3 bucks and the Miraculous Staircase

We visited three churches in historic Santa Fe, New Mexico.

The oldest, San Miguel, is an adobe brick structure with rough hewn wooden beams over its head-bumping doorways. It's in relatively poor condition, but that only adds to the charm and authenticity of it's 1610 origins, built with the help of local Tlaxcalan Indians.

The most magnificent is St. Francis Basicillica, built in the 1800's with Romanesque grace and stone arches over what was originally another 17th century church site.

But most people will ask if you've visited the Loretto Chapel.

Just down a side street between the basilica and San Miguel, Loretto's sturdy 1870's gothic structure is no longer actively used for church services (although it does rent out for weddings).

In fact, its attached to a very nice hotel and for $3 you can walk in to see...the circular staircase at the back of the church. It circles tightly, twice, as it ascends from floor to loft. Very nifty workmanship done with only wood pegs and well balanced symetry--there are no braces to the side wall.

The noteriety of the staircase comes from it's mysterious carpenter, having passed through town after the church was already built, and supposedly working for free before quietly slipping away again once the work was completed.

The Loretto brochures are careful to place the word "miraculous" staircase in quotes, sensitive perhaps to the fact that the "chapel" is really a "former" church and mostly a tourist attraction now. I dutifully took pictures of the staircase and admired the craftmanship. Then I turned to the front of the church to study the hand carved altar and two very thoughtful, sculpted statues. The stations of the cross on the walls are some of the most beautiful I've ever seen.

I couldn't get too close at first though, because a family of five was sitting on the altar railing, backs to the altar and staring toward the rear staircase. This wasn't just a couple of kids waiting to be shoo'd away by a museum docent. This was mom, dad, uncle harry AND the two kids. Chattering away, oblivious to any sense of reverence the rest of us exhibited to the scene behind them.

It took me a full minute to think through my emotions. I was offended by the blatant disrespect for the alar and its symbol of salvation on the wall behind them. On the other hand, it was technically a museum, this "miraculous" chapel. And they did pay their 3 bucks like everyone else. I don't know, though. Could you ever grow so cavalier about an act of redemption--involving the cruel crucifiction of an innocent man for your sake--to turn your back and snap cell phone pics of some nicely done cabinetry instead?

The founding Sisters of the Loretto chapel sold it in 1968 when their education facility closed.

I suspect they had definitely ruled out any "miracles" involved with the renown staircase by then, otherwise no earthly price could have been set.

But I wonder. Was there not enough of a miracle involved with the story behind the altar, at the other end of the church? Would people not walk in off the street to hear the story of the man who actually did perform documented miracles in a far away place before his astounding resurection from death and subsequent reappearance to 100's of people just like them?

Just around the corner, the slowly decaying adobe structure of San Miguel still has a worship service every Sunday night at 5 o'clock. Several of the people we saw touring there were seated quietly in the ancient pews, meditating thoughtfully and respectfully.

San Miguel also tells the miracle of a carpenter who came to town, solved a problem, and then mysteriously left again.

"Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfector of our faith; who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God." Hebrews 12:2

What do you believe?

SantaFe from 20,000 Feet

We just got back from a quick trip to Santa Fe, New Mexico. Lovely place.

There's lots more to do than wander the art shops and museums that surround the centuries-old plaza. Don't get me wrong, its an intoxicating pastime. We admired everything from priceless religious art and Georgia O'Keefe's to original oils and sculptures by lesser knowns along Canyon Drive. Some of the most exquisite gallery pieces were priced anywhere from a year of private college tuition all the way up to suburban starter home. I'm not kidding.  "Most of our buyers contact us through third parties, or over the internet," one proprietor allowed, as though pardoning us for merely browsing without a checkbook (or loan officer).

We soon discovered that our favorite art treasures weren't locked up in any of the lovingly preserved adobe dwellings. In fact, we drove over 700 miles in less than 4 days, covering a good portion of the Northeast quadrant of the state. It's in the high desert that you see the most spectacular palette of colors. Fire-bright cottonwood yellows and quaking aspens tucked between rough-barked Ponderosa pines. Brick red cliffs and shimmering streams that catch the late afternoon sun, just so.  The artists along tony Canyon Drive were good, but they weren't that good. No disrespect intended.

We followed mile after mile of winding highways, stopping constantly to snap photos or walk out to an overlook. We gazed across one vast caldera, trying to fathom it's size from one edge to the other. We knew there were pine trees miles and miles across the grassy meadow, but they were a blur of green, too far off to see detail. Then we spotted a collection of dots in the middle of the expanse. They were moving, but I couldn't image what they might be. Dogs? Sheep? I brought out the binoculars and said to Angela, "you're not going to believe this."

It was a herd of elk. Huge, lumbering elk lost in a vast sea of caldera grassland surrounded by thousands of feet of towering Jemez mountain range. No canvas or brush could be clever enough to capture the thrill of that moment, or the sweet smelling breeze that rustled through the grass.

Two mornings later our plane took off from the Albuquerque airport and quickly climbed to 20,000 feet. "We're flying right over the section of Jemez mountains that we drove through," I said. Sure enough, we could see where the scenic highway left the main road and started it's winding assent through the pass. It surprised me, as the plane continued climbing and we recognized landmark after landmark from our travels, that the high desert section had very finite boundaries. We had driven through the very highest, most scenic section. But from the plane we could see that within 10 or 20 miles in either direction was scrubby, treeless lowland. And that vast, seemingly endless caldera with the elk was merely a drop of  spilled milk on a banquet table.

I smiled and wordlessly thanked the Living God. "You are an artist's artist," I offered up with quiet praise.

Century after century people have come to that area and re-created--or interpreted--on animal skin and canvas what they see and sense.  What they recreate, He first created.

And just when we conclude that our vantage point has empowered us to see from one edge to the other of his creation, it only takes a plane ride and a few thousand feet to realize that there are still countless horizons beyond our vision.

What do you believe?