Brown Bag on Broadway Lake

A day trip of a mere four hours to a bucolic lake a mere eight miles from my house proved important in a number of respects. It was one of those journeys into relationship rather than one into the history of the ancient castles of Europe or the picturesque mountains of the Blue Ridge Escarpment of Appalachia. Some musings came from my time with Bob at his cabin on the lake.

It has been my great fortune to have enjoyed opulent meals in some truly grand restaurants. I recall the magnificent meals on the 95th floor of the John Hancock Center in Chicago. One time during a sumptuous dinner we could see lightning striking below, the sky above and beneath us turning that magnificent lavender hue. There was the incredible Windows to the World restaurant on top of the World Trade Center. The helicopters below were like honey bees going from flower to flower, shuttling unknown VIPs from the top of one building to another. There were grand meals in Paris, Tokyo, Bangkok, Antwerp, Jakarta, and London. There was a stupendous six-hour fifteen course wedding feast in a medieval castle in northern Italy. There was the delectable ten-course meal in the floating Sea Palace in Hong Kong harbor. There have been hundreds of meals in the great dining rooms of cruise ships. It has been my experience to delight in many a grand culinary adventure.

We have those days when the smallest things can become so very important to the maintenance of our sanity and sense of self. We have those days when we need to be strongly reminded that life really is a magnificent gift and that others really do love us completely. Some of us forget far too easily. So it was ordained yesterday that I ended up being given four hours of a dear man’s life to be reminded of these important realities. It was truly luxurious to be granted an un-encumbered uninterrupted block of time with a very busy man who normally is out of state on business. Conversation, prayer, reminiscing, and a bit of lamenting seasoned our time together. We declared our time really good.

I remember looking down at all of the fine porcelain and china plates in Europe and Asia and being thankful for the great privilege to be dining in such places. I have always had a sense of awe in being allowed such splendid opportunities.

It was in my friend’s screened in boathouse that I found myself looking down into the top of an ordinary brown bag with. In there I could see a large turkey sandwich in a zip-loc bag and a bottle of water. At that moment I realized these were holy gifts from a holy God who knew I needed a reminder of His love that day. Bob’s dear wife had made this meal and sent it to me as an offering of God’s love.

I was immediately reminded of the phrase in the liturgy of the Eucharist, which is pronounced when the consecrated elements are lifted up, “This is holy, you are holy”. It was so very easy to remember to offer a prayer of thanksgiving just before beginning to dine. I ate slowly and with great reverence, just as I do when at the altar rail.

Alleluia

Promises of Possibilities, Oconee County, South Carolina 2-2-8

The bucolic lake, paddle boats, and the diving platform all suggest summer is here. The cerulean skies with mottled textures of cirrus streaks make me certain that diving into the sapphire water would refresh my day. Alas, it is only February 2 here in the mountains and we need be content to let the mallard ducks have their own way in the water today. It is not so bad. It would be a lot worse if we dove in with them! We had the good health and sixty degree sunshine in mid winter to hike six miles up onto an overlook and enjoy our lunch with a 270 degree view of this glorious region of the planet we call the Blue Ridge Escarpment or the Southern Appalachian Paradise.

Having awakened early enough I prepared crab salad sandwiches, yogurt, fruits, snacks, and even put in some breakfast foods. We started out in 28-degree air and needed some warm building energy food until that sixty-degree sunshine arrived in our midst. And so it did. It is so grand to get off the couch and to go stand on high places and give thanks for the beautiful world our God has made for us. Do come out here and enjoy it. There is room for others here. We saw but one other hiker the whole day.

Craig Johnson
Tamassee Knob, South Carolina

Transformations, Sassafras Mountain, South Carolina 1-26-8

This day began dark, dreary, and cold, just like the litany of days that have been passing by us since the winter solstice crossed our calendars a month ago. A devotional book I read says that yesterday is the most depressing date of the entire year. It’s been cold forever, the holidays are done, bills are coming due, and we are headed into that long empty stretch on the calendar.

Thirteen of us decided to take matters into our own hands and brave the elements and make a hike from the top of the highest mountain in South Carolina and work our way about six miles to the west. We had no expectation whatever of snow and ice being the offering of the day. We arrived at the summit of Mount Sassafras by car (yes we partly cheated) and set off from the trailhead to find that the north side of the mountain was completely covered in snow and ice. For one wearing nice walking shoes worn smooth by five years of walking, this was an ominous sign. It did not help that I had met up with the group sans gloves, and walking sticks. I thought we were having just a fine little Saturday afternoon walk. Fortunately, my friend Tom was a bit better prepared and had spare gloves and a sturdy stick for me to use. I traded him a bottle of water for them as he had forgotten his water. I did not feel quite so stupid, knowing that a very experienced hiker had shown up with no water. Traversing the ice and snow did prove challenging and caused me to focus closely on each little spot that might allow me some safe footing. I also made a note to get some appropriate boots since it is my plan to hike with some regularity once again.

At late morning in the space of a mere hundred feet we came off the snow and ice and found ourselves walking on dry leaves under the branches of a majestic deciduous forest. The three dogs in our midst were delirious with the new found traction and streaked off into unknown regions. The cloud covered thinned and teased us with the promise of thready weak sunlight. We took the opportunity to take the first of two stops to eat and soon thin streaks of blue sky on the horizon were making us ever more hopeful of a warming trend. Actually, I was more interested in the possibility of bright photons that could chase off those winter doldrums, which can get intense this time of year.

We set off our repast and soon found ourselves walking in an evergreen forest with a cobalt sky overhead. The under story consisted of majestic rhododendron. The sun-drenched hemlock, spruce, and rhododendron forest with warm leaves covering the ground seemed far removed from the dark ice and snow we had traversed but three hours before. The climate for our second meal break was rather grand. The sky was much like an October one with jet contrails indicating the trail taken by those not interested in walking with us over the mountain. A short nap in the leaves followed. We completed our journey about 3 PM, loading up dogs and gear and heading back to the low lands. Walking can certainly exceed economy class most of the time, and it makes us less dependent on foreign oil.

Craig Johnson
Sassafras Mountain, South Carolina

Oak Portals, Atlanta, Georgia 1-22-8

It was one of those cold drab days of winter, a short gray one just past the winter solstice. A spitting semi-frozen rain accreted on the windshield as I drove one hundred thirty miles. Traces of recent snows fluoresced in the woods along the roadway. While hoping for a break in the leaden clouds, which never came, I became resigned to not seeing any color before nightfall. As it happened, a fleck of iridescent paradise unexpectedly washed up on the shores of my life during mid-afternoon.

Sometimes one is greatly surprised by what is concealed by closed doors. And so it was today when I pulled on the fine antique brass knob attached to a century-old oak door at the end of a narrow blind hallway. Even the clues of this fine old door did not prepare me for what lay on the far side. I opened it and passed through to find myself standing on the tiled dais of a sanctuary from another time and place, perhaps from the mythical city of Chiron. The feeling was a bit like passing through a fictional Star Gate or some kind of wormhole. The realities and troubles of a large angry city were instantly left behind. I gawked with head facing upward into dazzling lights that chased away any remembrance of the steel dullness of the journey.

On either side of me were a hundred feet of Tiffany glass windows depicting the seminal events in the Christian story. The luminous nature of these images was so stunning, so believable; merely looking at them helped my faith. In my mind, no one could possibly put this much effort, talent, and expense into creating these epic windows unless they depicted absolute truth. Before me was a Rose window that drew me further into this faith journey, a journey from drabness into the spectral brilliance of new life. Could it really be true for me?

I left this soul haven and went to do my business elsewhere and was draw to return in the afternoon. This time I had not only those visual images to immerse myself in; the immense organ was resonating throughout the sublime space. A recitalist was practicing for an upcoming program. Today he had an attentive audience of one.

I wandered back into the raining reality of a dreary rainy winter day, knowing that there is an inner light that glows regardless of the climate, that a song can be sung in my heart despite the cacophony of life, no longer crowding out the solitude and serenity that give us true knowledge of the One who sends flecks of paradise into our lives every day.

Craig Johnson
Atlanta, Georgia