The mist was hov’rin’ ower the Shaws,

As I set oot wi’ pack and cause,

To tramp the miles on hallowed ways,

Through Paisley’s streets and ancient days.

I passed the dig whare secrets lie,

’Neath Abbey walls that reach the sky,

And there I met a man o’ grace,

Wi’ welcome writ across his face.

He spak’ o’ Whithorn’s holy track,

The wind that blaws across your back,

For he had walked those miles himsel’,

And kent the tales they had to tell.

He heard my dream o’ Spanish ground,

Whare Compostela’s bells resound,

And though he wore the modern gear,

The ancient soul was standin’ near.

He took my script, he signed the line,

A simple stamp, a holy sign,

But as he raised his hand to bless,

The air grew thick wi’ timelessness.

The Professor says, in scholar’s tongue,

That such a sang has lang been sung—

That I stood there in shadows tall,

Within the Kirk’s ancestral hall.

Like Robert Bruce, wi’ crown and sword,

Who sought the mercy o’ the Lord,

Or James the Fourth, wha walked in pain,

To wash awa’ a gilty stain—

They came to Paisley’s vaulted nave,

For strength to carry to the grave,

And just like them, I got the "Seal,"

To mak’ my pilgrim journey real.

So here’s a dram to Alan Birss,

Who shared his road in prose and verse;

The Kirk’s authority, leal and true,

Passed frae the olden times to new.

The Whithorn Way is lang and wide,

But I walk it wi’ a ghostly guide—

For once a Minister blessed my name,

And fanned the pilgrim’s spark to flame.

Rest in peace, Rev. Birss. Your blessing travels with me yet. 🥾⛪️🥃🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿

- Jamie Wallace BA MA MSc Psych (Open)

The Long Walk to the White House by Jamie Wallace is about the 155-mile pilgrimage along the Whithorn Way from Glasgow to Galloway. Walking in the footsteps of Scottish saints, heroes, and royalty, the journey begins with a blessing at Paisley Abbey and unfolds into a powerful reckoning with inner fears and doubt and the deeper truth that when plans change, it doesn’t mean we’ve failed. Preorder your copy here.