9 January 2010, Saturday
Eastward through the Nevada desert
Pale mists brooded expressionless over a frost-bound Nevada desert luminating the barren scape dully with monochromatic light. Above headstone silhouettes of Eastern mountains, there arose the silvery apparition of the sun manifesting his pallid aura over a vast and silent slab of ice and ore.
The night had passed restlessly, cramped against the cold plate window of a bus. Without a pillow, I pressed into service a fleece jacket which performed stoutly enough. Meanwhile, other passengers had more ingenious, if not more successful contrivances for comfort. Wiping my eyes against the morning light, I spied amusedly at least one pair of legs projecting straight up to the ceiling. No doubt, one is a master of sleep who can sustain his slumber for any great while on a Greyhound coach.
One by one, passengers began to stir. Now and then a few made small talk. In the row behind mine, a baby-faced Army vet announced to all in general that he was headed to Vermont to take part in a grassroots gladiatorial club. Though hardly the figure of muscular might, the effervescent fellow boasted to have been promised $2500 to wrestle and fight in a ring with other contestants. To my judgment he was being baited for a public beat down, and I felt for him. The idea of bloodthirsty persons finding pleasure in observing real violence is repugnant to my conscience, but the fact that men willingly subject themselves to become victims of it for a mere paycheck is most grieving. "Men lie in wait for their own blood; they set an ambush for their own lives. Such are the ways of everyone who is greedy for unjust gain; it takes away the life of its possessors." [Prov. 1:18-19] Yes, men go to terrible lengths to obtain money, even staking their health and life on gain. None, however, enjoys his wealth more than a godly man content with simple food and sufficient clothing. [1 Tim. 6:8]
Around 5:00 PM, the bus arrived in Salt Lake City depot, leaving me to wait curbside in the refreshingly frigid air. Soon pulled up a navy blue AAMCO truck from which stepped Alan Taylor, a husky forty-some with a broad smile and peppery facial hair. After embracing this dear brother in Christ and greeting his fourteen year-old son, J.P, I hoisted my gear into the truck bed and climbed inside the cab.
The two-hour drive to Logan, Utah, afforded a chance for Alan to inform me of the unique spiritual situation of the churches in Cache Valley, perhaps the most densely Mormon area on the planet. Over 96% of Logan professes to be LDS, and has been called by some, "the last Mormon stronghold." Because of their being so heavily outnumbered, Protestant Churches of the valley and her surrounding towns feel strongly the necessity of affirming their unity in Christ on central matters of belief. For this reason, diplomatic roads are being forged, Alan explained, to write a joint statement of faith declaring the essential oneness of these Churches, despite variations in certain doctrinal particulars. At the fore of this sensitive venture is Brad Scheelke, who for thirty years has managed a literature mission in the Valley, Oasis Christian book store, which serves as a kind of neutral ground for Christians and a discussion center for curious Mormons.
While Alan spoke, I watched with interest as the highway threaded Sardine canyon, whose snowy walls refracted the ochre glow of civil twilight. Across the valley the Wellsvilles jutted skyward, their peaks arched like spines upon the back of an immense beast. Measured from base to peak, the range represents the steepest ascent in the world. Once inside Logan, however, the majestic view was replaced with more ordinary trappings of a University town. Chic corner boutiques on the main stretch, book stores, quirky diners, and the like. Alan treated me to a sandwich, and, citing Utah tradition, his son J.P. compelled me to sample their renowned fry sauce.
Alan's wife, Deanna, and their other sons, Sean, Casey, and Cadon, received me warmly into the Taylor household later that evening. Upon being offered a hot drink, and guided through their quaint and orderly home, I was engaged by Mr. and Mrs. Taylor in earnest conversation, particularly on the subjects of biblical worship and church structure. Then, around 10:00 PM, Eli Brayley, the friend whom I had principally come to visit and observe, returned home. Greeting him with a hug, we set quickly to discussions which lasted past midnight.
When at last I stretched myself upon the bed to sleep, I felt refreshed be with brethren so energized by thoughts of our Savior, whose interest was to discover God's ideals for His Bride, the Church.
Eastward through the Nevada desert
Pale mists brooded expressionless over a frost-bound Nevada desert luminating the barren scape dully with monochromatic light. Above headstone silhouettes of Eastern mountains, there arose the silvery apparition of the sun manifesting his pallid aura over a vast and silent slab of ice and ore.
The night had passed restlessly, cramped against the cold plate window of a bus. Without a pillow, I pressed into service a fleece jacket which performed stoutly enough. Meanwhile, other passengers had more ingenious, if not more successful contrivances for comfort. Wiping my eyes against the morning light, I spied amusedly at least one pair of legs projecting straight up to the ceiling. No doubt, one is a master of sleep who can sustain his slumber for any great while on a Greyhound coach.
One by one, passengers began to stir. Now and then a few made small talk. In the row behind mine, a baby-faced Army vet announced to all in general that he was headed to Vermont to take part in a grassroots gladiatorial club. Though hardly the figure of muscular might, the effervescent fellow boasted to have been promised $2500 to wrestle and fight in a ring with other contestants. To my judgment he was being baited for a public beat down, and I felt for him. The idea of bloodthirsty persons finding pleasure in observing real violence is repugnant to my conscience, but the fact that men willingly subject themselves to become victims of it for a mere paycheck is most grieving. "Men lie in wait for their own blood; they set an ambush for their own lives. Such are the ways of everyone who is greedy for unjust gain; it takes away the life of its possessors." [Prov. 1:18-19] Yes, men go to terrible lengths to obtain money, even staking their health and life on gain. None, however, enjoys his wealth more than a godly man content with simple food and sufficient clothing. [1 Tim. 6:8]
Around 5:00 PM, the bus arrived in Salt Lake City depot, leaving me to wait curbside in the refreshingly frigid air. Soon pulled up a navy blue AAMCO truck from which stepped Alan Taylor, a husky forty-some with a broad smile and peppery facial hair. After embracing this dear brother in Christ and greeting his fourteen year-old son, J.P, I hoisted my gear into the truck bed and climbed inside the cab.
The two-hour drive to Logan, Utah, afforded a chance for Alan to inform me of the unique spiritual situation of the churches in Cache Valley, perhaps the most densely Mormon area on the planet. Over 96% of Logan professes to be LDS, and has been called by some, "the last Mormon stronghold." Because of their being so heavily outnumbered, Protestant Churches of the valley and her surrounding towns feel strongly the necessity of affirming their unity in Christ on central matters of belief. For this reason, diplomatic roads are being forged, Alan explained, to write a joint statement of faith declaring the essential oneness of these Churches, despite variations in certain doctrinal particulars. At the fore of this sensitive venture is Brad Scheelke, who for thirty years has managed a literature mission in the Valley, Oasis Christian book store, which serves as a kind of neutral ground for Christians and a discussion center for curious Mormons.
While Alan spoke, I watched with interest as the highway threaded Sardine canyon, whose snowy walls refracted the ochre glow of civil twilight. Across the valley the Wellsvilles jutted skyward, their peaks arched like spines upon the back of an immense beast. Measured from base to peak, the range represents the steepest ascent in the world. Once inside Logan, however, the majestic view was replaced with more ordinary trappings of a University town. Chic corner boutiques on the main stretch, book stores, quirky diners, and the like. Alan treated me to a sandwich, and, citing Utah tradition, his son J.P. compelled me to sample their renowned fry sauce.
Alan's wife, Deanna, and their other sons, Sean, Casey, and Cadon, received me warmly into the Taylor household later that evening. Upon being offered a hot drink, and guided through their quaint and orderly home, I was engaged by Mr. and Mrs. Taylor in earnest conversation, particularly on the subjects of biblical worship and church structure. Then, around 10:00 PM, Eli Brayley, the friend whom I had principally come to visit and observe, returned home. Greeting him with a hug, we set quickly to discussions which lasted past midnight.
When at last I stretched myself upon the bed to sleep, I felt refreshed be with brethren so energized by thoughts of our Savior, whose interest was to discover God's ideals for His Bride, the Church.
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Utah is nothing shy of eerie in all of these photos!
It was 50 degrees for us while you were there ;-)
Eerie, it was! Glad to see you getting some "warm" weather!