Yesterday was an interesting day. Grady and I went to the mountains of North Carolina for the day. Our first objective was to get apples from Granddad’s Apples. My personal objective was to visit as many waterfalls as we could fit into the day that did not require a strenuous or long walk. We went to Looking Glass Falls on Highway 276 and Connestee Falls.

We also made a stop by St. John in the Wilderness Episcopal Church in Flat Rock. I spent about an hour walking through the cemetery (while Grady took a nap).

Stone is so permanent. The rocks along the falls and creeks have been there for millennia. These mountains will be here for even more millennia. Stone is lasting. In the cemetery, the stones have stood for almost two centuries, granite and marble monuments keeping those buried there in a kind of immortality. Yet, I was jolted when I found a plot with simple concrete crosses and field stones used as markers. Those interred under those markers were “known only to God.” They were the slaves and freedmen and their families who were members of the congregation. I am still sorting out what that means. How many people have been forgotten? Who will tell their stories?

Water is one of the essentials of life. While at St. John in the Wilderness, I went into the sanctuary. The baptismal font is in the middle of the central aisle and filled with water. I dipped my fingers into that holy water and made the sign of the cross on my forehead, remembering my own baptism (or rather remembering that I was baptized as an infant). I stood there in silence.

The waterfalls, the creek bank, the cemetery, and the sanctuary–these are holy places. There are stories to be told in each place, places of remembrance, and ultimately grace.