Sanctuary

Yesterday my  son texted me, "Dad, looking at the map, we're going to be stopping for lunch in Sedona".

How is it that my family keeps accidentally stumbling into Sedona, Arizona?

In May of 1996 my brother and I had experienced the trip of a lifetime at the south rim of the Grand Canyon. On that rim at midnight the first night of our trip, the Hale Bopp Comet hung silently over our heads. Were we at the Grand Canyon or had we been propelled into outer space? The comet seemed as close to me as my brother standing beside me.

While there we took a perimeter tour of the state including a trek in Monument Valley, Utah and Canyon De Chelly.  This canyon is a very sacred place to the Navajo and includes centuries of their tribal history. Just being there viewing the ruins and wading in the river was a spiritual experience. As it turns out, it wasn't our most significant spiritual experience.

After a week of gazing, hiking, driving, talking and laughing,  we said  goodbye to the canyon and headed out to the airport in Phoenix. We were both very content with the miles behind us. We were very content to be flying home.

Before we left, a woman  we were chatting with asked us if we were going to see Sedona. Neither of us had ever heard of the place. She suggested that we didn't need to miss Sedona, Arizona. As it turned out Sedona was just off our route of I-17 on AZ 89A.  We had a few hours to spare before our flight that afternoon.

Although our eyes and souls were full of incredible places, just driving into Sedona we both were taken with the beauty of the red rock town and the sense of "presence" there. We had no idea that the town was the "new age Mecca" of the world.  After walking around a while, we settled into lunch in a quaint cafe.  As we were about to leave, our server asked us if we were going to see the Chapel of the Holy Cross. "Never heard of it."  With enough time for one last adventure, we  followed her directions to the church. We found a church built into the side of a red rock  mountain. The most striking part of the structure was the prominent three story cross built into the front of the church.  We parked our  car and walked up the long sidewalk  having no idea what to expect.

Entering the back of the church, we immediately heard the soft Gregorian chant playing in the sanctuary. The only things in there were pews, a few people and small tealight candles burning in glass receptacles toward the front of the church. When we sat down we were taken by the view through the floor to ceiling window looking through the cross. The vista was certainly nothing we had ever experienced in churches in Alabama, Kentucky and Georgia. A small sign read that for a donation of fifty cents you could light a candle as a prayer for whoever you wish.  I invested a dollar for two.

We both sat quietly and reverently for quite a while. I thought about and prayed for the persons for whom those candles were burning. The combination of the chant, the view and the flickering candles created a holy space and holy experience for which neither of us, to this day, have any words.  How can two souls already full to overflowing be filled again?  I guess a human's  capacity for inspiration and revelation can never be satiated.

You hate to leave a moment like that, but we had a plane to catch and families expecting us..

On the drive to Phoenix and the flight back home, of all the images from my experience it was the feelings from that chapel that stayed with me the longest.

I don't remember ever communicating to my son what "Sedona" had meant to me.  But I must have, When he texted  that they would be  lunching there, I knew that I had told him. I knew he knew.

As the Christian pioneers moved west in the 19th Century, the American Indians were perplexed that they choose to worship the Creator inside dark boxes on Sunday instead of in His creation every day.  So how is it that of all that we had seen, of all that we had taken in, it was what happened in that dark box that meant the most to us? Maybe the depth of the canyon had carved out a cavern in our souls that was starving to be filled. I don't really know. I can only call it the mystery of the Spirit. The accidental stumbling onto a holy place.

Over the years going back to Sedona, Arizona on purpose has remained on my list of things to do.  It just moved much further up my list. Meanwhile, I'm very grateful my son bothered to text me. Good memories are almost as good as being there. Well, not really.