Descent From the Clouds

Montreat North Carolina 6-16-9


Blowing Rock is equally as splendid on the front edge of the day as it is when the sun has fled into the night after its long transit across the cerulean sky of day. How marvelous it is to awaken in a cozy bed in a fine old knotty pine bedroom with a fireplace. How much better one sleeps when a place is reminiscent of a safe refuge from childhood. I can’t recall the last time I slept in a place that suited me so well.

Fortified with a rare sleep, I emerged to join the others for breakfast at the Village Inn. The Village Inn is one of those destination places that actually exists in a waking reality - a fine old house with odd gables, small narrow stair cases, and big fireplaces; located at the end of a pedestrian alleyway in a verdant garden of all manner of very happy plants. I’m used to eateries being in non-descript metal butler buildings set in a sea of molten asphalt, not fine old buildings with floral balconies set in lush gardens. We spent at least as much time having a group botanical lesson from the restaurant owner as we did sitting inside to eat her excellent fare. Even a fine precocious cat presented itself at the end of the alleyway.

Following our morning repast the group did its part for the local economy by injecting negotiable instruments into the coffers of assorted gift merchants and candy purveyors. While the group was helping the local economy I made a splendid connection with Steve, the owner of a shop that sells the work of overseas artisans who are attempting to extract themselves from deadening poverty by creating their beautiful works of art for sale in islands of prosperity such as Blowing Rock. Steve sees his work with his shop as a ministry and not just an entrepreneurial pursuit. He believes the Kingdom of God is made manifest in what we do for others. He made it clear that nothing is more satisfying in life than being able to have a conscious contact with God’s presence. We agreed to work on the feasibility of placing the work of our Haitian artisans in his shop, that those living in the poorest country in the western hemisphere might get a taste of the Kingdom for themselves. So many of the philosophical tenets of the development work in Cange are similar to what I sense about Blowing Rock - not mere coincidence, given the way God has made Himself evident the past two days.

I recall having been in some truly magnificent small towns over the years and invariably found a tap root of faith and devotion running through generations of citizens living in them. I wonder if this might be the case here as well. There is a serenity and graciousness here that is quite remarkable and manifests itself strongly in the physical and social environments of Blowing Rock as it did in places like Gaylord, Michigan or small rural enclaves in western Pennsylvania.

At midday we left this gentle oasis in the lush mountains and followed the emerald ribbon of the Blue Ridge Parkway for a season. We ended up in Little Switzerland for cooling ice cream before making the descent out of the clouds into what promised to be Dante’s Inferno. In the space of ten miles the temperature went from 67 to 84 with an equal increase in humidity. It would get yet hotter later in the day.

An easy drive of one hour brought us to a different kind of oasis, one where the innocence of youth is preserved for four more years before the realities of the working world and growing up take over these young lives. At Montreat College we found more than one thousand high school youth participating in a residential summer program. Their innocence and vitality was energizing and inspiring to those of us living in the autumn or winters of our lives. Many of the students were in clusters about campus participating in assorted workshop and encounter experiences. By osmosis, I felt a bit younger.

A magnificent chapel was built in 1998 as a fortieth wedding anniversary gift by an architect from Charlotte. The donor commissioned a large fresco by Ben Long, depicting the return of the prodigal son as described in Luke’s gospel. This splendid large mountain gothic chapel was built to showcase the finished work. A number of times I have sat mute before this grand image and allowed my thoughts to free associate. As grand as the plastered image is, even more compelling is the love letter the donor wrote to his wife when he gifted the 200 seat chapel to the college in her name. The letter cast in bronze and placed on the south wall of the sanctuary is a profound memorial to beauty of the very highest order.

A large multi-level building by the lake houses a variety of artisan shops, bookstores, and eateries. This splendid facility feels like something Frank Lloyd Wright would have designed. The resplendent mountain environment with lakes and waterfalls is the ornamentation for the building. For reasons unknown, one of the bookstores was giving away books. I found several of these that may prove quite useful in some of my work. In an artisan shop I was again able to engage in conversation about bringing Haitian work to another island of prosperity - that those in Haiti might find the Gospel message is for them as well. While in this conversation I enjoyed splendid red bush tea from Botswana - offered as a gift. The colorful ambience resulting from the aggregation of grand artwork from dozens of nations was a visual feast.

Having experienced creative beauty in some of its highest visual forms - stained glass, fresco, architecture, mosaic, ceramics, carefully tended gardens - and then in its ultimate relational forms - as manifested by the love of a man for his wife of decades, or a father awaiting the return of his wayward son, or by the presence of God’s Holy Spirit in an encounter with a shopkeeper or the cook in a Cuban diner - going back down the mountain into Dante’s Inferno was not so hard. I am told that Jesus has gone to prepare a room for me in the Father’s house. I am certain it will be at least as good as the one I had last night in the Homestead Inn and will have air conditioning, which won’t be needed. I will sleep well every night.

Craig Johnson

Journey to Heaven

6-15-9 Blowing Rock, North Carolina

Our day began innocuously enough. We gathered at 8 AM and hopped on the Interstate to flee the heat and humidity of June in the Deep South. Actually our motive was a little more substantial in that our intention was to visit several old Carpenter Gothic churches in the lush emerald mountains of North Carolina where world renown art can be found. However, that secondary motive of coolness did become significant when the temperature was already 83 degrees at 9:30 AM and humidity was hovering near 100%.

Breakfast was had by our little band of explorers in Boiling Springs at an old McDonalds, still clad in vintage red and white. The first glimmer of something special to come this day occurred when I was offered a free breakfast of sausage, egg, and biscuit. One of our travelers was attuned to some kind of free promotion, of which I became beneficiary. I hadn’t thought myself hungry, but the glorious aroma became absolutely compelling. I wolfed it down with delight.

Four and a half hours into our journey brought us through fresh rain-moistened high altitude cove forest to a quaint little church in Glendale Springs, just south of the Virginia line on the Blue Ridge Parkway. Having been in this little church countless times, it was not new to me but what happened in there today was truly spectacular. While my fellow travelers were roaming about gawking at the grand art and taking pictures I was having a numinous appointment with God through one of his agents.

Nine years ago in a dark night of the soul I spent a month in this cozy mountain valley and participated in the life and work of the congregation that cares for these small Gothic churches. I lived at a Benedictine retreat some twelve miles away. As sometimes happens, the things we value most get dropped and broken, perhaps beyond repair. A profoundly important relationship with the director of that retreat was severely damaged and my inability to repair it for the past nine years has been a source of great angst. Today I was given opportunity to do something about its repair, posthumously.

While wandering in the church wondering about the currents of life we get caught in, a woman came into the church. She seemed familiar, as if I should know her. I felt compelled to speak to her. It turns out I had never met her in this life but apparently God had ordained it long ago that I should meet her now. Immediate intense conversation with her made it clear that I was having one of those profound moments we can only wish to have all the time. God was speaking and providing the opportunity to make an amend and repair something long thought lost and beyond salvage. Jane and her husband Greg turn out to be the new spiritual directors of the retreat that I once valued more than life itself. I was being given a new link to this important place in my life. I had heard through a thread on Facebook that the long-time director had just passed away two weeks ago. Jane confirmed this and our encounter today resulted in an incredible opportunity for restoration to begin. Jane was completely open to my returning to the retreat at some time for some spiritual work on restoring the rift that has been so bothersome for so many years. We parted with the understanding I would call her at the retreat in the following week.

We left Holy Trinity Church in Glendale Springs, I in a near state of elation and expectation, wondering what God is about to do. My fellow travelers were wondering what just happened. Maslow’s lower level needs asserted themselves and the group was clamoring for a lunch stop. A short field survey of West Jefferson landed us in a small immaculately clean Cuban restaurant called Papi’s Grill. The owner, Maria, is perhaps one of the most gracious hospitable people I have ever encountered. The whole group was agreed that she was special and our very fine meals were well spiced with her warm hospitality. Right up front she declared that she wanted to buy me lunch. She truly admitted us into the interior of her life. We were friends to her, not just patrons of her little eatery in a converted car dealership office. This day was turning into a relational odyssey, far beyond just a little mountain junket to look at pretty art work. God was doing something else here. It remains to be seen what this will be about.

I agreed to send Maria a piece of clay art from Russia to add to the collection of happy little houses on the wall of her dining room. I have been collecting a lot of hugs and endearments from the most unlikely places today. Again, something really good is up. I just need to pay attention.

We finally tore ourselves away from Maria and her larder and went the short distance to the cozy St. Mary’s Church. While the others were busy seeing the place for the first time, I was able to carefully do a new photo survey of the entirety of the building including all the frescoes and stained glass windows. This will greatly improve a lecture I give on these churches. I was overjoyed to see that the building has just been fully repaired and re-conditioned. It was looking rather neglected several years ago.

The group proved open to my attempting to locate the retreat that had once been so important to me as we had no other major plan for the late afternoon. My memory of nine years ago suggested the retreat was only five miles or so from the route I had planned for our journey to Blowing Rock. With the consent of the others, I was, along with the help of a stranger walking along the road, able to find the gravel road to Road’s End and at its end I was able to see God begin His repair work. One again I saw Jane and met her husband Greg for the first time. Her elation that I had sought out this place immediately was balm to my soul. The next two hours confirmed that God is doing something very important. We are not sure what it is but we are sure that God has started something.

It is my plan to return here to the end of the road after I return from Russia. God works in very mysterious ways. Events came to pass, such that I now find myself in possession of a portion of the former’s director ashes and will take them with me to Russia and leave them there. There was once a very important link between St. Petersburg and our spiritual tradition here.

When I arose this morning I could not have ever conceived that I would find myself at Road’s End, find it in perfect repair, with ongoing benevolent leadership. I never expected to see a possibility for repair of a once precious connection to this little piece of Paradise. As has been well said, “We get God’s best when we let Him do the choosing.” I also learned “it is not about me” and that life and the affairs of the universe do not require my management skills.

We left paradise at sunset and headed back into a beautiful world, suddenly more alive with numinous possibilities. We found Blowing Rock to be a truly magical place. It is a place that exudes serenity and aesthetic grace. Abundant floral displays and landscape lighting made one feel as if to be taking a stroll through a Thomas Kincaide painting. The little knotty pine motel exceeded my expectations by far and the innkeepers are delightful. I some how know that I am going to sleep better here than I have in a while. Dinner at the Social Circle Grill was scrumptious. The sweet ending to our day came at Kilwins, a fine chocolateur and purveyor of decadent ice creams. Life is rich.